“Good leather! Go in for sports, do you? Football, baseball, those things?”
“A little. Fudge plays baseball and football some. I play football, too.”
“So his name is Fudge, is it? William Fudge Shaw, I suppose.”
“It’s just a nickname,” explained Perry.
“I savvy. William week-days and Fudge Sunday, eh?” Perry smiled politely at the joke, but Fudge’s expression remained serious and distrustful. “I’d like to see you fellows play some time,” continued their host. “I used to play football at college, but I never tried baseball. Didn’t have time. Sprinting and hurdling were my stunts. Do you have a track team at your school?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Perry eagerly, “and he and I are trying for it this year. Fudge is learning to put the shot and throw the hammer and I’m trying the sprints.”
“You don’t say? How old are you, Hull?”
“Fifteen.”
“You look older. What’s your time for the hundred?”