“Well, he’s looking for you. I told him you wanted to come out for the team. Told him you were a wonderful footballist, Jim, and he’s hot on your trail.”
“You told him that?” cried Jim in dismay. “Why, you—you—”
“Say it,” said Poke, keeping a watchful eye across the field at where a substitute center was poising the ball between his legs. Jim grinned ruefully and threw a pebble at him.
“But you didn’t tell him any such yarn as that, did you, Poke?” he asked.
“I told him you were thinking of coming out, Jim, and that you’d played the game some. Said you looked good to me. When he asks you just keep your mouth shut tight and it will be all right.”
With that Poke sprinted for the arching pigskin, caught it deftly without slackening his speed and dodged the opposing end.
“Do you suppose he did tell Sargent all that?” Jim said.
“I dare say,” replied Jeffrey with a smile. “Poke is likely to say most anything he thinks of. I guess you’ll soon know, though, for there’s Sargent now.”
The captain, having discarded his blanket, was striding across the field toward Poke. They exchanged a few words and Poke nodded his head toward Jim and Jeffrey. In a moment Duncan Sargent had reached them.
“How are you, Hazard?” he began. “Endicott tells me you’ve decided to help us out, and I’m mighty glad to hear it. We really want fellows who know something about the game and are willing to buckle down to it. Wish you might have come out to-day. To-morrow sure, though, eh?”