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.”
Meantime in the Newbury quarters, outside of which stood Mike and Dickie with wide-open eyes and most receptive ears, were to be heard laments and reproaches and an indignant clamor of foul play. Westcott’s knew the Newbury signals, there was no doubt about it.
“Why, that Hardie would move right up on the signal for outside-tackle play, and go right back again when it was called off. He knew the signal all right.” Skillen’s assurance had personal interest behind it. He wanted it understood that he had been laboring under a handicap.
“And on the centre plays in the second half,” said Firman, “Ford came right up into the line, and Talbot got in behind him. Of course I couldn’t make a hole.”
“That miserable Callahan gave them away,” declared Newbold, the captain. “You wouldn’t suppose Westcott’s would play such a dirty trick, would you?”