Fresno explained his doubts by a crafty lift of his brows and a shrug. "I thought so—at first."
Stover wheeled upon him abruptly. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing."
After a pause the foreman remarked, vaguely, "He's the intercollegit champeen of Yale."
"Oh no, hardly that, or I would have heard of him."
"Ain't he no champeen?"
"Champion of the running broad smile and the half-mile talk perhaps."
"Ain't he a foot-runner?"
"Perhaps. I've never seen him run, but I have my doubts."
"Good Lord!" moaned Stover, weakly.