The fact was Dick had fancied Kates in the very best of health and in fine spirits the day before the game with Highland.
“Well, it’s true,” persisted Sam; “there’s something the matter with me. I can’t stand for training-table feed. It makes me sick. All I can think of is rare roast beef and stuff like that. I’d like to sit down and make a square meal off cake and pie and ice cream and strawberries and chocolates and bon-bons. I think it’s all rot this tying a fellow down on a certain line of diet. One man’s food is another’s poison, you know. How’s any one going to tell me what I need to eat unless he’s an expert physician, and I’m ill with dyspepsia, or something of that sort? No wonder I couldn’t pitch yesterday. Jones is too blamed rigid with the team. It needs some one more liberal. Then there’s Robinson—he keeps watch of us as if we were criminals or a jury sitting on a murder case. Some day—some day I’m going to punch that man Robinson. I tell you I’m in revolt, Merriwell.”
“Let me tell you something, Sam,” said Dick quietly: “You’re trying to make unnecessary excuses for yourself. You’re disgusted because you were batted hard Saturday, and so you think you’ve got to lay the blame to something. Shoulder it, shoulder it—that’s the only way. Evidently you were not wholly to blame. According to what I’ve learned, there were some rotten errors made.”
“But they did hit me hard,” groaned Kates, shaking his head. “Merriwell, I believe there were some ringers in that bunch. I don’t believe they were all high-school boys. I never saw a high-school team hit the way they did. The more I’ve thought about it, the sicker I’ve grown. It took the heart out of me.”
“Well, I’m sorry to know that you’ll let a thing like that take the heart out of you, Kates. You’ve got to have more backbone.”
“I suppose Buckhart told you all about our trouble?”
“I don’t know as he mentioned any particular trouble with you, Kates. It seems that the whole team was fussing and quarreling.”
“But Buckhart called me a few names that I couldn’t swallow. I told him I’d never pitch to him again until he apologized, and I meant it. He’s got to apologize, Merriwell, or I’m done.”
“A better way would be to drop it—to forget all about it,” said Dick. “This demanding an apology for every hasty and unintentional word is a poor business. The rest of the fellows have practically dropped it, and you should do the same, Kates.”
“Suppose you say that because Buckhart is your particular friend. I suppose you think I ought to apologize to him, don’t you?”