"Say, Tim, what's the matter with Gilbert?" asked Morton. "Isn't he coming out?"
Tim Otis shrugged a pair of broad, lean shoulders. "He hasn't got here yet, Morton. I don't know what's happened. He wrote me two weeks ago that he'd meet me at the station in New York yesterday for the three-fifty-eight, but he wasn't there and I haven't heard a word from him."
"Probably missed his connection," suggested Morton. "He lives out West somewhere, doesn't he?"
"Yes, Osawatomie, Kansas."
"It probably takes a good while to get away from a place with a name like that," said Mr. Robey drily. "Well, when he shows up, Otis, tell him to get a move on if he wants a place."
"Yes, sir, I will. I'm pretty certain he will be along today some time. I wouldn't be surprised if he was here now."
"All right. By the way, Otis, how do you feel at right half? Seem strange to you?"
"No, sir, I don't notice it. I did play right, you know, two years ago on the second. Seems to me it's easier to take the ball from that position, too."
"Well, don't try the fool trick your side-partner did today," said Mr. Robey, smiling. "Putting the ball under your elbow for a line plunge is a fine piece of business for a fellow who's been playing three years!"
Tim laughed. "I guess he did that because it was just practice, sir. He knows a lot better than to do it in scrimmage."