“Why—why, I did mention it to Phelan, but he thought I’d better wait until I was a bit heavier——”
Everyone laughed at Jim then, and Jim tried to explain that he hadn’t thought of Peck as a quarter. “Just the same,” he said stoutly, “I wish he would come out and try for the position. I’ll risk it! I’ll bet he will make good! Come on, now, what price Peck?”
“Oh, really,” began Peck, “you mustn’t hope much of me, Phelan! You see——”
“That’s all right! You agree to try for the quarterback position and do as you’re told and work hard and——”
“And grow a few inches,” said Toots slyly.
“And I’ll guarantee that you’ll be third-string quarter or better by the end of the season! What do you say?”
“Why, it’s very flattering,” answered Peck, looking around and smiling deprecatingly. He had a nice smile, had Peck. “But I’d be awfully afraid of disappointing you.”
“I’ll risk that,” said Jim. “You show up to-morrow at three-thirty, then.”
Peck murmured something that sounded like consent and Jimmy Sortwell asked: “Where is your home, Mr. Peck?”
“Winstead, Maryland.”