Myron flushed. “It’s all well enough for you to—to give advice and say cute things, Dobbins, but you’ve made yourself solid with the fellows who have the say in football matters and you’re pretty sure of a place. I haven’t, and I don’t intend to. If Mellen and Cater and some of those fellows think I’m going to kow-tow to them, they’re mightily mistaken.”
“Meaning I got my chance by—what do you call it?—cultivating those fellows?” asked Joe. “You made that crack before and I let it pass, Foster, but it don’t go this time. If I’m playing on the second squad it’s because I got out there and worked like a horse, and you know it, Brother!”
Myron dropped his eyes and a long moment of silence followed. Then he said: “I was a rotter, Dobbins. I’m sorry. I guess I am a sore-head, like you said. I guess—I guess I’ll just quit and have done with it.”
Joe laughed. “All right, kiddo! We’ll start fresh. But why don’t you cut out the grouching and just play the game? What’s it to you if you don’t get into the lime-light? Ain’t it something to do what you’re put at and do it well? Say, there’s about sixty guys out there every afternoon, ain’t there? Well, how many of them do you suppose will get places on the first team? Not more than twenty-six, probably. And about twenty more will go into the scrub team. And the others will beat it and try again next year, likely. Every one can’t be a hero, Foster. Some of us have got to lug water!”
“There’s no fun in lugging water, though,” Myron objected.
“Who says so? There’s fun in doing anything if you set out to like it, kiddo. The guys who miss the fun are those who get it into their heads that the job isn’t good enough for ’em, or that some one’s imposing on ’em. What sort of a fellow would Merriman be if he got that dope to working in his bean? He’s lugging water, all right, believe me! Living on a couple of dollars a week and working about sixteen hours a day! But he gets fun out of it, don’t he? He’s about the happiest guy around these parts, ain’t he? Mind you, Foster, I ain’t saying that a fellow’s got to be satisfied with just lugging water. He oughtn’t to be. He ought to be thinking about the time when he can chuck the pail and do something better. But while he is lugging water he wants to do it well and whistle at it!”
“All right,” laughed Myron, good temper restored, “I’ll keep on with the pail a while longer. Say, Dobbins, you ought to prepare for the ministry or the lecture platform. You’re going to waste yourself shovelling spruce gum!”
Joe smiled. “I’m not going to shovel spruce gum, kiddo. I’m going to be a lawyer. How’s that hit you?”
“If I’m ever arrested for murder I’ll certainly send for you!” answered Myron emphatically.
Two days later Myron received notice that his overdue furniture had arrived. For some reason he was not nearly so keen about it as he had been a week or more ago. And when, accompanied by Joe—he had felt the need of a practical mind in the matter of getting the things off the car and up to the dormitory and had begged Joe’s assistance—he saw how many pieces of furniture there were he was, to use his own word, flabbergasted. For his part, Joe just stared and blinked. Every piece was carefully and enormously crated, and the staring address on each was a horrible challenge. For the things were much larger than he remembered them and when he thought of the limited area of Number 17 Sohmer he gasped. The services of the Warne Warehouse Company had been called on, and three husky men were soon emptying the car while Myron and Joe sat on a baggage truck and looked on. Myron felt somewhat apologetic and shot occasional inquiring glances at his companion. But Joe was silent and seemingly unmoved after the first survey. Myron ventured at last: