Left Guard Gilbert

by Ralph Henry Barbour

"I don't remember that we ever—exactly did that," Don faltered. "There was some talk, maybe, but he—he never said anything like that."

"Like what?"

"Why, that he was a better guard."

"Then what put the idea in your head, Gilbert?"

"I suppose I just saw it myself."

"But you were playing the position pretty regularly before Thursday or whatever day it was you were taken ill, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then how could you tell that Walton was better?"

"I don't know. He—he seemed better. And then Tim told me I was too slow."

"Tim Otis? Otis had better mind his own business," grumbled the coach. "So that was it, then. All right. I'm glad to get the truth of the matter." The little tightening of Don's mouth didn't escape him. "Now, then, I'm going to surprise you, Gilbert. I'm going to surprise you mightily. I'm going to tell you that Walton is not a better left guard than you. He isn't nearly so good. That does surprise you, doesn't it?"