“Whatever you say, coach.”
“Fine! Will you see him on his way, Chief?”
“Be glad to, coach. Come on, son.”
The Chief and his prisoner passed through the door, to enter a car and go rolling away.
“Snooping, that’s what he was,” said Dynamite indignantly. “Trying to get on to our plays and signals. Oh well, we’ll not be bothered with him tomorrow, and, old son,” he turned to Kentucky, “you won’t have to choke him for calling names. He won’t be there to call ’em.”
“I shore am right smart ’bliged to hear that,” Kentucky drawled. “That there is the name-callin’est feller I might-nigh ever seed!”
At that every boy in the room burst into a hearty laugh.
“Perhaps,” said the coach thoughtfully, “that was taking an unfair advantage of the enemy.”
“Not a bit of it!” Dynamite exploded. “They beat us out of that last game because he wasn’t penalized for a foul. Besides, all spies should be shot at sunrise. You let him off easy.”
“Glad you think so,” the coach heaved a sigh of relief.