“Very poetic,” laughed Dan. “Sit down, fellows. Burtis and I have met before, I think. Now kindly tell me all over again, Tooker; what is troubling you?”
“Not a thing. And please don’t assume that air of patient fortitude, as though you were humoring an idiot from sheer politeness. I’m talking perfectly good sense. Mr. Kurtis—or Burtis—wishes to join your team of footballers.”
“Oh, I see. But isn’t it a little late, Burtis?” asked Dan with a smile.
“Yes, I know it is,” said Kendall. “I—I didn’t want to bother you, but Ned insisted that I should come over. I thought perhaps I might be able to play on the Second Team.”
“I see. Well, the Second is pretty well settled now, you see, and I don’t believe—”
“May I interrupt?” asked Ned very courteously. “I merely wish to say, Vinton, that you perhaps do not realize the magnitude of the favor I am trying to do you. Mr. Burtis here is no common garden variety of footballer. He is—he is a positive wonder! I have never seen him play, nor have I ever heard him speak of his—his prowess, but I have tried him at golf, and, while I don’t say that he might not with patience and perseverance, become a golfer of some ability, yet truth compels me to acknowledge that he would not be likely to become the United States amateur champion. You catch the idea?”
“Hanged if I do!” laughed Dan.
“Why, don’t you see that the mere fact that he is only an average golfer makes it more than probable, nay, almost certain, that he is a natural-born footballer? In other words, Vinton, if a fellow isn’t a golfer he must be able to do something, and what is easier to do than football?”
“You’re an idiot, Tooker! But I’ll see what can be done for you, Burtis. Perhaps Staniford may be able to take you on as a sub. You had some training early in the season, didn’t you?”