II
All that happened on Saturday afternoon. Monday morning Tommy sought George Marquis at recess and asked him to let him play on the football team. “If you do,” he said earnestly, “I’ll win the game for you.”
George laughed amusedly. “How’ll you do it, kid?” he asked, with a wink at Harold Newman, the quarterback.
Tommy flushed. “I—I can’t tell you that,” he stammered. “It—it’s a secret. But I can do it, George; honest and truly, black and bluely! Just let me show you, won’t you?”
“Oh, shucks,” said the captain, “if you know how to win the game you can tell me about it, can’t you? Anyway, I guess we can win it without you and your secrets, Tommy.”
But Tommy looked so disappointed that George, who was kind-hearted after all, said soothingly: “I tell you what I will do, Tommy. If we’re ahead at the end of the third period, I’ll let you go in at half. How’s that?”
“You won’t be,” replied Tommy glumly. “If you really want to lick Meadowville, George, you’d better let me play. If you don’t you’ll be sorry for it. I can win that game for you, and I don’t believe anyone else can.”
George’s good nature took flight. “Oh, you run away, kid!” he said impatiently. “Anyone to hear you talk would think you were a regular wonder! You’re too fresh!”
“That’s all right,” said Tommy to himself as George went off scowling, “but you’ll have to let me play whether you want to or not! Unless,” he added doubtfully, “that fairy is just a—a fakir after all!”