“Don’t get huffy, old chap. I don’t say you can’t play good football. I think you can. But you’re not doing it now. If I didn’t think you could play the game according to the Old Masters I wouldn’t be talking about it to you. You play like a fellow who doesn’t care. You don’t try hard enough. You don’t deliver the goods. You’re soldiering. Ever see a man laying a shingle roof? Well, he could do the whole thing in a day, maybe, if he worked hard. But he belongs to the union and the union won’t let him lay more than just so many shingles. So he has to slow down. That’s like you. Say, what union do you belong to?”
“I guess the trouble is that I don’t belong,” said Myron. “I’m an outsider, and so I don’t get a chance.”
“Tell that to the Marines! Look here, old chap, you can make a real football player of yourself if you want to. I’ve watched you and I know. I’ve seen what you could have done lots of times when you didn’t do it. Now, just what is the row?”
So Myron told him his version of it and Chas listened silently and even sympathetically. But at the end he shook his head. “You’re all wrong, Foster,” he said. “I’ve been here two years now and I know how things go. The trouble with you, I guess, is that you came here with the idea that folks were going to fall all over themselves to shake hands with you and pull you into the football team. Isn’t that pretty near so?”
It was, and Myron for the first time realised it, but he couldn’t quite get himself to acknowledge it to Cummins. He tried to look hurt and made no answer.
“Sure!” said Chas. “And when the coach and the captain didn’t give a dinner in your honour and ask you to accept a place on the team and give them the benefit of your advice as to running same you got peeved. That’s just what I’d have done if I’d been you, you see, so I know. If it was me I’d have either gone to the coach and made a big kick and told him how good I was or else I’d have gone out and played so hard that they’d have either had to take me on or chuck me to save the lives of the others! But you, being Haughty Harold, just froze them with a glance—which same they didn’t happen to see—and went your way. And it’s a rotten way, too. Because it won’t get you anywhere. Driscoll won’t fall for you until you show something and you won’t show anything until Driscoll pats you on the back. Say, I’m talking a whole lot! What time is it? And you’ve got some digging to do! I’ll beat it. Think over my words of wisdom, Foster, and drop around tonight and hear more. I’ve got a plan, old chap. I’m in 16 Goss; first floor, on the right. Bye-bye!”
And before Myron could agree or refuse the invitation Cummins had hurried to the door and was clattering downstairs. Myron went to the window and, in somewhat of a daze, watched Cummins emerge below and disappear under the trees. Then he sat himself down on the window-seat, plunged both hands into trousers pockets and frowned intently at his shoes. He didn’t get much studying done that hour.