A little before noon, when the team had gone to the gymnasium for a light dinner, and to have some last secret instruction from the coach and Tom, Sid Henderson crossed the college campus. With him was an individual whom, had Phil or Tom seen, they would have at once recognized as the sporty youth who had met Sid the day of the island picnic. But there was a great change noticed in the young man. He no longer wore the “loud” suit and the brilliant tie; he no longer smoked a cigarette, and there was a chastened air about him.
“Don’t you feel a bit nervous about it, Guy?” asked Sid.
“Not a bit, old man. It’s a bitter dose to swallow, but I need it, I guess. I wish I could do more for you. Are you sure it isn’t too late?”
“I hope not. The team hasn’t gone yet. There’s just a chance.”
“Well, I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. No one else would have done as much. No one else would have kept his promise in the face of such odds. It wasn’t right for me to ask you.”
“We agreed not to talk about that, you know, Guy.”
“I can’t help mentioning it. Lead on. I’ll explain to Dr. Churchill, and all the rest of them.”
The two disappeared into the doctor’s residence, and, presently there might have been seen wending their way thither the various members of the Randall college faculty.
What took place occurred behind closed doors, and what that was, only was known afterward when Sid made his explanation. Sufficient, for the present, to say that the meeting was a protracted one, much to the restlessness of several of the younger professors who wanted to go to Boxer Hall to witness the championship struggle.
“Well, then, are we all agreed?” asked Dr. Churchill, as he smiled kindly on Sid, and regarded with a pitying glance the youth whom the second baseman had addressed as Guy.