“Who said I’d made it?” asked Gus glumly.
“Why—why, I don’t know. Maybe I just naturally jumped to the conclusion. I knew that Tom Reid was out and, of course, you were the best man for the place. So I supposed—”
“Yes, you did!” Gus growled. “You needn’t rub it in.”
“Rub it in?” exclaimed Rob with a fine show of innocence. “Do you mean that Hop didn’t take you to the First?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. He moved Ward over from right and put Little in Ward’s place. I guess he knows his business, but I’m blamed if I don’t think he might have given me a show, Rob.”
“Rather!” exclaimed Rob warmly. “Why, Little can’t play tackle! He can’t play—pinochle! Did you say anything to him? Hop, I mean.”
“Not likely. I’m not running his show. If he doesn’t want me he doesn’t have to have me. But I’m getting tired of his nonsense, I’ll tell you that.”
“Little’s a rather good friend of Prentiss, isn’t he?”
“I dare say. Came from the same town, I think. Gee, the way those two chumps run things makes me tired! Maybe you’ll see me bringing my doll-rags over to play with you fellows some day, Rob, after all.”
“Well, don’t do anything hasty,” said Rob soothingly. “Maybe you’ll make it yet.”