“And I’m sure,” pursued the other gravely, “any fellow would be flattered at having his friends come all the way from Pennsylvania to see him play in the big game.”
“Huh! That’s only guff, thank goodness! Gee, if that happened——”
“But this paper says it’s likely to happen,” Stanley objected. “If it was me, I’d be pleased purple!”
“Yes, you would!” jeered Dick. “Someone’s been filling that newspaper chap with a lot of hot air. That’s the sort of stuff they print about anyone that—that does anything; like moving away or dying or—or getting married. It doesn’t mean anything, but the trouble is that dad has seen it and I’ll bet he believed it.”
“Why not? Besides, it says here ‘In his classes Richard stands high.’ That ought to please him, anyway!”
“I’d like to know what they know about my classes. The whole thing’s sickening.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” murmured Stanley judicially, casting his eyes down the column again. “Say, you never told me that ‘a number of schools and colleges’ were after you, old man. That’s hot stuff! You’ve been hiding your bush under a lightning.”
“Well, they really were, Stan, but I didn’t brag of it. Not here, anyway. I did show the letters to Blash one time when he was here, just as a sort of joke. But I don’t see how the paper got hold of it. I suppose Sumner White blabbed.”
“Well, cheer up, Dickie. Folks may not think you wrote that yourself. There’s always that chance. Even if they do——”