“I shouldn’t wonder a bit if you were right about Blake, Jim,” he said. “He makes a mighty good showing with his frank, hearty manner, but I have every reason to think that he’s far from being above just such a trick as this.”
Townsend sat up suddenly, his face aglow with interest.
“You have?” he exclaimed quickly. “What was it? Anything which Bob would listen to?”
“Just a little experience I had with him last year,” the stalwart guard returned quietly; “but it proved pretty conclusively that Blake was mighty poor stuff. Whether it would have any effect on Bob or not, is quite another question.”
“Can’t you tell a fellow what it was?” Jim asked eagerly.
Hildebrand shook his head slowly.
“What’s the use?” he said, with a quiet smile. “I don’t believe in knocking a man unless it’s necessary, even if he isn’t straight. I haven’t told a soul about this; but if you really think that’s what Blake’s up to, I have no objection to putting Bob wise on the quiet some time.”
“I’m sure it is,” Townsend said decidedly. “He never used to come around, but ever since Bob got that talking to from the dean, he’s been in every solitary night, and insists on jawing football from the time he sets foot in the room until he leaves. I’ll take my oath that he’s got a reason for it.”
“If that’s the case,” Hildebrand returned, “I’ll brace Bob the first chance I get and tell him a thing or two which will open his eyes.”
The opportunity came the very next afternoon. Both Hollister and Hildebrand were late getting away from the field, and it happened that, quite without premeditation on the part of the latter, they came out of the gate together. In the bustle and turmoil of practice, the big guard had quite forgotten his promise to Townsend, but now it suddenly came back into his mind.