"Oh, you see, Dad was born in the East, and he wanted me to have an
eastern education," explained Van. "He laughs at himself for the
idea though, and says it is only a sentimental notion, as he is
convinced a western school would do exactly as well. He has lived
out here twenty years now, and yet he still has a tender spot in his
heart for New England. It is in his blood, he declares, and he can't
get it out. Notwithstanding his love for the East, however, Mother
and I say that wild horses couldn't drag him back there to live."
"I suppose you wouldn't want to come East, either," Bob said.
"Not on your life! Give me lots of hustle and plenty of room!"
replied Van emphatically. "But I like the East and the eastern
people, and I'll be almighty tickled to get back to Colversham and
the fellows--to say nothing of Tim McGrew."
"You'll take up football again this fall, of course," said Bob.
"We'll both duff right in with the practice squad as soon as the
boys get out; it seems to me there is no earthly reason why each of
us shouldn't land somewhere on the eleven this year."
Weeks afterward Bob thought with a grim smile of the remark.
How different that fall term proved to be from anything he had
expected!
Colversham was reached without disaster and back into the chaos of
trunks, suit-cases, and swarming arrivals came the western
travelers. From morning until night a stream of boys crossed and
recrossed the campus and the air was merry with such characteristic
greetings as:
"Ah, there, Blakie! How is the old scout?"
"Snappy work, Bob Carlton! I say, you look pretty kippie.
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