“Oh,” he murmured.
Chas grinned. “I know, but I like them. They’re easy to understand and there’s generally something doing all through; and you can’t say that for these novels some of the fellows pretend to read. I tried to wade through one last summer. Nothing happened until I got to page 112, and then the hero changed his shoes. Maybe he changed back again later, but I ducked. Well, how are you tonight?”
“Me? All right, thanks.” Myron wondered why he had said “Me,” and then realised that he had caught the trick from Joe. “I had a letter to write, but I couldn’t seem to get at it, and so I thought I’d drop over and see—hear——”
“That plan? Well, it’s a good one. Put your feet up here, will you, and keep that thing still? Do you mind? It pretty nearly sets me crazy to talk to any one who’s bobbing back and forth like one of those china mandarins! I’d have chucked that chair long ago, only Guy hates it worse than I do. Do you know him, by the way? Guy Brown: plays right half on the first.”
“Only to speak to. I’m not well acquainted amongst the ministry.”
“Oh, that? Some fresh youth wrote that and a couple of days afterwards Hale called—Do you have him in physics? He lives down the hall—and said it was sacrilegious. But I told him it stood for ‘Decent Dub’ and he calmed down. Say, Foster, can you keep a secret?”
“Yes, of course.”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about it,” said Chas. “Lot’s of fellows can’t. I’m not very good at it myself. But I guess you’re one of the kind who can. Well, here it is. I’m going to be captain next year.”
“Are you? Captain of what?” asked Myron politely.
“Football, you chump! What did you think, the Tennis Team?”