"That is funny! I wonder what the truth of it is?"
"Nerves, I suppose. Cold feet, as the fellows say."
"Never! There's something else, old man, that you haven't got hold of. Can he play?"
"Y-yes. Yes, he can play. He's the sort that comes slow and plays a bit logy, but he's steady and works hard. Not a brilliant man, you know, but dependable. He's been playing guard. Losing him has left us a bit weak on that side, too."
"Why not take him back then? Look here, George, you're a good coach and all that, but you're a mighty poor judge of human nature."
"Piffle!"
"It's so, though. You've only got to study that chap Gilbert to see that he isn't the quitting kind. His looks show it, his manner shows it, the way he talks shows it. He's the sort that might want to quit; we all do sometimes; but he couldn't because he's got stuff in him that wouldn't let him!"
"That's all well enough, Gus, but facts are facts. Gilbert did quit, and quit cold on me. So theories don't count for much. And this human nature flapdoodle——"
"I don't say he didn't quit. But I do say that you've made the wrong diagnosis, George. Did you talk to him? Ask him what the trouble was? Go after the symptoms?"
"No, I'm no physician. He said he wasn't feeling well enough to play. I told him we had no place for quitters on the team. He had nothing to say to that. If you think I can feel the pulse and look at the tongue of every fellow——"