putting a Crashaw on the team, but that it would n’t help them a bit. “I suppose you and I will give each other several love-pats before the day is over,” he ended.
Edward wrote in reply, “I guess I’m in the best position of any one on our team. I don’t see that I can feel so very badly, however the game comes out. If we win, it will be great; and if we lose, it will be my brother’s eleven that licked us.”
At that Crashaw the elder felt a little ashamed of having been so consistently patronizing, and said to himself, “He’s a good kid, Ned is. I hope he does well in the game.”
Three days before the game, Wallace sprained his ankle so badly that there was no further hope of his playing at all. Edward was as sympathetic as any one with his misfortune; at the same time he thought that now at least Durant would be more friendly.
But if Wallace’s accident had been carefully plotted for by Edward and Blanchard, Durant could hardly have had a more violent outburst.
