across his knees, but he wasn't reading, and Perry seized on the opportunity presented to broach the matter of going in for the Track Team. There had been some difficulty in the fall in persuading his parents to consent to his participation in football, and he wasn't sure that they would look any more kindly on other athletic endeavors. His mother was still busy in the kitchen, for he could hear the dishes rattling, and he was glad of it; it was his mother who looked with most disfavor on such things.
"Dad, I'm going to join the Track Team and try sprinting," announced Perry carelessly.
The Doctor brought his thoughts back with a visible effort.
"Eh?" he asked. "Join what?"
"The Track Team, sir. At school. I think I can sprint a little and I'd like to try it. Maybe I won't be good enough, but Fudge Shaw says I am, and"
"Sprinting, eh?" The Doctor removed his pipe and rubbed the bowl carefully with the purple silk handkerchief that reposed in an inner pocket of his house-jacket. "Think you're strong enough for that, do you?"
"Why, yes, sir! I tried it to-day and didn't have any trouble. And the track was awfully wet, too."
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