And finally Kendall proceeded and told the whole story from the time he had overheard the conversation between the Broadwood boys in the drug store until he had gone out of the Office in disgrace. And he talked to three deeply interested hearers.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” exclaimed Dan when Kendall had finished.
“I’ll be double jiggered,” Ned declared. “Do you mean to tell me, Curt, that you were chump enough to let Collins put you on pro just to save those idiots?”
“I was afraid he would make trouble for them,” said Kendall.
“What of it? Don’t you know that Broadwood is our hereditary foe?”
“Shut up, Tooker,” said Dan. “He was quite right. Only I guess his—what-do-you-call-it?—martyrdom was unnecessary. I don’t believe Collins would have taken it up with Broadwood’s faculty. Old Toby might have, but not Collins.”
“And that’s why you gave up football!” marveled Gerald.
“Yes; he said I couldn’t play any longer,” replied Kendall regretfully.
Ned arose and brushed an imaginary tear from his eye. “Curt,” he said in a voice that trembled with emotion, “you’re a hero!” He shook Kendall’s hand. “You’re a—a martyr to a principal! Get that, fellows? Principal with an ‘al.’ Good, what?”
“Punk,” laughed Dan. “Well, Burtis, I’m glad I got you back on the Second Team. I didn’t know why the dickens I was doing it at the time, but I see now that my instincts prompted.”