“You don’t know the old chap,” said Ted. “He simply won’t listen to reason. I guess we’d all be glad enough to let him alone if he’d hand over enough of that meadow to give us a decent athletic field.”
“Well, couldn’t we tell him that?” asked Jack earnestly. “It wouldn’t do any harm to try, would it?”
“N-no, but I don’t believe I’d care to be the fellow to talk to him.” This from Dolph.
“Oh, we couldn’t do anything,” protested Sam. “Benny would have to make the offer. And I guess Benny is tired of it by this time. Never mind about old Finkler now, Jack; come on home and put your nose in your books.”
Back in Number 12, South, Sam remarked as he pulled his books toward him: “I’m glad we worked Dolph to let you into the game, Jack. There’s nothing like getting a start. You can play just as well as Cook if you have a little more experience.”
“Well, I’m glad of the chance to play,” answered Jack, “but I don’t like having to ask for it.”
“Huh!” Sam tried his fountain pen on his thumb nail and then wiped his nail on his dark hair. “Modesty’s all right, Jack, as long as it don’t interfere with getting what you want. All folks aren’t mind readers and sometimes you’ve got to speak out.”
Having delivered this bit of philosophy Sam leaned his elbows on the desk, got a firm grip of his hair with each hand and plunged into French.