“You would, eh?” growled Jim.
“Sure I would! Haven’t you toiled with the kid all Fall and taught him all he knows and everything?”
“I thought so,” said Jim significantly.
“What do you mean, thought so? Who else is responsible? Of course, I’m not saying Peck wouldn’t have learned football after a fashion even if you hadn’t——”
Jim laughed harshly, like a villain in a play. “Say, Joe, you do a lot of talking with your mouth sometimes, but maybe you can keep a secret. Can you?”
“Secrecy’s my middle name. Shoot!”
And after a minute Jim shot. “He fooled me, all right,” he began ruefully. “I thought he was as green as grass and even when he’d learn a thing too blamed quick to be natural I didn’t suspect. I said, ‘It’s just natural football instinct he’s got. You can’t explain it any other way.’ Wasn’t I the bonehead?”
“Sure! But what——”
“Listen. This morning I wanted a collar stud. Mine had rolled under the bed or somewhere and it was late. So I pulled open Harold’s top drawer. I knew he had a little fancy-colored box there where he kept studs and things and as he had gone to breakfast I thought I’d just help myself to one. What do you suppose was the first thing I saw when I lifted the lid?”