“No matter what I said,” retorted Joe wildly. “It’s off!”
“But—but you promised me a place on the team, Myers! You can’t go back on that!”
“Can’t I?” asked Joe grimly. “You told me you were Gordon Harmon—”
“I beg your pardon,” denied Willard firmly. “I didn’t tell you that. You—you must have seen that label on my bag!”
“Never mind! I thought you were Gordon Harmon. We all did. That’s why we wanted you here. That’s why we thought Kenly had made promises and why we offered to see you through the half-year. Now, by gosh, you aren’t Harmon at all!”
“But it wasn’t my fault you made the mistake! And awhile back when I said that maybe I wasn’t as much of a football player as you thought I was you said you’d risk it. Why, my main reason for agreeing to stay here was your promising me I could play football!”
“That’s right, Joe,” said Martin. “You did promise him that.”
Joe turned scowlingly and found Martin’s face red with repressed laughter. “What’s the matter with you?” he growled. “Hang it, it’s no laughing matter! If this chump thinks I’m going to stick him on the team—”
“Oh, take a tumble, Joe!” gurgled Martin. “Can’t you see Harmon’s stringing you? Oh, gee!” And Martin gave way to uncontrolled laughter.
Joe looked at Willard searchingly, a somewhat forced smile on his face. “That’s right?” he asked doubtfully.