“How did I do?”
“You know as well as I, don’t you? I wasn’t watching you particularly.”
“That’s funny,” chuckled Joe. “I thought every one was watching me hard. Anyway, the guy I played opposite was! That was an easy bunch, though. Their backs weren’t on the job at all. Maybe I wouldn’t rip them up if I was their coach! They say next Saturday’s game will be a real one, though. Hope they let me in again. How are you coming on, by the way?”
“I’m not coming on,” said Myron. “I’m getting a bit sick of it, and if they think I’m going to stand much more of their silly nonsense they’re mistaken. I’m all right to coach a lot of greenies, it seems, but after that I can whistle. I wouldn’t mind if I couldn’t play as well as half the fellows that were in the game today.”
“I guess your time’s coming,” said Joe consolingly. “They’ll be weeding them out next week, and when they’ve got rid of about forty of them they’ll be able to see what’s left.”
“If they don’t hurry I won’t be one of those left,” said Myron grumpily, “and that’s flat. I wish I’d stuck to my first scheme and gone to Kenwood. There are fewer fellows there and maybe a chap might have a chance to get somewhere.”
Joe shook his head disapprovingly. “I’m glad you didn’t do that,” he said. “Sort of sounds like treason or something. Say, how’d you happen to change your mind, anyway? Old man kick at it?”
Myron had not gone into particulars regarding his decision to remain at Parkinson but had told Joe that “he guessed he’d try to stick it out.” If Joe had surmised the real reason for the overnight change of heart he had kept the fact to himself. Now Myron hesitated. He didn’t want the real reason known nor did he want to tell Joe a lie. So he answered: “There wasn’t any kick, but as you spoke of going to the village I thought—that is—my father thought——”
“Oh, he knew about that, eh?”
“Who? About what?”