[CHAPTER XIII]
A CONFERENCE
As it happened, an unusually large number of fellows had accompanied the team that day, and in consequence a great many disappointed and disgruntled youths returned to Warne and a late supper and recited discouraging stories of the contest. Those who had remained at home shrugged their shoulders and said: “Well, what did you go for? You might have known!”
Fred Lyons was too downcast to make an effort to put a good face on the matter. As for Coach Driscoll, it was hard to say what his feelings were, for he looked and acted the same in success or failure. De Wolf Lowell, the manager, declared that Driscoll was beastly unsatisfactory, since he “always looked untroubled and you never could tell whether he wanted to kiss you or kick you!” The defeat could not have come at a more inopportune time, for the Leader, which appeared on Fridays, held that week an appeal for funds for the football team. It was a well-worded appeal, signed by the four class presidents and Manager Lowell, but it failed of its purpose very largely. In the course of the next week or so enough small contributions materialised to enable the team to struggle along for the moment, but the amount donated was only a drop in the bucket when viewed with the season’s expenses in mind.
There was a consultation Sunday evening in Coach Driscoll’s room attended by coach, captain and manager. The coach’s attitude was one of polite indifference when the matter of finances was reached. “It isn’t in my province,” he explained calmly. “That may sound heartless, fellows, but if I have to worry about money I can’t give the undivided attention to my real business that it requires. I’m here to turn out a good team, and I mean to do it if it’s any way possible. I can’t do it if my mind is disturbed by questions of receipts and expenditures. Whatever you decide I’ll agree to, and I’ll do anything in reason to carry the play through, but you mustn’t look to me for schemes.”
“If we don’t get some money,” said Lowell dismally, “there won’t be any use for a team.”
“That’s up to you,” replied the coach, smiling.
Lowell looked doubtfully at Fred, and the latter nodded agreement. “The coach is right, old man. It isn’t his funeral. We’ve got to find a way out ourselves.”
“Then, for the love of lemons, let’s get something started,” said Lowell impatiently. “Canvas the school, go through it with a fine-tooth comb. There’s no other way. If we called a meeting it would end in a farce.”
“I don’t think so,” said Fred. “We’d have the class leaders with us and a good many others. We could get them on the platform and have them speak. Whatever we do, though, we must wait until we’ve won a game.”