“Very well. Put me down for five dollars.”
“Thanks; much obliged,” said Beecham, without a particle of enthusiasm.
Strange to say, young Garrett did not feel satisfied. He had at once conceived this an opportunity to make himself popular by a liberal donation. The gift, for a college student, was liberal enough; but there was something in the merely civil “Thanks,” from Beecham, which told him he had not succeeded, at this time, in his purpose. He thought he detected in the tone a covert sneer. But of this he was not sure. He made another mistake.
“Let me know,” he said, “what my cousin subscribes, and if he gives more than I have given, I will increase mine.”
A second civil—but colder— “Thanks,” greeted this speech, and Garrett walked away in no very pleasant frame of mind. “Why is Roy so popular and I a nonentity?” he asked himself, but it was to
be a long time before he would learn the answer to his own question.
Beecham and Shealey started at once on a subscription tour. They caught Henning in the study-hall.
“Hello, Roy! We have come to bleed you, old man. We are going to put up a pitcher's cage in one end of the long playroom for winter practice. How much shall we put you down for?”
Roy Henning blushed slightly and a look resembling pain came over his face. His father's test was beginning to operate. Roy, owing to his restricted capital, had made a resolution to spend only two dollars and a half each month. He made a rapid calculation of the present month's necessary boyish expenses, and he knew that he would have very little to offer them. Before he could speak, however, Beecham remarked:
“Say, Roy boy, we know you won't play next spring; but we want you to be treasurer and secretary of the club.”