“Honest?” exclaimed Neil, in surprised and pleased tones. “I’m awfully glad!”
Stuart laughed ironically. “The Laird says Haynes was talking to him to-day. What do you think he asked him?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“Asked him if he thought I meant to come back! Looks as if he wasn’t so mighty independent, after all, eh? The Laird says he guesses Haynes would be tickled to death if I showed up again. And The Laird sort of wants me to, too.”
“That’s fine,” commented Neil. “Only, if he happened to be wrong about Mr. Haynes you wouldn’t want to do it, of course.”
“He isn’t wrong,” replied Stuart decisively. “He’s dead right. I—I’ve sort of suspected—just lately, I mean—that Haynes wouldn’t be heartbroken if I reported again.”
“Oh! But you said—”
“I know,” answered the other impatiently. “I didn’t have anything to go on, you see; it was just a—just a feeling. Anyway, I’ve decided to risk it. I’m going out to-morrow afternoon. Gee, it’ll be good to get back into togs again! Of course, I may not get my place back, but I don’t care so much. I’ll have the fun of playing. And—and The Laird says they need me. There’s only one more game before Pearsall, but he thinks we’re going to come back all right. Golly, Neil, we’ve got to! When you come right down to it, Pearsall hasn’t done so remarkably well herself this fall. Yesterday’s win wasn’t anything to brag about. Eleven to three against Lyons was pretty punk, I’ll say. They’ll have to do a great sight better playing two weeks from now if they expect to beat this outfit!”
Stuart, once well started on the subject of football, gave no signs of tiring. In fact, he kept it up until supper and, after supper, until bedtime. Neil listened patiently if not always interestedly, too pleased with the result of the conspiracy to begrudge attention, even though it left him ill-prepared for to-morrow’s recitations. Stuart was too absorbed to notice that his roommate sometimes hid a yawn behind a polite hand.