A shadow crossed Westby’s face. “They’ve been very decent about it,” he answered.
Irving put his hand on Westby’s arm.
A SHADOW CROSSED WESTBY’S FACE
“Do you know why they’re so decent? It’s because you’ve cheered them up yourself. Who was the fellow, Westby, that said he didn’t care who might make his country’s laws if only he might write its songs?”
“Oh—no—that’s got nothing to do with me.”
“You needn’t care who makes the touchdowns. Your job is to do something else. It’s no discredit to you if because of lack of training or adaptability, you can’t hang on to a ball at a critical moment. There are plenty of fellows who can do that.—I suppose you don’t see it yet yourself—but you know the message my brother sent you? I shall tell him that you got your chance to-day—and took it.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Well, I don’t know how you managed it exactly. But I could see when those fellows came upstairs just now that you stood better with them than you ever had done before. It must have been because you showed the right spirit—and I know by experience, Westby, that it’s awfully hard to show the right spirit when you’re down.”