“Me? Just came over to see the game. Say, you aren’t at school here, are you?”
Cotton nodded. “Yes, I entered this Fall. I don’t like it, though.”
Gibson grinned none too kindly. “You don’t like it anywhere very long, do you? I thought someone said you were at school somewhere down South.”
“I was last year. But I’d rather be up North.”
“Gee, did they fire you, too?” laughed Gibson.
Cotton colored. “No,” he answered shortly, “I didn’t like it. So I didn’t go back.”
“They didn’t like you, you mean! How you getting on here?”
“All right,” replied Cotton, ignoring the statement in favor of the question. “It’s a punk school, though. Not half as good as Broadwood.”
“Wonder you didn’t behave yourself when you were with us, then,” said Gibson. “You’re a bit of a mutt, Cotton, I guess. Well, I must be getting on. How far is it to Greenburg?”