“I suppose he knows,” said Horace dubiously, “but it’s funny he didn’t say anything about my heart until I asked him.”
“What did he say then?” inquired Toby.
“Well, he said there was nothing the matter with it.” Horace was evidently thoroughly puzzled. “He said it was just as good as his. Maybe he didn’t want to frighten me, though. Do you think that’s it, Tucker?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Toby bluntly. “I think he told the truth. If there ever was anything wrong with your heart you’ve outgrown it, Ramsey. Don’t worry about his trying to let you down easy. He wouldn’t. I know that he’s mighty careful about weak hearts. He’s kept lots of fellows out of track work and baseball just because of that trouble. No, sir, Ramsey, if ‘Muscles’ says your heart is all right, you may depend upon it that it is all right. How about your weight? Dropped any yet?”
Horace’s brow cleared magically. “Haven’t I?” he exclaimed. “Two and a quarter pounds since I weighed Tuesday! How’s that?”
“Fine—for a start,” answered Toby. “Keep it up. You’ve only begun!”
Meanwhile, Tubb had kept on at football, although under constant protest. He had bought himself togs, and very good ones they were; a fact which led Toby to hope and believe that, in spite of his growls, Tubb really meant to keep on. Whenever they met, however, Tubb wearied Toby sadly with his grouches. He insisted on holding Toby responsible for every bruise and every tired muscle. While he didn’t say it in so many words, he made Toby understand that he had remained in the Second Team squad merely to oblige the other. A martyr is bad enough to have to listen to, but when the martyr has a grouch he is even more irritating. There were times when Toby would have given much for the privilege of kicking Tubb. But he didn’t. He didn’t even tell him to dry up and blow away. He kept his temper and listened to the boy’s growls without a murmur. Naturally, he didn’t seek Tubb’s society. In fact, whenever he could do so without having it seem too apparent, he avoided the pale-faced youth as he would have avoided any other pest.
By that Saturday, however, the word pale-faced no longer applied to Tubb as it had a week before. Four very warm days such as frequently visit Connecticut around the first of October had brushed Tubb’s cheeks with red and set his nose to peeling. Perhaps the change hadn’t benefited the lad’s appearance much, but Toby noted it hopefully. Toby himself had added another shade of brown to a complexion already well sunburned by a summer spent largely on the water, and his blue eyes looked lighter than ever in comparison with the surrounding territory of mahogany hue.
Something quite unlooked for and, to Toby, extremely disconcerting had happened the middle of that week. On Wednesday there had been a summons to quarter-back candidates to the lower end of the field for punting practice. Toby had remained serenely unaffected on the bench, whither he had retired after a strenuous bout with the tackling dummy, until he had been awakened by the challenge of Coach Burtis.