“What sort?” I asked.
“Well, the sort who keeps a promise.”
“You mean he promised his folks not to play?”
“Yep. He broke a bone in his hand last year in the game with the Yale freshies and his parents got cold feet. He told me about it. Said he’d promised to keep out of it. Sort of broke up, too, he was. Too bad, for you know the sort of a game he put up last Fall.”
We nodded gloomily.
“Still,” said I, “he might get his folks to let him off.”
Billy screwed his mouth up and shook his head.
“Don’t think so. He’s that sort, you see.”
“Bother your ‘sorts’! When Porter tells him we need him like everything and reads the riot act to him I’ll bet he will squirm out of it somehow. You’ll see. Besides, a fellow’s parents haven’t any right to keep a chap off the team when—when the college simply has to have him!”