[CHAPTER XIX]
WHAT PELL SCHOOL DID
Dan learned of Mr. Pennimore’s arrival after school.
“I told him you couldn’t come over this afternoon,” said Gerald, “on account of practice. So he said I must bring you to dinner at seven.”
“Gee! I’d like to go,” answered Dan wistfully, “but there wouldn’t be anything I could eat, I guess. It isn’t exactly a training table you folks set, Gerald. Besides, even if you had cold roast beef or poached eggs and such things, I’d want to eat the whole menu. I wish I wasn’t in training.”
“You don’t either,” said Gerald indignantly. “You’re mighty proud of it, and you know it! My! I wish I was in your place! Harry Merrow says you’re certain to get into the Broadwood game, Dan.”
Dan shook his head sadly.
“Merrow is a good little chap,” he said, “but I’ll never get into the Broadwood game unless they let me in for a minute at the end to give me my Y. And as I’ve got two more years that isn’t likely. Of course I don’t want anything to happen to Condit, but—” Followed an eloquent silence.
“You can play just as well as he can,” said Gerald stoutly.
“No, I can’t. That is, I know the game as well, maybe, but he’s been on the team a year already and he knows what to do and how to do it. He’s had more experience. Oh, I don’t care—much. Maybe I’ll make it next year. The trouble is, though, that Condit will be here then, too.”
“Danforth won’t, though,” replied Gerald. “He’s a First Class man. You might make second next year, Dan.”