“Oh, no; it’s nothing.” He was immensely pleased by her interest.
“You were playing so well, too. What a shame!”
He mumbled inarticulately and squirmed, but not in pain. He knew that if he had played all through and made touchdown after touchdown he could never have got quite such a soft look from her eyes.
And then there was a shout and a long Pythian run, and the exultant Pythian crowd went streaming down the field, with Ruth fluttering and dancing behind.
CHAPTER V
THE RETURN
The day of the 20th of November was one that David never forgot—a raw, windy, overcast day, somber and threatening. And yet it began happily enough. All through the school there ran a livelier current of interest and excitement, a keener thrill of expectancy, for in the afternoon the first elevens of the Pythians and the Corinthians were to meet in their championship encounter.
To David it seemed afterwards a strange and terrible thing that he could have spent that afternoon as he did, shouting and whooping gleefully on the side lines. It proved to be the Pythians’ day; they scored three touchdowns and kicked as many goals while the Corinthians struggled and fought without avail. After the game David took part in the jubilant Pythian cheering in front of the athletic house. Walking up to the study with Wallace afterwards, he felt that he had never been happier, or better satisfied with life.
The recitation hour before supper was devoted to Latin; the fifth form met Mr. Dean in one of the large rooms on the top floor of the building. The master made allowance for the raggedness of some of the translations; it was to be expected, for example, that Garland, who had made two of the three touchdowns, and who was decorated with a large cocoon over the left eye, should stagger and stumble, and it was no new thing that Wallace should have to be helped through the passage assigned him. David had been as fluent and accurate as usual; now, with the half-hour gone, Mr. Dean was calling to their feet, one after another, the rear guard of the class. Barrison was making his hesitating way through the lines that he had been requested to translate when a fourth-former, young Penfield, entered the room and, walking up to the platform, handed Mr. Dean a note.
Barrison stopped his recitation; Mr. Dean glanced at the note, and his face became grave. “All right, Penfield,” he said; and the fourth-former left the room.