Hugh laughed. “Oh, no; you didn’t wallop the beggar, not half! Served him jolly right, of course; I saw him give you that punch under the chin, you know. I wish, though, you’d tell me what you said to him that time you two had your heads together.”
“Do you? Well, I said, ‘Lambert, if you make me lose my temper you’ll go home in an ambulance. Now quit it!’ He did, too. We didn’t have any trouble after that.”
“You mean you didn’t! He looked jolly well troubled when they took him off. Hanser said you’d get him.”
“Sorry to disappoint Hanser,” replied Pop, “but as a matter of fact I didn’t mix it up with Lambert once.”
“You didn’t? Then what happened to him?”
“He told me afterwards—I saw him in the field house—that someone kicked him in the head. He had rather a bad bruise.”
“Oh!” murmured Hugh. “Well, I fancied—you know you said——”
“Yes, I know I did. But I got to thinking it over. You see, I wanted to play the game through, for one thing, and if I’d been caught slugging I wouldn’t have. And then, too, I—well, I sort of wanted to see if I could keep my temper. After all, I guess the rough-stuff doesn’t get you anything.”
“Rather looks as though Hanser and I misjudged you, Pop,” laughed Hugh. Then, soberly: “I say, though, I’m rather glad you didn’t. Of course he deserved something, but—somehow—if you know what I mean——”
“I get you, Steve! As you’d probably say, it isn’t cricket. Coming up?”