“Out?” asked Ira.
“Out for football, I mean. You’re trying, of course.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve never played football. I’d be no good, I guess.”
“Great Jumping Jehosaphat, man!” ejaculated Lyons. “That’ll never do! We’ve got to have you, Rowland. Why, if Driscoll knew there was a chap of your build who hadn’t showed up he’d be after you with a gun. Seriously, though, Rowland, I wish you’d come out and have a try. We really do need husky chaps like you. You’re built for a guard if any fellow ever was, isn’t he, Ray?”
“He certainly is,” replied White. “What do you weigh, Rowland?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t weighed for a long time. About a hundred and forty-one or -two, I guess.”
“A hundred and fifty-one or -two, more likely,” said Lyons. “But you’ll drop some of that. You’re a bit soft, I’d say. Haven’t you ever tried football at all?”
“No, and I’ve never seen it played but once. I never thought I’d care for it.”
“Oh, but you will,” replied Lyons confidently. “You’re bound to, once you get a taste of it. I wish you’d promise to report tomorrow, Rowland. I’m not exaggerating a bit when I say that we need men the worst way. These chaps will tell you the same thing.”
“We never needed them more,” said White. “I could easily be a pessimist on the football situation, Fred. We’ve never started off with a bigger handicap.”