“Because he evidently thinks I’m a football player and he wouldn’t give me a chance to say anything at all; just rattled on and on and fixed it all up that I’m to report for practice to-morrow.”
“Did he? Well, I told you you’d be a gone coon if you once got out on the field.”
[“Look here,” he demanded, “what did you tell Duncan Sargent about me?”]
“What did you tell him?” Jim insisted sternly.
“Oh, just that you’d played the game and that I had an idea you’d be a big addition to the team. It wasn’t what I really said so much as the—the impression I managed to convey, Jim. One thing I rather dwelt on,” he continued with a chuckle, “was that you were terribly modest and that you were almost certain to refuse to come out for the team if he gave you a chance.”
“I see. Well”—Jim shrugged his shoulders—“he will be considerably surprised to-morrow.”
“Pshaw, that will be all right. You’ll pick it up quick enough, and before the season’s over you’ll be thanking me on your knees for my—er—diplomacy.”