"We'll run down to Heub's," said Le Baron, free at last, "get a good last meal before going into training. You look in pretty fit shape."
"I've kept so all summer."
"Who's over in your house?"
Stover named them.
"They weren't my crowd at Andover, but they're good fellows," said Le Baron, listening critically. "Hunter especially. Here we are."
A minute later they had found a table in the restaurant crowded with upper classmen, and Le Baron was glancing down the menu.
"An oyster cocktail, a planked steak—rare; order the rest later." He turned to Stover. "Guess we'd better cut out the drinks. We'll stand the gaff better to-morrow."
There was in his voice a quiet possession, as if he had already assumed the reins of Stover's career.
"Are you out for the eleven again?" said Stover respectfully.
"Yes. I'll never do any better than a sub, but that's what counts. We're up against an awfully stiff proposition this year. The team's got to be built out of nothing. There's Dana, the captain, now, over at the table in the corner."