“Well, then, Bowles, you don’t need to worry your bean about Hobo. He’s as right as a trivet, or tight as a rivet or whatever you say. Only thing that’s bothering him, I guess, is that his folks butted in at the last moment and told him he couldn’t play. But I guess you know all about that?”
“Oh, yes, sir. You see he telegraphed——” Bowles stopped and coughed discreetly. “That is to say, we telegraphed——”
“Fine piece of business, I don’t think, Bowles! What’s the big idea? Think he’d get killed?”
“Can’t say, sir. It was her Ladyship’s idea. It’s an extremely rough game, this football.”
“Rough! Sure, it’s rough, but—who’s her ladyship?”
Bowles again coughed behind his hand. “Mrs. Ordway, sir, Master Hugh’s mother. We—we always call her that. It’s a habit, sir.”
“Well, say, if you want to find Hobo you’d better beat it right now. He’s on this side somewhere, I suppose. Say, Jennings, seen Hobo Ordway lately?”
“Sure! He was on the bench with the subs during the first half,” responded the next boy.
“Then you go down there where you see those benches and he will be back again pretty soon.”