Prentiss pretended to think that a pretty good joke and laughed loudly. Rob kept his temper, although it wasn’t easy.
“Want a game, eh?” asked Prentiss. “I dare say. Well, we’ve got too much to do, Langton; like to oblige you, but we’re busy.”
“You bet you’ve got too much to do,” answered Rob with enthusiasm. “If you’re going to make a football team out of that aggregation of loafers you’ve got a whole lot to do. We don’t want to play you; get that out of your head; we’ve got all the dates we can fill; only, if you really want to learn a little about the game you see Warne and if we have an open date we’ll take you on. So long.”
On the steps Rob came across another Regular in the person of Gus Devens. “Hello, Gus,” he said. “Say, I was wrong the other day, wasn’t I?”
“I dare say you were, Rob, only I don’t recall the particular occasion.”
“When I said you wouldn’t make the First Team. I suppose it spoils our chances of getting you to come over to us, but I’m glad of your luck. You deserve it, Gus; you’ve tried long enough.”
Gus looked puzzled and a trifle uneasy, as though he suspected Rob’s sincerity.
“What are you yawping about, Rob?” he asked.
“Why,” answered Rob, looking surprised, “about you making the First Team, of course.”