Two days after the interview in Frank's room, and when the class baseball series was in full swing, Frank was sent for by Boston Wheeler and told to report on the football squad the next afternoon.
The Codfish was wild. "It's as plain as the nose on your face," he said to Lewis, "what they're after; they're going to bury him on that football squad, hold him there and finally give him no chance at all."
The subject of the discussion appeared at that moment, and the Codfish whipped around on him. "Are you going down on the gridiron?"
"No help for it," said Frank gloomily. "Wheeler came over himself to-night and told me to come down. I told him I was no good, but he insisted that they needed a punter. Horton, also, has suddenly discovered that I'm a kicker."
"I'd refuse," snorted the Codfish.
"And get the School down on me? No, I can't do that. If they really want me I'll be glad to help. And if I can't, I've got to take my medicine and have neither the fun of our baseball series nor the glory of football. I'm going to try hard to develop myself especially for drop kicking. Gamma or no Gamma, it is the Queen's School eleven and not the Gamma eleven. I'd be a pig not to do what I can to help, little as it may be."
"Well, maybe you're right," reluctantly admitted the Codfish, "but I haven't your forgiving nature. Hey," he called to David, who had just come into the room, "Frank's going to shyster the baseball end of it and go down to the gridiron just because Wheeler wants him. What do you think about it?"
"Just one thing. He can't do anything else."
"All right, then, down goes the house of baseball, because there's not another pitcher on the staff of the Piratical Pippins to make a dent in a pound of butter at six feet."