“Thanks,” replied the other dryly. “What?”
“I guess you know what I mean. I’d rather not put it in words because—well, I’m not supposed to know anything about it.” Maynard laughed as he arose. “As I said before, Kenton, I’m beastly sorry.” He held out his hand and Joe, a trifle surprised, took it. “Hope we win to-morrow, eh?”
“Rather!” agreed Joe. After Maynard had gone he frowned into the darkness beyond the open window. “He knows. Or he thinks he knows. Well, it doesn’t matter. Nothing does—much. I wonder if I told Hal the truth last night, though. Did I do it for the school or didn’t I? Of course I want Holman’s to win, but—I don’t know! But I’d hate to have him suspect that—that—oh, shucks, that’s tommyrot! Why should I do it on his account? Of course I didn’t! Surly brute!”
Hal came in a few minutes later. He didn’t see Joe until he had turned the light on. Then: “Hello!” he said awkwardly.
“Hello. How did practice go?”
“All right, I guess. Wilder played second.”
Joe nodded. “I supposed he would. That ought to please you.”
“Me? Why?”
“You wanted him there, didn’t you?”
“Sure! With you out of it—”