"I'm glad you told me," said Don, after a moment's consideration. "I thought I was doing pretty well this fall. I know well enough it was being all-fired slow that kept me off the first last fall, but I surely thought I'd picked up a whole lot of speed. I'll have to go back to practising starts, I guess."
"Oh, never mind the kindergarten stuff, old man. Just put more jump into it. You'll find you can do it all right, now that you know about it. Why, I'll bet you'll be performing like a Jack rabbit before the season's over!"
"Like a jackass, more likely," responded Don ruefully.
"No, for a jackass, dearie, doesn't take a hint."
"Well, but I don't believe I can play any faster, Tim. If I could I'd be doing it, wouldn't I? Just naturally, I mean."
"Never mind the conundrums, Don. You try it. If you do I'll be willing to guarantee you a place on the first."
"I guess your guarantee wouldn't cut much ice," objected Don, with a laugh. Then he sobered and added: "Funny game, though, me coaching Kirkwell and Merton and Goodhugh. Looks as if I was the one needed the coaching."
"Sure. We all need it. No one's perfect, Don, although, without boasting, I will say that I come pretty near it."
"You come pretty near being a perfect chump, if that's what you mean."
Tim shook his head. "It isn't at all what I mean. Now cut out the artless prattle and let me find some sense in this history stuff—if there is any!"