“What’s he got on his back?” the coach demanded in puzzled tones of Coles Wistar. Coles choked and turned aside. The coach looked more puzzled, and then suspicious. “Lovell!” he called.
“Yes, sir?” Bus returned, freed of the football.
“What”—Mr. Cade pointed—“is that contraption?”
“Haversack, sir. The Ancient World is inside.”
“The ancient—what?”
“World, sir,” answered Bus gravely. Every one else was shouting with laughter by now. Mr. Cade laughed, too, suspecting that Bus had contrived a joke to turn the tables.
“The ancient world, eh? So you’re Atlas. Is that it? Come clean, Lovell. What’s the point?”
“I didn’t do very well in Greek History class this morning, Mr. Cade, and Mr. Kincaid said I was to carry West’s Ancient World around with me, sir. Just like the football, you know. He said I fumbled too many questions.” Bus was grinning now. Mr. Cade’s face was a study for a moment. Then he chuckled, and then he laughed, and laughed until the tears came.
“He wins, Lovell,” he gasped finally. “Take it off. That’s a good one!”
“Think I’d better, sir?” asked Bus doubtfully. “He said—”