Meanwhile Cameron was tearing off his football togs and hustling on his clothes with fierce haste. Dunn kept his eye on him, hurrying his own dressing and chatting quietly the while. But long before he was ready for the street, Cameron had crushed his things into a bag and was looking for his hat.
“Hold on! I'm with you; I'm with you in a jiffy,” said Dunn.
“My hat,” muttered Cameron, searching wildly among the jumble.
“Oh, hang the hat; let it go! Wait for me, Cameron. Where are you going?” cried Dunn.
“To the devil,” cried the lad, slamming the door behind him.
“And, by Jove, he'll go, too!” said Nesbitt. “Say, I'm awfully sorry I made that break, Dunn. It was beastly low-down to round on a chap like that. I'll go after him.”
“Do, old chap! He's frightfully cut up. And get him for to-night. He may fight shy of the dinner. But he's down for the pipes, you know, and—well, he's just got to be there. Good-bye, you chaps; I'm off! And—I say, men!” When Dunn said “men” they all knew it was their captain that was speaking. Everybody stood listening. Dunn hesitated a moment or two, as if searching for words. “About the dinner to-night: I'd like you to remember—I mean—I don't want any man to—oh, hang it, you know what I mean! There will be lots of fellows there who will want to fill you up. I'd hate to see any of our team—” The captain paused embarrassed.
“We tumble, Captain,” said Martin, a medical student from Canada, who played quarter. “I'll keep an eye on 'em, you bet!”
Everybody roared; for not only on the quarter-line but also at the dinner table the little quarter-back was a marvel of endurance.
“Hear the blooming Colonist!” said Linklater, Martin's comrade on the quarter-line, and his greatest friend. “We know who'll want the watching, but we'll see to him, Captain.”