“No reason for it that I can see,” said Tasker. “He threw up his job when he didn’t have to. I call that deserting in the face of the enemy, by jove! Now, instead of doing the decent thing and playing quarter, he sulks. I like Stuart, but he’s a pigheaded ass!”
“We certainly need him,” said Jack feelingly. “I’m not saying anything against ‘Wheat,’ for he wasn’t any rottener than most of us to-day, but he can’t play the game that Stuart can at quarter, and no one pretends that he can or ever will. I talked to Stuart about going back and got sat on.”
“Have you tried it, Neil?” asked Greg.
“Yes.”
“No good, eh?”
“Some one,” said Tasker impatiently, “ought to talk turkey to him. I should think he’d see that it’s his duty to play. Look here, Neil, you’ve got more influence with him than any one else, I guess. Why don’t you have a real talk and show him that—that—Gosh, I should think after seeing to-day’s game he’d want to get out and do something! I know plaguy well I would!”
“I’ll see what I can do,” agreed Neil readily but not very hopefully. “I’ll try him again to-morrow.”
“Atta boy! Tell him the school’s getting sore with him and—”
Jack interrupted Tasker. “No, don’t tell him anything of the sort, Neil. That would just put his back up. Tell him the team needs him. That’s the only thing that’ll fetch him.”
When Neil got back to the room, Stuart had turned in and was sound asleep, and Neil nodded approvingly. “A good sleep will make him feel better in the morning, I guess,” he said to himself. “And I’ll tackle him before he gets a chance to catch a new grouch!”