“I don’t know,” answered Sargent despondently. “What if he does? A fellow can’t drop training for two or three days on the eve of the big game and then play decently.”
“Jim could,” said Poke thoughtfully. “I wonder where the chump is. I suppose he isn’t here, eh?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Sargent shrugged his broad shoulders. “What’s more, I don’t want to. If a fellow doesn’t think enough of the success of his school to study a few silly lessons we’re better without him.”
“Oh, be good,” Poke chided. “It was only two years ago that you were off for a whole week for the same reason, Dun.”
“And I learned my lesson,” said the other gloomily.
“Well, I suppose Jim Hazard’s learning his,” replied Poke. “Only I wish he’d chosen some other time. How’s Parker going to fit?”
Sargent kicked viciously at a football that had rolled up to them. “Rotten!” he said.
Practice went badly that day, just as it’s likely to on the Monday after a hard game, and there was a general air of discouragement about coach and players alike. The second team, grumbling over the loss of another lineman, smashed vengefully at their opponents and tied the score in the second half of the scrimmage. And so it stayed and the second credited themselves with what was virtually a victory. Gil, Poke and Jeffrey walked home together after practice and talked over Jim’s predicament.
“Success,” said Gil, “was too much for him.”