“Nerves,” explained Renneker. “Guess that’s what I’m doing myself.”
“Oh,” said Leonard a bit sheepishly. “Yes, I—I guess I am. At least, I suppose it’s nerves. Slim wanted me to go to the mass meeting, but I sort of hated being with that howling mob to-night.”
“Exactly.” They had reached the corner and with one consent turned now and went slowly along Academy street. “Funny how panicky you can get the night before a game,” mused Renneker.
Leonard laughed incredulously. “I can’t imagine you ever getting like that,” he said.
“I do, though,” replied the other in his even voice. “Always have. Of course, it’s absolute rot, because you know that just as soon as the whistle blows you’re going to be perfectly all right again.”
“Wish I knew that,” answered Leonard.
“You do, only you can’t remember it.” There was a silence then while Leonard tried to digest that statement. Then Renneker went on. “It’s rather absurd for me to be feeling jumpy to-night, for I’m not going to play. Must be just habit, I suppose. Queer.”
“I wish you were going to play,” said Leonard with such evident sincerity that Renneker looked down curiously at him.
“You do? I shouldn’t think you would.” He laughed shortly. “You might be out of it yourself if I did, Grant.”