“All right; good luck. Put up a star game at first, so that you can tell me about it when you come in.”
David laughed and departed; looking back, he was glad to see that some one already had taken his place beside Mr. Dean’s chair.
He played well that afternoon and had the satisfaction of being commended by the captain, Treadway, as well as by Mr. Dean. When he came out of the athletic house after dressing, the master was gone; David walked up to the dormitory with Wallace.
“I wish I were off probation now,” Wallace said. “It seems to me Mr. Dean likes to keep me in suspense; this idea of not knowing until the day of the game whether I can play or not!”
“Oh, you’ll be able to play,” David assured him. “You’ve been doing well in class lately; there’s no doubt about your getting through the examination. If you want me to help you at all, I’ll be glad to do it.”
“I guess I can get off probation without your help,” said Wallace ungraciously.
“Excuse me for speaking,” replied David, and he walked on, flushed and silent.
Wallace spoke after a moment. “Hold on, Dave; don’t be so short with a fellow. I didn’t mean to speak as I did. It was just that I—well, I don’t want you to feel that I need to be helped all the time—as if I couldn’t do anything for myself.”
He looked at the ground and seemed in spite of his words somewhat shamefaced. But David paid no heed to that; his response to the appeal was immediate.