“Shut up, Dud,” said Jimmy. “If he wants to, what’s the difference? He isn’t bound to go to Mount Morris if he doesn’t want to, is he? He isn’t entered there, you idiot. Come on, Crail. Talk about your brands snatched from the burning! Say, Dud, maybe they’ll give us a commission on him! Hello, Pete! I didn’t see you on the train. Who’s with you? All by your lonesome? You know Dud Baker, don’t you? And this is Mr. Crail. Crail, shake hands with Mr. Gowen. Crail has just been rescued from a horrible fate, Pete.”
Gowen, a big, good-natured chap, who played guard on the football team, smiled. “What was that, Jimmy?” he asked, as they climbed into the single coach of the branch line and found seats.
“Why, he was on his way to Mount Morris, and we spoke so eloquently of Grafton that he saw the error of his way, and decided to turn back into the path of righteousness.”
“I suppose Jimmy’s stringing me, Crail,” said Pete Gowen, “but I’m glad you’re coming our way. Football man?”
“Not much. I’m going to have a try, though. Say, I’d ought to get me a ticket, eh?”
“Never mind it. Pay the conductor,” said Dud. “It’s really a fact, Gowen. Crail was on his way to Greenbank and changed his mind, and decided to come with us.”
“It was our personal charm that did the business,” said Jimmy. “What do you think of him for a lineman, Pete?”
“If Dave Bonner sees him,” laughed Pete, “he will be eating dirt no later than tomorrow P. M.”
“Eating dirt, eh? Sounds fine, but what does it mean?” asked Crail.
“Tackling the dummy,” explained Pete. “We have very tasty loam in our pits. You’re sure to like it.”