“Don’t be a goop,” begged Neil. “If some one shies a brick at you, is there any reason why you can’t side step it? Whether you realize it or not, you’ve been trying to make out a case against Mr. Haynes ever since you got here. Of course, that’s poor business, but if you must do it, why do everything you can to spoil it? No matter who was in the right to-day, and I’m not enough of a football man to know, your cue was instant obedience. Then, if there was any injustice, you’d have had public opinion on your side. Can’t you see that, you chump? What happened afterwards?”
“Nothing. He didn’t open his mouth, and so I didn’t.”
“You better, though,” said Neil earnestly. “See him this evening and make some sort of an apology.”
“I will like fun!” exclaimed Stuart indignantly.
“You’ve got to,” Neil replied firmly. “You can insist all you please on your rights in the matter, but you must own up that you acted wrongly. You did, you know. That was a poor example to set the rest of the team, Stuart.”
The other was glumly, rebelliously silent for a minute. Then: “Of course I did the wrong thing,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “Seems to me I’m always doing it where Haynes is concerned. He gets my goat, confound him! I had a good case against him to-day and I spoiled it, just as you say. I won’t go over to his rooms and lick his boots, Neil, but I’ll call him on the telephone after supper.”
Neil considered a moment doubtfully. After all, even that was quite a concession from Stuart, and so he nodded. “All right, but be decent, Stuart. Don’t talk haughty.”
“All right, but I won’t apologize: understand that! I’ll say I was wrong in staying in after he told me to come out, but I won’t say that I didn’t have a perfect right to!”
But after supper, although Stuart went twice to the telephone downstairs, Mr. Haynes didn’t respond, and so that near-apology wasn’t made. There was much talk that evening among the players and even Stuart’s stanchest upholders could find no good excuse for him. The best they could do was plead extreme provocation; and even that was challenged by the opposition. By the next day the school in general had hold of the story and there were many and varied versions of what had actually happened. The most sensational story had it that blows had been exchanged between coach and captain. The school in general stood loyally behind the captain, for, especially amongst the younger boys, he was looked up to as a hero. Junior class fellows viewed his progress across the campus that morning with an admiration so evident as to make Stuart uncomfortable.
Returning from a recitation at eleven, he found an envelope in his box bearing the inscription, “Manning School, Safford, Conn. Committee on Athletics.” Communications from the Athletic Faculty, usually on routine matters, were no unusual affairs, and Stuart slipped the letter into his pocket with no disturbing premonition and only slight curiosity. In fact, it was not until he had been in Number 12 for several minutes and had settled down to dig for an impending hour test in English that he recalled the missive and dug it from his pocket. Since Neil was at a recitation, Stuart had the room to himself, something that he was later very thankful for. He made nothing of the letter at the first reading, for incredulity turned the phrases into a meaningless jumble. Then, a puzzled frown between his eyes, he read it again.