It had been arranged that Dunn should begin the interview, but at the crisis Jason was dumb.
“What is it?” demanded Callahan. “What do you want?”
“We come from Westcott’s School,” said Wilmot, perceiving that it was useless to wait for Dunn. “You’ve probably seen in the papers the trouble we’re in about the Newbury game.”
“Yes, I have,” snarled Callahan, with an oath; “and a nice mess you’ve got me into with your talk!”
“We haven’t been talking,” Wilmot answered; “it’s Newbury that’s doing the talking. We thought you’d be willing to help us out by saying that we didn’t get any signals from you, and—”
“Of course you didn’t get any signals from me—for the very good reason that I wouldn’t have given ’em to you.”
“But you offered them to us,” said Dunn, his tongue loosened by this strange statement. “You told me that day at Adams’s—”
Callahan turned fiercely upon him. “It’s a lie! I never offered you any signals. I said I was through with Newbury and could coach you if you wanted me.”
Dunn, amazed, opened his mouth to reply, but Wilmot was too quick for him. “Will you write us a statement that you didn’t give us any signals? Of course we know you didn’t, but the statement might help us.”
“Write nothing!” said the coach, shortly. “It’s none of my business. There’s nothing in it for me.”