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He probably fell asleep in the gym and they didn't like to wake him!" "Carmine's gone in for Marvin," said Clint. "That means that Robey wants things shaken up a bit. Marvin's a good, sure player, but he lacks punch, Thayer." "I know. He doesn't seem to be able to get the speed out of the fellows that Carmine does." It was Chambers' kick-off and the ball travelled to the five-yard line.
"What's up?" asked Steve in surprise. "Telegram," came in smothered tones from Tom. "Here it is. Lawrence handed it to me in the gym after the game. Said it came at noon, but Robey wouldn't let him give it to me. Bet you it's from my dad." Tom tore the end from the yellow envelope and there was silence in the room for a moment.
Coach Robey was not altogether satisfied with the defence, and there were forty-five minutes of the hardest sort of scrimmage in which the second was given the ball at various distances from the 'varsity goal and told to put it over. The field was closed to spectators that day and it was hard hammer-and-tongs football all the way.
"Surely you'll stay and have some tea?" "No, thank you. Jack Robey is feeling a little above himself to-day. You see it's the fourth day of the holidays. I think I'll just go straight back, and take him out for a walk. I rather want to think over things."
At last there came the sound of the front door opening and shutting. Mr. Robey went out, rather hurriedly, and his wife exclaimed, "I think that must be the Dean. My husband is taking him upstairs " And then she waited a moment, and glanced anxiously at her brother-in-law, Sir Jacques. It was strange how even she, who had never particularly liked Sir Jacques, looked to him for guidance to-day.
Later, in the gymnasium, it was known that Benson had hurt the bad ankle again and would not be able to play the game through on Saturday, even if he was allowed to get into it at all. Coach Robey accepted the tidings with a shrug and a scowl. "Fine!" he said sarcastically. "Claflin's left end is the best player they've got. Roberts will stand a fine chance against him!
It was said that the Grand Duke had for years been an enthusiastic amateur sword-swallower, and had, indeed, come to England mainly for the purpose of getting bookings; that the Prince had a secure reputation in Potsdam as a singer of songs in the George Robey style; that both were expert trick-cyclists. Then the truth came out.
He loved the House, and longed for its success, and trembled to think that he might ruin its chances by a weak and vacillating captaincy. Moreover, he felt that he had no one to back him up. Meredith, Robey and Simonds, the other members of the First Fifteen in the House, were all grousing and wondering how large a score the outhouses would run up in the Three Cock.
"21 14 63 66!" called the quarter. The backs, who had shifted to the left in a slanting tandem, trotted forward, the ball was passed, the line divided and Still slipped through. "Norton, you were out of position," said Mr. Robey. "Look at the board, please. Your place is an arm's length from left half. You've got to follow closely on that. Try it again, please."
And one of those to whom he said it, seeing him hesitate, had broken in, with a slight smile, "Brave as only a man totally lacking in imagination can be, eh, Robey?" "No, no, I won't have you say that! Even an idiot has enough imagination to be afraid of danger! There's something fine about poor Jervis." They'd gradually all got to call young Blake "Jervis" in that household. Perhaps Mrs.
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