“Very,” agreed Willard politely. “Are you going to eat them?”
To his great relief, McNatt shook his head. “No, there aren’t enough to make a mess.”
“Aren’t there? I should think those would make a mess all right, a beastly mess!”
McNatt smiled, even chuckled. “I fancy you aren’t a mushroom lover,” he said. “You wait, though. Some time I’ll get a fine lot of puff-balls and we’ll have a feast. You’ll change your mind then.”
“Maybe I’ll change more than that,” said Willard sadly. “Maybe I’ll change my habitation. Lots of folks have gone to heaven after eating mushrooms, haven’t they?”
“No, not mushrooms,” said McNatt, “toadstools. There’s a difference.” He covered the basket again, set it carefully between his feet and gazed in silence for a moment across the field. Presently: “You are on the football team, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Willard, “sort of. I’m a substitute half.”
“What sort of a team have we got this year?”
“Pretty fair, I think. Haven’t you seen them play?”