Monty shook his head. “Never been outside the old U. S. A.,” he answered. “Jasper—he’s my guardian—won’t let me go alone, and never offers to take me with him. But some day—” His voice dwindled away into a thoughtful silence.
“‘Some day,’” half grumbled Leon, “lots of things will happen. There’s too much ‘some day’ to suit me. I want things now.”
“I know,” Monty nodded slowly. “But, at that, I guess it’s a lot better to have ‘some day’ to look forward to than—than have it behind you, eh?”
“You’re a philosopher,” laughed Leon. “I don’t like philosophy. Come along down. It must be getting on toward two. What are you doing at three?”
“Not a thing. I was going to report for football practice, but my trunk hadn’t come an hour ago, and I guess it hasn’t got here since.”
“Oh, shucks! Are you going in for that sort of bunk, Monty?”
“Bunk? I’m going to try for the eleven, if that’s what you mean. What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, it’s the way you look at it, I suppose. I never could see much sense in football or baseball. I like a game that I can play by myself and——”
“Solitaire?” asked Monty gravely.
“I mean like tennis. If you lose at that it’s your fault, and no one’s else, or if you win it’s your victory. But in football, why, you’re only one of a dozen——”