"Never! I know it could be done, but not for me," said Regan, shaking his head. "What I need is the hardest things to come up against, and I'm not going to dodge them."
"Still, you ought to be with us; you ought to make friends."
"I'm going to do that," said Regan, nodding. "I'm going to get in at South Middle after Christmas and perhaps get some work in the Coöp." He took up a sheet of paper jotted over with figures. "I'm about fifty dollars to the good; a couple of weeks' work at Christmas will bring that up about twenty more. If I can make a hundred and fifty this summer I'll have a good start. I want to do it, because I want to play football. It's bully! I like the fight in it!"
"What sort of work will you do?" said Stover curiously.
"I may go in the surface cars down in New York."
"Driving?"
"Sure. They get good pay. I could get work in the mines—I've done that—but it's pretty tough."
"But, Tom, what the deuce do you pick out the hardest grind for? Make friends with fellows who only want to know you and like you, and you'll get a dozen openings where you'll make twice what you get at manual labor."
"Well, there's this to it," said Regan ruminatively, "It's an opportunity I won't always have."
"What the deuce do you mean?"