Everyone turned to size Peck up, and he looked embarrassed, and Toots sniffed and asked him his weight.
“About a hundred and forty-two, I think,” said Peck.
“Thought so. He’d have a swell chance, Jim, against those husky Robinson freshies!”
“Sure he would,” answered Jim, stoutly. “I don’t say he’d be a marvel at plugging the line, but I do say that if Peck was a football man a good coach could take hold of him and make a rattling good quarter of him. It isn’t beef that counts in a quarter, Toots. It’s brains and pep and knowledge of football.”
“Piffle! Peck wouldn’t last five minutes!”
“Better induce Mr. Peck to come out,” suggested Monty Fellows. “Then we can see who’s right.”
Jim started to hedge. “I didn’t say Peck was the man. I said a fellow of his size and build. Peck isn’t a football player, and so it wouldn’t prove anything if he tried it.”
“Haven’t you ever played at all, Mr. Peck?” asked Pete.
“Oh, yes, thanks,” replied Peck. “We had a rather good football team at my school and I—er—I tried for it year before last. But, of course, I was pretty light, you see——”
“You could soon beef up, I’d say,” said Pete. “Maybe you’d have better luck this time. Had you thought of it?”