“I don’t happen to wear a wrist-watch, Tubb, and making you tired is nothing in my young life,” said Toby wearily. “Let’s cut out the love-pats. I’m not feeling awfully gay to-day. How do you like playing end?”
“All right,” replied George after a moment. “If Mr. Burtis wasn’t a bonehead, though, he’d let me play half. I always have played half.”
“Always?” asked Toby, idly, watching Snowden kick-off to Forest Hill. “How long is ‘always’?”
“Well, last year and some the year before. I was the best back on our team, anyway!”
“I didn’t know you had played so much. When I asked you——”
“Oh, well, you sounded so blamed patronizing,” growled George.
“Didn’t mean to. I’m glad you stuck it out on the squad, Tubb. Beech said the other day that—well, he seemed to think you were going to make a pretty good end.”
“Huh!” said George scornfully. “I could show him some real end playing right now if he’d give me a chance! But he’s stuck on Mawson and Connell.” In spite of his words, Toby got the idea that George was nevertheless pleased by the compliment to his playing. “I suppose they belong to the same Society Beech does!”
“No, as a matter of fact, Tubb, Beech is Cambridge and Connell is Oxford. I don’t know which Mawson is, but I don’t think it matters. I wouldn’t make remarks of that sort if I were you. Fellows don’t like them.”