The universal coach eyed him keenly. Dick, to tell the the truth, was rather puzzled. He hated to distrust any one, and he had often proved that when a man who had done wrong sincerely repented, he could count upon his friendship and aid to keep straight afterward. Dick wanted to think as well as possible of Parker, and to help him to undo the wrong he had done to himself and to Yale, but it seemed to him that the transition from the defiant, bullying Parker of the afternoon was a little too sudden.
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Parker,” Dick said finally. He had not been able to glean much from his study of the football player’s face and eyes. Parker was sullen in his appearance, but that was natural. He might be sorry and ashamed, but still be embarrassed and sensitive. “There’s room for all of us in Yale, and there’s plenty of work for all of us to do. That’s why I was so sorry when it seemed to me that you were putting your own desires and ambitions above the needs of the whole college.”
“Well, I’m through with that,” said Parker.
His eyes had been wandering about the room, and protruding from a pigeonhole in Dick’s desk, he had seen the edges of the hated blue sheet on which he had written his confession. He could see it, but Dick was seated at the desk himself, and there was no chance for Parker to abstract it without detection. But his mind had a certain cunning, though he was by no means as clever as Foote, and he evolved a plan for getting the coach out of the room.
“I thought, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “that you might have a copy of the changes in the football rules that were made at that last meeting in New York. I wanted to study them a bit, and I’ve lost my copy.”
“I can help you out there,” said Dick, jumping up hastily. “I’ve got an extra copy, and I’ll be glad to let you have it. Just wait a minute, and I’ll get it for you.”
Dick went quickly into his bedroom. He welcomed this sign of a real interest in the football team, the first which Parker had displayed, and he was glad to be able to grant the junior’s request.
No sooner had Dick left the room, than Parker hastened over to the desk and, quickly snatching out the blue sheet that was exposed, put it in his pocket and substituted the one he had carried.
“That’s a good job,” he said to himself, with much inward satisfaction. “He won’t look at that until to-morrow, and he’ll never be able to tell how that paper was lost. And, gee! but it’s a relief to have that back!”
Parker was intently absorbed in his task—that of a sneak thief, had he stopped to give himself time to think. So absorbed that he had forgotten that the door was open. And he never noticed at all the sound of quiet footsteps that had come up to the door as he made his way to Dick’s desk. But the footsteps had been there. And they had been those of Jack Tempest, the Virginian, who was one of Jim Phillips’ closest friends in Yale.