“Juniors,” corrected Clem. “I suppose you’re one of us, Todd.”
“I guess so. I ain’t heard for sure yet. They started me off as a junior, though.”
“Oh, you’ll make it,” declared Mart. “So you’re going to play football, eh?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Todd smiled embarrassedly. “I ain’t ever yet, but this fellow I was looking for stopped me this morning and asked if I was going to and I said no, and then he asked didn’t I want to and I said I didn’t know if I did or not, and he said for me to come and see him between five and six o’clock and we’d talk about it. He said what his name was, but I forget. I think he said he managed the players.”
“He didn’t,” inquired Clem very innocently, “mention what position he thought you’d fill best on the team?”
Todd’s gray eyes twinkled again. “No, he didn’t, but I guess maybe one of the posts at the end of the field’s got broken and he’s looking for a new one.”
“I think it must have been Dolf Chapin you saw,” said Mart, smiling at Clem’s slight discomfiture. “He’s—”
“That’s the name,” declared Todd with relief. “Where’s his room, please?”
“He’s in 15 Lykes.”