“It’s dark now,” a voice whispered in his ear. “We must be moving soon. But first we must eat.”
Red ate that meal in silence. He was thinking hard. “The game for to-day is over,” he told himself. “We have won. No radio must tell me that. They didn’t need me to-day. Probably the Grand Old Man would not have put me in to-day at all; save me for Saturday’s game. He said I was getting slow on my feet. Well, probably I was. Tired, that’s what I was. Football takes it out of a fellow.
“Saving me.” He grinned in spite of himself. “I was saved all right; put away for the winter, like as not; pickled like a cucumber in a jar.”
Without really thinking what he was doing, he rose and began pacing the floor.
“Worried?” The girl smiled up at him.
“Yep, quite a little. About Saturday’s game.” He dropped into a chair. “You see, our coach, the Grand Old Man, we call him, is getting along in years. This may be his last season. Who knows? It’s almost sure to be his last winning team. Five of our best men graduate this year. Breaks up the line. And, well, you know, the coach is such a square shooter, he’s so human and kind, seems to love his boys so, that you just naturally want to do things for him.”
“Yes, I know,” said the girl quietly. “And I know the success of the team depends on you, Red Rover. Read all about it in the papers. You’re going to play on Saturday. And I’ll be cheering on the side lines.”
Red flashed her a grateful smile. “That’s right, keep on kidding me. It all helps.”
“I’m not kidding. We will get away.”
“But tell me more about this island. Well, no, perhaps we had better be on our way.”