“Oh!” Myron stared, wondering whether the other was joking. But Chas appeared to be quite in earnest and returned Myron’s gaze with an expression of bland inquiry.
“Does that interest you?” he asked.
“It interests me to know how you know you are,” said Myron.
“Of course. Remember that it’s a secret. If you ever tell any one what I’ve just said I’ll draw and quarter you and frizzle you crisp in boiling oil. I know it, old chap, because I’m after the job, and what I go after I get. Unless some dark horse develops between now and the Kenwood game I’m certain to get it. So we’ll call that settled, shall we?”
“Just as you say,” laughed Myron. “If you want it, though, I hope you get it.”
“Thanks. Of course, I realise that it isn’t usual to mention such matters. You’re not supposed to know that there is such a thing as a captaincy. When you get it you nearly die of surprise. Well, that’s not me. I’m after it. Mean to get it, too. I wouldn’t say this to every fellow because most of them would be so shocked at my—my indelicacy they’d never get over it. Besides which, they’d probably vote against me.” Chas chuckled. “So can you if you like, Foster. I’m not making a bid for your vote.”
“I’m not likely to have one,” replied Myron drily.
“You will have if my plan works out. Now you listen. If I’m going to captain next year’s team—and I am, old chap; don’t you doubt it!—I want some players around me. I don’t want to run up against Kenwood and get licked. That might do when some other fellow’s running things, but not when I am. No, I want some real players with me, Foster. So I’m building my team this fall.”
Myron laughed. “Honest, Cummins, you’re the craziest chump I ever met! Are you—are you in earnest?”
“Why not? Good, practical scheme, isn’t it? What’s wrong with it?”