There was really nothing that could be proved, in any case, so the head coach could only say very quietly:
"Let the practice go on, Mr. Hepson. Put Mr. Wardell temporarily in Mr.
Darrin's place on the line."
There was one in the group who had not said a word so far. But he had been looking on, his keen eyes studying Jetson's face. That looker-on was Midshipman Dan Dalzell, who, as the reader knows, sometimes displayed a good deal of temper.
"Jetson," muttered Dan, as the other midshipman came over by him, "I shall need a little talk with you at the early convenience of us both."
"Whenever you like," retorted Midshipman Jetson, flashing back a look of defiance.
Then the game went on. By supper time the men of the brigade knew that Darrin was getting along comfortably; that he was in no pain and that he was in hospital only in the hope that he might be saved the annoyance of wearing a disfiguring scar on his face throughout all his life.
"I'm afraid that some of the fellows think I purposely cut Darrin up in that fashion," remarked Jetson to his tablemates during the evening meal.
"Don't you know that you didn't?" inquired one of the midshipmen laconically. None of the other men at table took heed of Jetson's words.
At some of the other tables equal silence did not prevail. Midshipmen who did not accuse or suspect Jetson of intentional wickedness expressed the opinion that he was, at all events, careless and not a valuable member of the football squad.
Jetson himself was wholly aware that he was more or less suspected in the minds of many, and the knowledge made him savage.