Sad to relate, however, the standing of the Codfish with the Hasbrouck family was gone, never to return. His best efforts next morning failed to draw even a look of recognition from Marjorie's bright eyes as she passed and repassed him during the deck promenade, tripping along gaily between two members of the team. Once he thought he caught the expression as she passed: "That horrid boy." From Mrs. Hasbrouck he could only draw a frigid nod.
"And that's all the thanks I get for boosting the old fund," said the Codfish to himself. "Well, never mind, women are fickle. I'll have no more of them in my whole life," and he went his way whistling a merry tune.
That afternoon as the ship was passing up Southampton Water the Codfish found Frank leaning on the rail watching the beautiful and ever-shifting panorama opening before him.
"Say, Frank, I guess I'll not go on to Paris."
"Changed your mind?" There was a hint of laughter in Frank's voice.
"Yes, I think I ought to stick around for the practice and the games, don't you? Doesn't seem quite right to desert now."
"Good boy," said Frank. "I think you'll find England more congenial than Paris. It wouldn't be right to leave us anyway."
"That's what I think, too. I'll stick with the bunch."