Page:Lynch Williams--The girl and the game.djvu/297

 in exactly the same way. But Chesty did not know he had an odd walk, and, for that matter, he did not worry much over being called Chesty—until he was more than halfway through his college course.

One night in the spring of his Junior year a gang of his pals happened to be passing by—I believe this is the way the thing began—when one of them saw Chesty standing at his window, and so naturally bawled out, "Hello-o, Chesty Chisholm!" Chesty looked down at them and nodded. "Hello, you fellows," he remarked casually.

"Hello-o, Chesty Chisholm," yelled another of the gang. "Hello, Chesty Chisholm," bellowed a third—you know how I mean. Then, being in a jocular mood, they all began shouting it together in a way that would seem very foolish to older people who are not in sympathy with youth, or certain youths who are as self-possessed as they are self-conscious.

Chesty stood at the window grinning at these wild Indians for a moment, and then