“Why—why, yes, I suppose so. But look here, Harry, don’t get into any fuss with Perry. What do you want to see him about?”
“I’ll tell you later. Go on, please. I’ll wait down at the gate. Hurry up; there goes the whistle!”
Doubtfully Tracey left his seat and Harry pointed out where Perry Vose sat near the top of the grandstand between his two companions. Then Tracey climbed the aisle and Harry sought the gate.
On the gridiron St. Matthew’s was just kicking off to the Brown. Harry heard the thud of the blue-jerseyed youth’s shoe against the pigskin and saw the ball arch into low flight down the field. Then the crowd about the entrance hid the rest from him. Minutes sped and Vose didn’t appear. Thrice the whistle shrilled beyond the barrier of spectators and Harry incuriously wondered what was happening. Then a brown sweater came into sight around the corner and Perry Vose, an impatient frown on his face, was searching for the person who had sent for him. Back of Perry, hovering anxiously about the corner of the stand, Harry spied Tracey.
“Vose!”
Perry found the voice and stared doubtfully as Harry strode up to him.
“Hello,” he said. “What do you want, kid?”
“I want to speak to you a minute. Come outside here, will you?”
“Haven’t time. I’m looking for someone.”