“Well, it’s sort of tough luck, old man. How long are you off for?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. Said we’d wait and see, or something. He can wait. I’m through.”
“Still, I don’t see how you’re helping things much by running away,” said Andrew mildly. “If you want to play on the team you’ll have to do it by mail, won’t you?”
“Oh, I’m done wanting to,” answered Myron roughly. “I’m done with the whole rotten place.”
“And Joe and me? I see.”
“I didn’t say I had anything against you and Joe,” retorted Myron indignantly. “Or—or some other fellows. The fellows are all right. It—it’s the school. The way they do things. They don’t give you a chance. They aren’t fair.”
“So you even up by not being fair, too?”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Myron, glowering.
“Why, you get mad because you think faculty has treated you badly, and then you turn around and treat other folks badly.”