for the evening meal when he encountered Dan Sheldon on University Street. For a wonder Garrity wasn't with him.
"Well, if it isn't 'Speedy,' the demon footballer," Sheldon hailed him. "How are things this sunny afternoon down where men are men and necks are nothing? How's my old parlor pal, Mike Cavendish?"
"Didn't you go to the game?" "Speedy" asked in surprise. He thought every Tatian attended the football games.
"Nope—had a previous engagement," grinned Sheldon. "Besides, I'm a nervous man. It weakens me so to see the boys handled so rough. How many touchdowns did you score?"
As a matter of fact, Sheldon had been tipped off by Sam Low, varsity tackle and a classmate of Dan's, as to Harold's status on the Tate squad. Dan had enjoyed a good, malicious laugh at the Freshman's expense, but just now it suited his purposes to treat Harold's football ambitions seriously.
"I didn't get into the game," Harold said soberly.
"No? Hard luck. Well, probably the gentle Cavendish is saving you for the big games later in the season."
Harold wondered if this were really the case.
