“Here you are.” Bert pulled a portion of the Sunday paper from beneath him and tossed it across. “That was some game at Lakeville yesterday. Have you read it? Kenly fairly mowed ’em down, eh?”
“Just as she’ll mow us down a couple of weeks from now,” growled Chick. “If you want to make a killing, Bert, put up some money on her. I know where you’ll be able to place it when the time comes.”
“Bet against my own team?” asked Bert. “I’d be likely to, wouldn’t I?”
“I suppose you wouldn’t risk a dollar either way,” said Chick pityingly. “When it comes to betting, old scout, one team looks just like another to me. I’d as soon pull down a ten dollar bill on Kenly as on Alton.”
“I don’t believe it. Anyhow, you’re not thinking of doing it, I hope.”
“Why not?” demanded Chick impatiently. “You bet to win, don’t you? Think I’d back Alton if she was certain to get licked?” Then, as he caught the troubled expression on the other’s face, he added: “Oh, well, I’m not likely to have much money to bet on football games, I guess, the way the luck’s running.”
“I hope you don’t have a blamed cent,” replied Bert shortly, “if you’d use it that way!”
“Well, I guess you’ll get your wish,” Chick grunted.
As it turned out, it was, after all, Bert who received Lester Devore when that gentleman came to Number 21 about half-past four. Chick had predicted his return before that hour, but he was still absent. Mr. Devore was attired most becomingly for Sunday afternoon in a suit of gray plaid, a purplish-gray felt hat, a violet shirt and a burnt-orange—or possibly henna—scarf pierced by a pearl stickpin. Mr. Devore was what you might call a tasty dresser. Still, Bert wondered if he hadn’t perhaps done the chap an injustice, for he had a likable look and his manners were not at all bad as he accepted Bert’s invitation to sit down and await Chick’s return. Perhaps it would have been better had he pulled his sharply-creased trousers up at the knees less impressively, but that was a very little thing after all. Bert offered the weather as a subject of discourse and Devore’s conversation was worthy of polite society. He didn’t swear once. He admired the room and expressed curiosity about some of its features, a curiosity which Bert courteously gratified. Then Devore said, smiling: “Guess you feel pretty good to-day, eh, Hollins? You won that game, and no error!”
“Oh, did you see it?” asked Bert.