Stacey, Kitty, and Rodney walked home together through the starlighted night. There was a sharp breath in the air that promised a brisk day for the game. They went in silence until the lights of West Hall greeted them through the branches of the leafless trees. Then it was Stacey who spoke.
“Funny,” he said thoughtfully, “the feeling you always have the night before a big game. You don’t get it any other time. At least, I never do.”
“What sort of a feeling?” asked Kitty curiously.
Stacey laughed. “I guess I can’t tell you if you haven’t got it, Kitty. I suppose, though, it’s a case of nerves.”
“Probably,” agreed Kitty. “That comes of poor circulation due to weak respiration. If you developed your lungs——”
“Help!” laughed Stacey. “Stop him, Rodney!”
“You can’t when he gets started,” replied Rodney. “I guess, though, I know the sort of feeling you mean, even if old Leather Lungs here doesn’t. It makes me kind of glad I’m not going to play. If I was I’d be in a blue funk!”
“Hm,” said Stacey. “You never can tell.”
What it was you never could tell Rodney didn’t find out, for they reached the cottage just then. Mrs. Westcott came out of her room to inform them that she had made some cocoa for them. “You’ll find it on the stove, Stacey. And the cups and everything are on the dining room table. You know there’s nothing better than cocoa to give you a good night’s sleep.”