“Fine!” agreed Tom, Sid and Phil.
“Yes, but did you hear the latest?” asked Snail Looper, gliding along, almost like the reptile he was christened after.
“What?” demanded several.
“There’s talk of Ford Fenton for manager,” went on Snail.
“What, Ford!” cried Tom. “He’d be giving us nothing all the while but ‘my uncle says this’ and ‘my uncle used to do it that way’! No Ford for mine, though I like the chap fairly well.”
“Same here,” agreed Phil. “We can stand him, but not his uncle,” for, be it known, Ford Fenton, one of the sophomore students, was the nephew of a man who had been a celebrated coach at Randall in the years gone by. Ford believed in keeping his memory green, and on every possible, and some impossible, occasions he would preface his remarks with “My Uncle says” and then go on and tell something. It got on the nerves of his fellows, and they “rigged” him unmercifully about it, but Fenton could not seem to take the hint. His uncle was a source of pride to him, but it is doubtful if the former coach knew how his reputation suffered at the hands of his indiscrete youthful relative.
“Who told you Fenton had a chance for manager?” asked Sid Henderson.
“Why, Bert Bascome is his press agent.”
“Bascome, the freshman?” Phil wanted to know, and Snail Looper nodded.