“One has to,” replied Jonesie. “Well, how’s it going, Wigman?”
“Very well so far, thank you. I haven’t got my courses quite straightened out yet. I find I’ve got to take French or German, and I didn’t expect that.”
“Yes, one of ’em’s required. You won’t mind ’em, though. Better take French. I did. It’s more use to you. I discovered that abroad. If you know French you can get around anywhere, even in Germany. How are you getting on with football?”
“Why—why, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Wigman. “I went out Wednesday, of course. I suppose I got along all right. They put me in D Squad. But I heard to-day that Mr. Cutler is going to let some of the fellows go Monday.”
Jonesie nodded. “He would, you know.”
“Yes, and—I wondered——” Wigman hesitated and sought for the right words. “I thought that perhaps, after what you said on the train the other day, Jones, that perhaps you wouldn’t mind—that is—wouldn’t mind—saying a word for me!”
“Hm,” mused Jonesie.
“Of course,” Wigman hastened to add, “I don’t want any favors, you understand! And—and I don’t want you to do it if you’d rather not, Jones. Only I thought—that if you just said a word to the Captain he might give me a chance, you see; let me stay on a little longer. I’m pretty sure I can make good, but I’m stale and I’m afraid they’ll let me go Monday.”