“Oh, about a couple of thousand years ago, I guess.”
“But what year was it?”
“Well, let me see; 357 B. C., wasn’t it? No; that was the war of the Athenian league. I guess I don’t know, Gordon.”
“Shucks! I’ll have to go over to the library.”
“Well, wait a minute and I’ll go with you. I brought these up.” He took a package from his pocket and laid it on the table; Wayne picked it up, and undoing the paper covering revealed a pair of new cork grips.
“They’re for you,” said Gray hurriedly. “I hope you’ll use them when you win the mile at the interscholastic meet. They’re not very well made; I had to use big stoppers, and they were sort of coarse grained.”
“Why, they’re simply immense,” said Wayne. He took one in each hand and gripped his fingers about them. “I’m awfully much obliged. And of course I’ll use ’em, whether I win or lose, Gray. But how in the world could you make ’em?”
“Oh, you just cut the cork out in sections and glue them over a piece of wood, you know. Then you shape it with a sharp knife and sort of polish it off with fine sandpaper or emery. It’s easy enough, and I’m glad you like them.”
“You bet I do! They’re fine! Thanks, awfully.”