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122
THE CRASHAW BROTHERS

it disgusting—the way that new overcoat of mine crocks my collar!”

“It looks all right.—Then you won’t let me write home and tell about the game all that ’s really worth telling?”

“All that’s worth telling is that St. John’s won.”

“You know that is n’t what the family would think.”

“You can say I made the winning score. But I’d rather you would n’t go into any details.”

“I’m sure I could make it just as fine and thrilling for father and mother as it was for me,” sighed Edward. “You know, Charley, really the game could n’t have turned out in a way to please me more. It is n’t right, I suppose—but I can’t help caring more for you than for St. Timothy’s.”

They both laughed, and just then Sheldon came up, his broad good-natured face as cheerful as if he had been participating in a victory.

“I guess I need n’t have been so sympathetic, Crashaw,” he said. “Wish I’d stood you on your head again.”