“You read it through! After this you leave my notes alone. Do you hear?”
“Sure! I don’t want to read your old notes.”
“Then don’t do it,” growled Jonesie.
“All right. That fellow Wigman must be an awful fool, though.”
“Why?” challenged the other.
“Why, to give you that racket! I don’t know what he thinks you did for him, Jonesie, but I’m mighty sure you didn’t do it!”
IV
A fortnight later all Randall’s was talking about the new football find. His name was Wigman, he was a Junior, he was only thirteen years old and he was turning out to be the finest little quarterback in years! Why, only the other day he had taken Rice’s place in the last two periods against Mercer High and driven the team like a veteran! To say nothing of having himself scored on one of the most daring and brilliant end runs ever seen on Randall’s Field!
When Jonesie heard this he smiled superiorly. “I knew that a month ago,” he said. “Wigman and I are old friends. In fact, it was largely due to my—my encouragement that he held on and made good. Had an idea when he got here that things went by favoritism and was all for giving up right at the start. ‘Don’t you do it,’ I said to him. ‘You peg along, old man, and show ’em what you can do. If you’ve got the stuff in you Bingham and Cutler will pull you right along. Why,’ said I, ‘a fellow who can play the way you can ought to be Captain some day!’ My very words. You ask Wigman if you don’t believe me.”