“Surely,” laughed the other.
“All right. Mine’s Stanley; usually abbreviated to Stan. Have you ever done any running, Dick?”
“Yes, I’ve done some sprinting. What’s the hundred-yards record here?”
“A fifth. It hasn’t been bettered in years.”
“That’s a fifth better than I can do.”
“Same here. I tried often enough, too, but I only did it once, and that was in practice, with a hard wind at my back. You play football, you said?”
“Yes, do you?”
Stanley shook his head. “Too strenuous for me. I like baseball pretty well, but it interferes with track work. Guess we’re going to have a corking good eleven this year, and I hope you’ll make it, Dick.”
“Thanks. I may. The fellows look a bit older and bigger than I expected they would, though.”
“Well, they say you have a good deal of fun on the Second Team, if you don’t make the first. And next year you’ll probably be a lot heavier. I don’t know many of the football crowd, or I’d take you around and introduce you. I wonder if Blash would do you any good.”