“Of course he is. Why shouldn’t he be?”
MacClay looked still more embarrassed.
“There’s a mistake out, somewhere,” he said. “Shubrick was telling me—”
“Who told Shubrick?” Dick cut in.
“Underhill, I believe. The story goes that Underhill lived for some time in your home town and knew all about the Donovans.”
“Exactly,” snapped Dick. “Just after the Rockford Poly game last fall, Bry Underhill took occasion to black-list Larry to a bunch of the fellows for no better reason than that his father was a workingman. Larry happened to overhear what he said and was going to lick him, but the other fellows got in and stopped it. Bry bragged then that he’d run Larry out of Old Sheddon, and he tried to do it, using Snitty Crawford for a cat’s-paw. Now he is trying, in another way, to get him shoved off the team. There isn’t a single word of truth in the stories he’s telling around about Larry and his people, and I’d be willing to bet my next year’s allowance that he never so much as heard of Larry until he came here to Sheddon.”
MacClay spread his hands.
“Of course, I’m taking your word for it, Maxie, straight from the shoulder,” he said, heartily enough. “I didn’t want to believe this mess of gossip about Donovan; but at the same time, Bess is my only girl cousin, and—well, you know how a fellow feels about such things.”
“Sure I do,” Dick acceded cheerfully. “All I’ll say is that you owe Larry something for singling him out as the only man on the team that you didn’t invite here this afternoon; also, you owe him something for saving Bess’s life last summer. You can make a payment on both debts by giving Underhill’s lies a bash in the face every time you get a chance.”