“I don’t want any shower,” grumbled Stuart.
Nevertheless, he followed Neil out of bed and down the hall, and presently he might have been heard whistling a football tune quite cheerfully above the hiss of the water.
After breakfast, at which meal he consumed rather more food than for many weeks past, the feeling of depression took possession of him once more, and it was not until the sermon was nearly finished that a possible explanation came to him. The explanation held just six letters: H-a-y-n-e-s! His thoughts went back to a conversation held long before in the coach’s room, especially to the closing words of that conversation. “When the season’s over I’m going to give myself the satisfaction of telling you just what I think of you!” “When the season’s over I’ll be ready to hear it!” Stuart, remembering, squirmed in his seat. The season was over and the time had come.
Stuart didn’t hear any more of the sermon, if he had heard any before.
When dinner was done and he and Neil were back in the room he mooned restlessly around for awhile and then took up his cap. “I’m going out for a bit,” he explained carelessly.
“Want me to come along?” asked Neil, looking up from the letter he was writing.
“No, don’t bother,” answered Stuart hurriedly. “I won’t be long. I—I’ll just mosey around. Maybe walk over to the village or somewhere. Back soon.”
Neil nodded. “Better take an umbrella. It’s pouring now.”
But Stuart chose a raincoat instead and took himself off, leaving Neil to gaze reflectively at the closed door and tap the end of his pen thoughtfully against his teeth.