“Quite different,” agreed Coolidge, eagerly. “We take ten or eleven f-f-fellows, and it d-d-doesn’t c-cost us anything to speak of, and we get home early—”
“Having lost the game,” interpolated Cal, unkindly.
“Sh-sh-shut up! S-s-same with the b-b-basket ball outfit, too. S-s-seven or eight men and n-no expense—”
Russell lost the rest, for just there, under cover of the conversation, Stanley addressed him. “I hear you’re on the second football team, Emerson,” he said.
“I’m going out to-morrow,” answered Russell.
“Yes, Jimmy was telling me. I guess Steve Gaston’s going to work up a rip-snorting outfit, if what I hear is right. Great fellow, Steve. Hard luck, his not being able to play this year. What’s your position?”
“I played end last year. Gaston wants me to try for it again.”
“How’s the store getting along? Doing pretty well?”