“Yes, and Gates is just that kind,” nodded the man. “But I wonder if he hasn’t got a good idea in doing it?”
“I don’t know,” Terry said. “What do you mean?”
“Did you ever know that Gates’ son was put out of Dimsdale years ago for dishonesty?” the man asked.
Terry was instantly alert. “No, I never knew that. Young Gates went to school here, you know. Is that the same one?”
“Yes, Arthur Gates is the same one. He was put out of Dimsdale for dishonesty in his lessons at examination time when I went there, some years ago. I had no idea that it was Gates who was forbidding your school from playing against my Alma Mater, but now I think he must have been doing it deliberately, to keep you folks from knowing about his son.”
“Yes, but that seems foolish,” Terry argued. “It was hardly possible that anything would be said about his son.”
“It might come out accidentally,” the man said. “Or perhaps Gates is sore at the school in general. I still believe that Gates did it intentionally.”
So did Terry and for the next few moments he was so busy with his thoughts that he did not notice the people who passed him. In a few minutes the game began and he was lost in the details of the struggle. Great was his rejoicing when the cadet team put the ball over in the first quarter and at the groans which came from those beside him Terry chuckled gleefully.
And when Don crashed the line for his thrilling run down the field Terry’s joy knew no bounds. He tossed his hat and cheered loudly. When the people began to pour from the stands he waited until the party of young men, now strangely silent, passed him. Then, in a voice like that of the young man in the plaid shirt he said: “Of course, it will be a walk-away with ’em. Alongside of our fellows they look like a kindergarten.”
The young men looked around and Terry smiled. “Pardon me,” said the red-headed boy. “Can you tell me who won the game?”