“Your brother!” I gasped. The Navy chap laughed and shook hands.
“And proud of it,” he said. “The kid played good ball for a fellow who couldn’t make the team last year, didn’t he?”
“Couldn’t make—Say, what’s the idea?” I gibbered. “Didn’t he play quarter for Elm Park?”
“Why, no,” said the Navy guy, “that was me! Harold never played any to speak of until this fall. He tells me that a roommate of his taught him about all he knows. I want to meet that fellow!”
“Oh!” said I, still sort of dazed. “Well, I guess he will be mighty glad to meet you, too. You see, he got it into his head that your brother was the great Peck, and——”
“But I never told him anything like that!” exclaimed Harold. “Why, I even pretended I’d never heard of you, Herb, for fear they might think I was—well, trading on your reputation, don’t you see! I don’t understand how Jim could have got that idea!”
“Oh, he gets crazy notions sometimes,” said I. “At that, though, he wasn’t so far off, because if you’re not a Great Peck you’re a mighty good eight quarts!”
Which wasn’t so poor for a fellow with half his teeth loose! Now was it?