No one learned of that conversation in the coach’s quarters but Neil. And Neil, although he said little, was, in Stuart’s opinion, none too sympathetic. Which, of course, means that Neil didn’t approve of his chum’s course and couldn’t conceal the fact. Stuart was sensible of a slight disappointment in Neil this fall. The latter didn’t seem nearly so sympathetic as last year, he thought. Somewhat moodily he listened to Neil’s plea for concord and patience, at last replying rather testily:
“Don’t worry. I know where I stand and I’m going to take my medicine. Haynes has the upper hand and, short of taking the matter to the Ath. Fac., there’s nothing I can do. And I guess the Ath. Fac., would back Haynes against me, as far as that goes. He’s being paid a salary for his job, and I’m not. They’d do as he said if only to get their money’s worth. As for Le Gette——”
He stopped, and Neil said anxiously: “Better forget all about him, Stuart. There’s nothing you can do, anyhow!”
“There’s plenty I can do,” answered the other grimly, “but I’m not going to. Haynes is right about one thing, and I’m fair enough to say so. The team’s success is the main consideration. I’ll work as hard for that as he will, confound him!”
To Stuart’s credit it may be said that he honestly meant that and earnestly tried to live up to the promise. If he didn’t wholly succeed it was not for lack of good intention. Between him and Le Gette ensued a period of armed neutrality. Stuart heroically resisted the temptation to tell Le Gette what he thought of him, promising himself, however, the pleasure of doing so after Pearsall had been disposed of. It was in his power to make Le Gette’s path to the first team more difficult of travel, perhaps, by underhand machinations, to keep him off it entirely, but he had no thought of that. At work they spoke when they had to. At other times they passed without greetings. Jack riled Stuart one day by declaring that Le Gette seemed to him to be rather a decent chap. “Of course I don’t know him,” he added. “I’m only judging by what I’ve seen of him at the field.”
“You know what he did to Neil, don’t you?” asked Stuart hotly.
“Y-yes, but—well, honestly, Stuart, I’ve always thought there might have been a mistake there.”
“There was,” replied the other dryly, “and he’ll find it out some day!”
On the seventh, Manning defeated Wentworth, 7 to 0, in a close, well-played contest, and there began to be talk of getting through the season without being scored against. A week later such talk ended abruptly. On the Tuesday succeeding the Wentworth game the Cherry-and-Gray met her first misfortune. Leo Burns, already picked as the likeliest of the halfbacks, sprained his ankle in practice. It was a bad sprain, with no chance of recovery in time for the Walsenburg game, and Stuart’s confidence in the team’s ability to win that contest had a setback. Of course it was no life-or-death matter, but he wanted that game very much. Walsenburg was a stout adversary who had thrown several scares into Manning during the last few years, but had beaten her but once. Stuart knew that Walsenburg was thirsting for Manning blood and even suspected her of duplicity in securing an early date. Also, there existed a slight feeling of rivalry between him and the Walsenburg quarter. All in all, Stuart would rather have won that contest than any other on the schedule, with, of course, the exception of the big game with Pearsall. He tentatively mentioned splints and bandages to The Laird, but The Laird was emphatically opposed to taking chances.