For the rest of the practise he sat huddled in his sweater, waiting expectantly as each time Captain Dana passed down the line, calling out the candidates for trials in the brief scrimmages that took place. The afternoon ended without an opportunity coming to him, and he jogged home, in the midst of the puffing crowd, with a sudden feeling of his own unimportance.
He had barely time to get his shower, and run into the almost deserted eating club for a quick supper, when Gimbel appeared, crying:
"I say, Stover, bolt the grub and hoof it. We assemble over by Osborne."
"Where's the wrestling?"
"Don't know. Some vacant lot. Ever do any?"
"Don't know a thing about it."
"We're going to call out a chap called Robinson from St. Paul's, Garden City, for the lightweight, and Regan for the heavy," said Gimbel, who, of course, had been busy during the afternoon. "Thought of you for the middleweight."
"Lord! get some one who knows the game," said Stover, following him out.
"Have you thought of any one you'd like to run for secretary and treasurer?" said Gimbel, locking arms in a cordial way.
"No."