“Pretty fair,” replied Jim. “And I hope you choke!”
But he really didn’t. He had quite forgiven Poke by now, for without Poke’s conspiracy he would probably not be where he was. Completing the circuit of the field, he trotted off to the gymnasium, had his shower, found that he tipped the scales at one hundred and thirty-one and a half, dressed and hurried back to the gridiron just in time to see Sargent kick off the ball for the scrimmage with the second team. Afterwards he waited for Gil and Poke and walked home with them through the early dusk, rather lame and tired but supremely happy.
At the supper table football was the one subject and Mrs. Hazard alone failed to show enthusiasm over Jim’s conversion. She was very glad, she said, that they were going to let Jim play if he really wanted to, but she did wish that football wasn’t quite so dangerous. Whereupon Poke deluged her with a mass of impromptu statistics proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that, with the possible exception of croquet, football was the safest amusement extant. Mrs. Hazard smiled and sighed, but remained unconvinced. Mr. Hanks did not appear at the beginning of the meal, nor had he come down when the cake and preserves began to circulate, and Hope was despatched to his room to summon him. She returned alone to report that the instructor wished no supper.
“No supper!” exclaimed Mrs. Hazard. “But he must have something, Hope. You shall take some toast and tea up to him. I’ll set a tray when we’ve finished. I do wish he would eat more, Jim; I’m getting real worried about him.”
After supper the boys returned to the porch, still talking football, while Mrs. Hazard fixed up a tray for Mr. Hanks and Hope bore it upstairs. Poke was narrating humorously the tale of what he called Jim’s deception against Duncan Sargent and Johnny when Hope appeared at the hall door, breathless and dismayed.
“Oh, boys!” she cried. “What do you think has happened?”
Four pairs of startled eyes questioned her.
“Mr. Hanks is going to leave!”