“Didn’t McDowell put up a great game,—and Hardie?” exclaimed some inconsiderate enthusiast in the circle.
“Yes, they both did pretty well on the whole,” answered Dunn. “It was a cinch for Hardie. He had nothing against him.”
“If Jason had only been there, you’d have seen something doing,” said Mike, in a low tone to his companion. They both laughed aloud. Dunn turned at the sound and caught a glimpse of the roguish faces, and felt, though he could not hear, the insult of their words.
“Get out of here, you kids!” he called angrily. “You’ve no business here at all.”
“We’re going, Jason, as fast as we can,” returned Dick, feeling safe in the crowd. “You played a corking game, Jason!” added Mike.
The two went their way to the quarters of the other team to see how the Newburyites were taking it, leaving Dunn to wax violent over the necessity of having these “little fresh mutts” hanging round all the time, and the foolish encouragement they received from older fellows who ought to know better. Some of these fellows who ought to know better were at the other end of the room preparing for the shower. Jack Sumner held Talbot’s foot in his lap—the knee was stiffening again—and worked at the knot in a shoe-lace, exclaiming with delight over the playing of the team and dwelling with especial enthusiasm on McDowell’s performance.
“It was just perfect,” he said, relaxing his efforts on the knot to look into the faces of his hearers. “Those tackles in the second half when Thorne got the on-side kicks and came down on him, just saved touch-downs. He’s the greatest find of the year!”
“Oh, cut it!” exploded Talbot, punning without intent. He meant that Jack should drop that talk about McDowell. It was honest, without doubt, and generous, but it hurt Pete none the less, for he understood well Sumner’s disappointment.
“I haven’t any knife,” said Sumner. “Here, Steve, give us a knife!”
And Wilmot, interrupting his discourse on how he had saved the game by suggesting that they learn the signals during play, dug down into his trousers pocket and produced a battered thing with a single broken blade, which he kept on purpose to lend.
“Be sure you give it back to me,” he said. “It’s the only lender I’ve got.”