“Oh,” said the coach, his voice changing again as he looked at Larry sneeringly, “I’ve heard of you. You’re that fresh young fellow Baldwin was telling me about. We need players, but not yellow ones of your kind.”
He turned quickly, leaving Larry standing in helpless anger.
“Come,” said Katsura. “You see how it is.”
“It is a good thing we decided not to try for the team,” laughed Larry mirthlessly. “Baldwin evidently expected we would.”
CHAPTER III
Larry Seeks Revenge
Larry Kirkland, hot and rebellious from the rebuff inflicted upon him and Katsura by Coach Haxton, made matters worse during the next few days by discussing with several of his classmen the treatment accorded him. The hurt rankled. He had been accustomed to attempting, at least, to treat with fairness the boys who had played ball with him. He had tried, after he had cooled from his first anger, to look upon the matter from the viewpoint of the coach. He did not blame Haxton for ordering him from the field. The point he made was that Haxton himself had been inclined to pass over the infringement of rules, until he discovered who Larry was. Then he had showered insult upon him and that without cause.
Larry found that many of the undergraduates sympathized with him and several who had been witnesses of the rebuke, came to him with their own stories of Haxton’s injustice. Had he been willing to let the matter drop there, perhaps all would have been well; but the sympathy of others served to increase Larry’s bitterness. He enlarged unconsciously upon his wrong, and held forth that it was no use for him to attempt to enter athletics since the coach was under the influence of the wealthier fellows.
One afternoon Larry, with some of his Freshman sympathizers, was sitting under a tree on the campus, talking over the downfall of the baseball team, and the sporting department generally, when “Paw” Lattiser stopped, gazed over his glasses at the boys and calmly seated himself among them.
Lattiser was one of the notable figures of the school, a Senior and leader of the student body. He was a quiet, whimsical fellow, slow of speech, continually sucking away at an old pipe and strolling around the walks, studying as he walked and smoked. He was past thirty-five years of age, and according to the campus version, he had toiled in the lumber camps, worked as deck hand on a lumber schooner, and, when he finally had saved enough to carry him through college, had taken up his long-delayed education. He was two years getting out of Freshman class, but after that, by steady work and grinding, he held with his class, and had become one of the honor men. He was the advisor of the youngsters, the counselor of the Seniors, and was held in high esteem by the faculty. He looked over the top of his glasses at Larry, who suddenly became confused and stopped talking.
“Thought I heard you say something about the team, Kirkland,” said Lattiser. “Go on; I’m interested.”