The sound of footsteps on the stairs and of laughing voices sent him hurrying away from the bulletin board and out into the twilight. He didn’t want anyone to find him there just then.
Of course it didn’t much matter, he argued as he made his way along in front of the buildings. Even had Payson kept him on the squad he might never have made the First Team. Still, there was the pleasure of playing, and one could always hope. Well, there was nothing to hope for now. They didn’t want him. Dan threw his head back and thrust his hands into his pockets. That was all right, he muttered; they didn’t have to have him. He knew blamed well he could play better football than some fellows who had been kept on the squad, though. There was Sayer, end on the second, for instance. Dan knew well enough that he could play all around Sayer. However, there was no use thinking about it. They didn’t want him; that was the plain English of it.
He recalled what Tubby had said the evening of his arrival: “There’s no use trying for the team here unless you’re a swell or a particular friend of Payson’s,” Tubby had declared. Dan told himself now that he guessed that was about so. But the next moment he retracted it. They could say what they liked, but Payson was a gentleman, and if he had dropped fellows from the squad it was because he believed they weren’t necessary to the success of the team. Even if you did feel hurt and a little bit angry there was no sense in saying mean things—or thinking them—when you knew they weren’t so. Dan took a deep breath, thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and discovered that he was at the edge of The Prospect, looking unseeingly down at the village with its yellow windows. He turned, smiled just to make certain that he could still do it, and walked back to Clarke. He even whistled a tune as he went. It wasn’t a very merry tune, but it answered. Tubby was in the room when he entered, Tubby grinning broadly.
“Got dropped, didn’t you?” he demanded triumphantly.
“Yes,” answered Dan cheerfully. “How’d you know so soon?”
“Lowd told me. What did I tell you weeks ago, Dan? Didn’t I say you couldn’t make the team unless you were one of those swell snobs like Loring or Colton or Hadlock or the rest of them?”
“You did, O Solomon,” answered Dan. “You were right and I was wrong, as you always are.”
Tubby puzzled over that for a moment and then gave it up. He chuckled.
“You wouldn’t believe me, though, would you?” he asked.
“No, Tubby, and I don’t believe you yet. There are lots of fellows on the squad who aren’t swells. There’s Ridge, who’s captain of the Second, and Mitchell and Kapenhysen of the First. You don’t call them swells, do you, Tubby?”