"Well, you're modest, anyway," the big centre laughed. "Don't overdo it,
though; it doesn't pay. What's your position?"

"I played tackle at home."

"Well, you come out tomorrow and show your goods, Thayer. We need all
the talent we can get. Hope to see you do splendidly. Good night.
Awfully glad to have met you. Good night, Amy. Hope those socks will
come out all right."

"They'll never be the same," replied Amy sadly. "Their pristine
splendour--"

"Get out of here, Amy! You remind me unpleasantly of tomorrow's English
and the fact that I haven't looked at it yet!" And Freer, who was a
rather husky youth, pushed Amy into the corridor without ceremony.

On the way back to Torrence Clint asked curiously: "How do you suppose
Innes knew I played, Amy?"

"Oh, he's a discerning brute," responded the other carelessly.

"But he said he _believed_ I did. That sounds as if someone had told
him. Did you?"

"Well," replied the other hesitantly, "now that you mention it, summon
it, as it were, to my attention, or, should I say, force it on my
notice; or, perhaps, arouse my slumbering memory--"