“I had to tell you about it, sir,” said Larry in a strained voice. “I was coming down to see you because it is something I couldn’t write.”
“Don’t tell me about it now,” ordered the Major. “Not a word until we have had breakfast. You’re right to tell your old uncle about it. I’m sure it’s nothing we cannot fix up. Wait until we get to the rooms, and we’ll talk it over.”
“Thank you,” said Larry. “I’ve been dreading telling you. I didn’t sleep much last night, worrying about it.”
“Not sleep?” stormed the Major, working himself into a mock rage to cover his own agitation. “Not sleep and on the eve of the game? Why, confound you, boy, I came down here to see you win that game.”
“We’ll win, I think,” said Larry, smiling wanly at the familiar sight of the Major’s anger. “The team is playing good ball—and Katsura will pitch.”
The subject, thus changed to baseball, was not resumed. At breakfast, Major Lawrence met Winans and Trumbull, and after they had learned his peculiar temperament and had drawn him into several hot arguments, they bore him off under the pretense of letting Paw Lattiser decide a point. It was luncheon time before they returned, the Major triumphantly declaring Lattiser the only sensible person in the entire school. It was not until he was preparing to start to the game that Larry had the opportunity to speak to the Major alone.
“Uncle Jim,” he said, “I want to talk with you.”
“Don’t bother me with your nonsense now,” stormed the Major. “I’m going to the game with Lattiser—sensible fellow, Lattiser, not one of these flighty-headed college idiots like Winans and that monkey Jessup he introduced me to. Wait until to-night and we’ll talk things over.”
The Major was decorated for the occasion, and his cane and coat lapel bore huge Cascade ribbons.
“I’ve learned the Cascade yell, Larry,” he went on. “Listen to me and I’ll make you win.”