“They’re protégés of Payson’s, though,” answered Tubby. “It’s the same thing.” He paused while Dan dropped into his chair and drew his books toward him. “I say, though, Dan, I’m sorry. You can play better than lots of those fellows they’ve kept.”
“Much obliged,” Dan replied, “but you’re wrong there, Tubby. I was dropped because I was trying for end and because they’ve got four good players for that position. That’s all, Tubby. Next year I’ll try again if I’m here.”
“If you come back next year you’re crazy,” growled Tubby. “I’m not going to, you can bet! I’m going—”
“Tubby, if you mention Broadwood I’ll murder you,” interrupted Dan wearily.
“I will if I like!” said Tubby defiantly. Dan made no reply. Presently, “Why don’t you try for the class team?” asked Tubby. “They begin to make them up this week.”
Dan nibbled the end of his pencil and looked reflectively at his room-mate.
“Maybe I will, Tubby,” he said at last. Tubby took up the book he was reading and settled back again against his pillows.
“I would,” he said. “If I could play the way you can I’d get on the Third Class team and show that idiot Payson and the rest of them what I could do.”
“Oh, I don’t want them to die of chagrin,” answered Dan mildly. “Still, I think I’d like to try for the class team. We’ll see.”
His glance dropped on the little two-fold photograph frame which shared the table with his books and papers and writing materials, and the pictures of his mother and father which it held brought a sudden frown to his forehead. He wished he had not sent that clipping from the Scholiast home to the folks!