“Well, the first thing to do is to find him,” said Jeffrey. “I haven’t seen him since physics.”
“I suppose he’s feeling so mean he’s hiding out somewhere,” Poke suggested. “I don’t blame him for being cut up about it.”
Jim, however, wasn’t very far off when the trio entered the gate. He was sitting at the table in his room with his books spread before him looking disconsolately out of the window. “No more athletics, Hazard, until your marks are considerably better in all studies, Latin and mathematics especially,” had been Mr. Gordon’s ultimatum. Jim had spent the dinner hour sitting on a spile near the bridge, gazing into the water and wondering on the lack of gratitude displayed by Mr. Hanks. For Mr. Gordon had distinctly said that it had been the Latin instructor who had made complaint. Jim was through with the team and wouldn’t have shown up at training table for anything. Nor did he want to go home and face his chums at Sunnywood just then. Besides, he was much too disappointed and miserable to want anything to eat. Of course, he had reflected, it was all his own fault, but that knowledge didn’t seem to make the situation any easier. He found a little satisfaction in calling Mr. Hanks names. It seemed to him that after the way they had come to Nancy’s assistance with advice the least he could have done was to have been a little more lenient with Jim Hazard. He wished he had never gone in for football; wished he had never come to Crofton. Then the bell rang and he dragged himself back along the river to Academy Hall and a French recitation. After that there had been physics, and then, when most of the fellows were setting their faces toward the field, he had hurried home and shut himself in his room. His mother had sought entrance and he had put her off with the plea that he was busy studying, but as a matter of fact there had been very little studying done that afternoon. His thoughts simply refused to stay on his books. It was almost dark now in the room, and through the window the western sky was paling from orange to gray. He heard the gate click and then came the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Some one knocked imperatively at his door.
“Hello?” he growled.
“We want to come in, Jim.” It was Poke’s voice. And the tone told Jim that Poke had heard.
“I’m working,” replied Jim, more gruffly.
“It’s time to quit. Open up, like a good fellow.”
“Too busy,” replied Jim. There was a whispered conference beyond the door and then footsteps died out along the hall. Jim felt more lonely than ever then and wished he had let them in. But pride kept him there behind the locked door until the supper bell rang, and then until Hope came up to find why he wasn’t down. Hope had to beg her hardest before she was admitted. Then Jim said he wasn’t hungry and wanted no supper. All he wanted was to be let alone. So [Hope] went out quietly, closing the door after her, and, [being a rather wise young lady, prepared a tray]. After she had taken her departure for the second time Jim sat and looked at the tray for a long time; to be exact, just as long as his courage lasted. Then he gave in and ate everything in sight. After that life didn’t look quite so dark, and when, presently, Poke came knocking at the door again, Jim bade him enter.
They talked it all over then, Gil and Jeffrey sort of happening in, and Poke was highly incensed at Mr. Hanks’ conduct.