“What’d you tell ’em?”
“I said I didn’t know much about him, except that he came from Stanford University, where he was a crackerjack on the gridiron. I said he was going to pull down some points for us on the track, too.”
“What did they say?”
“Nothing, except that they thanked me, and I heard one of ’em say to the other that they were going to ‘look it up,’ whatever that meant.”
“Say!” cried Tom, “there’s something in the wind, Sid. I had almost the same experience, only it was about Shambler. I wonder what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, of course. I guess these Exter lads are so high-toned that they want to know a fellow’s pedigree before they’ll compete with him. Maybe he has to have ancestors that came over in the Mayflower, or else are D. A. R. or F. F. V. members.”
“Oh, get out!” cried Tom in protest. “What would the Daughters of the American Revolution, or the First Families of Virginia have to do with whether or not Exter lads would compete with us?”
“Well, I only mentioned it,” said Sid. “There’s something up, that’s sure. But it can’t be much. Frank is as straight as a string, and, while I think Shambler is a bit of a sport, no one can say anything about his abilities as an athlete. He’s one of the best in Randall.”
“I grant you that,” declared Tom, “but it’s mighty queer. We’ll keep still about it, and see what turns up.”
“Why, I had it in mind to tip Frank and Shambler off, that someone was making inquiries about them,” spoke Sid.