“Do you?” cried the other eagerly.
“Only as far as business requires. She’s going to make newspaper copy one of these days.”
“How’s that?”
“Only girl intercollegiate athlete in America,” replied Galpin in the manner of a headline. “Trying for the golf-team, and from what I hear, liable to make it.”
“At Old Central?” asked Robson, using the local name for the State University of Centralia, on the outskirts of Fenchester.
“Ay-ah,” assented Galpin. “She’s a special. Lives down on Montgomery Street with old Miss Pritchard.” His companion made a mental note of it.
“Were n’t you a golf-sharp in Kirk College?”
“Captained the team.”
“Well, if you really want to write a story about Miss Marcia Ames, watch out for the team trials next month. The Record’ll print that all right. Ay-ah,” he added reflectively. “And there’ll be no spiking of the story by Mart Embree, either.”
“Senator Embree?” said Robson, surprised. “Where does he come in?”