“Oh, all right,” he said carelessly. “Come on, Remington; we’d better start back to Lawrenceville.”
“Here, wait a minute,” called the other, as they turned away. “You kids can’t walk ’way back to Lawrenceville without something to eat. I was just thinking about going to lunch. Come along with me. I’m Holland, ’02,” he added, by way of introduction.
Perhaps at another time Reeves might have resented being called a “kid,” but just now his stomach was clamoring for refreshment and was not to be denied.
“All right; thank you, Mr. Holland,” said Reeves. “This is Remington,” he added, pulling Tommy forward. “He’s my chum down at Lawrenceville.”
Tommy turned scarlet with pleasure at this open avowal of friendship. Holland nodded to him, threw on a cap that was lying on the floor, and led the way down the stairs, across the campus, and to a boarding-house on University Place. Half a dozen other fellows were sitting about the table eating and talking, and Holland gave the two boys a general introduction. Tommy listened to the talk as he ate, but there was little of it he could understand, for such strange words as “poller,” “grind,” “trig,” “math,” “cuts,” and dozens of others equally incomprehensible, were constantly recurring. The meal over, they bade their host good-by, and started back to Lawrenceville, which they reached in time for supper.
The routine of the place went on day after day without incident; only more than once Tommy found himself fighting the same battle over again. Reeves scrupulously refrained from talking football to him, but he knew, nevertheless, that Sexton’s prophecy had been fulfilled, and that Banker was making a poor showing for left guard. That position was by far the weakest on the team, and more than once, as the season progressed, the opposing team made gains through it which defeated Lawrenceville. It seemed more and more certain, as the days went by, that they could not hope to win the great game of the season, that with the Princeton freshmen. Blake labored savagely with his men, but they seemed to have lost spirit. A deep gloom settled over the place, and the ill feeling against Tommy, which had bid fair to be forgotten, sprang into life again.
The crisis came one afternoon about a week before the day of the game. Tommy was plugging away at his books, as usual, when he heard the door open, and looking around, saw Reeves and Sexton enter. One glance at their faces told him that something more than usually serious had happened.
“What is it?” he asked quickly.
“It’s mighty hard luck, that’s what it is,” said Sexton, sitting down despondently. “Banker sprained a tendon in his ankle at practice this afternoon, and won’t be able to play any more this season. He wasn’t such a great player, but he was the best left guard we had, and there’s nobody to take his place.”
Tommy sat for a moment, silent, looking from one to the other. The last sentences of Mr. Bayliss’s letter were ringing in his ears.