“Well, my boy,” said the doctor, sipping his tea, “how have things gone with you to-day?”
“Pretty well,” was the somewhat hesitating answer.
“He had to stay behind at noon on account of his studies,” put in Don’s aunt. “That’s what made dinner late. I’m afraid he’s studying too hard, Lyman.”
“Nonsense,” laughed Dr. Scott. “He likes outdoor sports too well to let study do him any damage. He’s one of the shining lights of the great Rockspur football team, and I expect he’ll make a record to be proud of when the eleven meets Highland.”
Don’s eyes were fastened on his plate, and he felt his face beginning to burn.
“They do say that football is an awful game, Lyman,” anxiously said Aunt Ella. “And I’ve read in the papers about how many players get hurt at it every year. Now, if Don should be killed——”
“There is not much danger of that,” assured the doctor, still laughing. “He is training regularly, and he will be in good condition for the game. A boy who studies hard in school should be permitted to balance it up by good, healthy sport out of school, and there is seldom any danger that he will hurt himself.”
“But it was different when we were young—it was different then,” sighed the good woman, pouring another cup of tea. “Times have changed, Lyman.”
“I think so,” nodded Don’s father, “for the better. Don didn’t miss a day at school last term, and, unless he is ill, I do not expect him to miss a day this term. Now, a lad who sticks to his studies like that deserves to be indulged in his ambitions for athletic games that will build up his body and strengthen him physically. If I find an opportunity, I shall attend the first football game in Rockspur, and so encourage the eleven by my presence.”
Don was feeling decidedly mean and wretched when he left the table. Once during the conversation he had sought to summon courage to confess about remaining out of school that day, but the talk flowed on and his resolution weakened. The opportunity passed; after that he could not bring himself to bluntly declare the truth.