Oppressive silence once more filled the room—a silence unbroken by the ticking of the clock this time, for it was mute, because of the toothpick. But its accusing face seemed to look at the three chums, as though begging to be allowed to speak, even if it did but mark the passage of time.
“Maybe we can prevail on Bricktop to stay until after the big game with Boxer Hall,” suggested Tom, hopefully.
Jerry Jackson shook his head mournfully.
“I’ve tried it,” he said. “I knew it would be a bad loss, so I asked Bricktop to stay, but he said his whole future depended on this chance, and he wouldn’t feel that he was doing right if he let it slip.”
“Talk about futures,” murmured Dan, “what of the future of Randall?”
“It does seem sort of tough for Bricktop to leave just when we’ve all got so we play so well together,” commented Sid. “And only to go to another college, too! It isn’t like Ed, who has to go with his sick father. I tell you Bricktop isn’t doing right! He’s deserting in the face of the enemy, for both Boxer Hall and Fairview are after our scalps this fall, because of the walloping we gave them last season. Bricktop’s a deserter!”
“Oh, don’t be ugly,” begged Tom. “Maybe we don’t know all the facts. I’m sure Bricktop wouldn’t do anything mean.”
“Oh, of course not,” Sid hastened to say, “but you know what I mean. If Bricktop——”
“Who’s takin’ me name in vain?” demanded a voice at the door—a voice with just the hint of Irish brogue—and into the room was thrust a shock of auburn—not to say reddish—hair, which had gained for the owner the appellation of “Bricktop.” “I say, who’s desecratin’ me reputation, of which I have but a shred left—who’s tearin’ down me character behind me back?” and Molloy, with a quick glance at his friends, entered and threw himself beside Sid on the sofa, thereby making the old piece of furniture creak most alarmingly.
“Easy! For cats’ sake!” cried Sid, in alarm. “Do you want to deprive us of our only remaining consolation, now that the chair is gone?”