“Your confession here is all right. Your claim to a place on the team in Thursday's game was just.” The simple fairness of Fenneben's words made their appeal, yet, it was so unlike what Vic had counted on he could hardly accept it as genuine.
“You have made a great name for yourself as an athlete. I paid for the roses. I know something of the degree of that greatness.” Dr. Fenneben smiled genially. “You played a marvelous game and I am proud of you.”
Vic did not look proud of himself just then, and Lloyd Fenneben knew it was one of life's crucial moments for the boy.
“The big letter S cut over the doorway out there stands for more than Sunrise, you remember I told you.” Fenneben spoke earnestly. “It means also the strife which you have already met and must expect to meet all along the way. But, Burleigh”—Lloyd Fenneben stood up to his full height, an ideal of grace and power—“if you expect to make your way through college with your fists, come to me.”
“You?” Vic's eyes widened.
“Yes, I'll meet you on any grounds. And if you ever try to coerce a professor here again, I'll meet you anyhow, and we'll have it out.” Fenneben was stern now.
“I wouldn't want to scrap with you, Dr. Fenneben,” Vic stammered.
“Why not?”
“I am too much of a gentleman for that.”
“When I fight, I fight men. You are in my class,” Fenneben quoted with a smile in his eyes, which faded away with the next words.