“Be sure. Don’t put it off. I told Winslow I’d found him a guard, and he’s expecting me to make good on the promise. So long. Glad to have met you, Desmarais.” Pete didn’t exactly say “Desmarais,” but he said something that sounded nearly like it, and hurried off again.
“He’s a big brute,” commented Leon. “Can he play well?”
“So they say. He seems an awfully decent hombre.”
“What’s a hombre?” asked Leon.
“Man. I like the looks of that quarter, don’t you?”
“Which is the quarter? Oh, the fellow with the reddish hair. Yes, what’s his name? He looks as though he could play tennis.”
“I don’t know. I think it’s Weston. Say, they’re a likely looking bunch, aren’t they? Snakes! I hope my trunk gets here before tomorrow afternoon. I’m crazy to get my hands on a football.”
“Well, I wish you luck, Monty. Who’s the cross-looking man with the old flannel trousers?”
“That’s Mr. Bonner, the coach. They say he’s a dandy.”
“Glad he doesn’t boss me. He looks as though he could bite a nail in two this minute. There’s a chap speaking to you, Monty.”