“I thought that might be it. Well, I missed your smiling countenance and cheerful voice. So did your team, I guess. They didn’t begin to play the way they did yesterday. Did you play tennis?”
“Not likely! To tell the gospel truth, Arn, I guess I wouldn’t have been much good to-day. I felt all right until Gyp told me I didn’t, though. That’s funny, isn’t it?”
“Not at all, not at all. Power of suggestion, T. Tucker. Recognized psychological phenomenon. When do we eat?”
Toby was surprised as well as embarrassed on reaching training table that evening by the interest displayed in his welfare by his teammates. It seemed that every one, with the possible exception of Roy Frick, was eager and anxious to have his absence from practice satisfactorily explained. Toby was somehow glad that Coach Burtis had not yet reached the table, for the coach had a kindly but amused smile that made Toby feel silly, and Toby was feeling silly enough as it was. Just at first he thought the fellows were having fun with him, but their relief at discovering that it was merely a lay-off that had kept him away was too genuine to be mistaken.
“Well, Gyp has good sense,” commented Farquhar approvingly. “The First certainly laid for you yesterday, Tucker, and I could see that you were pretty well flattened out afterwards. Feeling all right now?”
“Fine, thanks. Somebody pass the milk, please.”
“Atta boy, Tucker!” said Nelson from across the board. “Don’t forget Saturday. We’re going to need you, son!”
Toby saw Lovett glance toward Frick and exchange an amused glance with Grover Beech, and wished Nelson had more tact, and nearly choked drinking the milk with which Mawson had filled his glass. Then Mr. Burtis came and asked Toby if his lay-off had straightened him out, and again he said he was feeling fine, thanks, and after that some one mercifully turned the conversation.
When supper was over he went in search of George Tubb. He had seen Tubb leave the First Team table and took it for granted that he had gone up to his room. But a knock on the portal of Number 31 elicited no response and, on pushing the door open, the room proved to be dark and empty. So he went down to Number 12, lighted up, got his books together and started on some geometry problems that promised to give him trouble. But the first one proved less awful than he anticipated and so he went on to the second, and when he remembered George Tubb again it was nearly nine. Arnold had not yet returned from a conference at the gymnasium. Toby pushed his papers away, viewing the result of his labors approvingly, and went back to the third floor. This time a light showed from Number 31 and he found the room tenanted, but only by Horace Ramsey.
“Where’s Tubb?” asked Toby.