"Gee, if you don't want to study or anything, what did you come here for?" demanded Clif impatiently.
"Thunder! You don't suppose I came because I wanted to, do you?" asked Kemble incredulously. "I wanted to stay where I was, at Morristown. I was dead sure of the First Team this fall, too, hang it!"
"Where's Morristown, and what First Team do you mean?"
"New Jersey, of course. High School Team. I'd made the backfield certain if I'd been there. I nearly did it last year."
"Well, you can play football here, can't you?"
"Yes, and you can jump out the third-story window, but that doesn't mean you're going to fly! A swell chance I'd have to make the team here, Bingham! Oh, well!"
"I guess it's just a question of playing well enough. I'm going to try, anyhow."
"That so? Played much? What school?"
"I haven't played much, no," answered Clif, "but I mean to. I played on our Second Team last fall, but just as a sub. I was too light. I've put on eight or ten pounds since then, though."
"Back?"
"End."
"Half back's mine. Still, I'd play—play center if they'd let me! Best you and I'll make, though, is a class team or a hall team, or whatever they have here. Well, if the old high school gets licked this year it'll be Wyatt's fault."
