Stover laughed a little laugh.
"You know," he said with a bit of confusion, "I fancied I was terribly in love with Josephine myself—for a little while."
"Sure," said Tough without surprise. "Jo would flirt with anything that had long pants on."
"Yes, she's a flirt," said Stover, and the judgment sounded like the swish of shears cutting away angels' wings.
They separated at the campus and Stover went toward the Kennedy. Half-way there an excited little urchin came rushing up, pulling off his cap.
"Well, what is it, youngster?" said Stover, who didn't recognize him.
"Please, sir," said the young hero worshiper, producing a photograph of the team from under his jacket, "would you mind putting your name on this? I should be awfully obliged."
Stover took it and wrote his name.
"Who is this?"
"Williams, Jigs Williams, sir, over in the Cleve."