“Well, of course I do want to make the team this fall,” acknowledged the other.
“Naturally. So do I. I wanted to last fall, too, but a cruel fate willed otherwise.”
“Oh, you don’t care,” scoffed Willard. “You haven’t any—any—ambition.”
“Ambition? Get out! I’m full of ambish! But I don’t propose to be unhappy because I can’t have the whole pie. I like the fun of playing, Brand, and I don’t worry much because I don’t always get into the game. After all, I’m doing my bit, you know. Someone’s got to be second-choice. Besides, think what a comfort it is to Joe and Bob to know that if they have to leave the game there I am ready to take their places and carry on the good work! Don’t you suppose that thought helps ’em to weather many a—many a dark hour?”
“No, I don’t,” answered Willard disgustedly. “But I guess it helps them to go on playing sometimes when they’re all in! The idea of letting you in—”
“Don’t say it!” warned Martin, laying a hand significantly on a book. “Them’s hard words! Listen, Brand: are we going to the lecture or aren’t we not?”
“What’s it all about?”
“The Cliff Dwellers of—of Montana, or some place.”
“Arizona?”
“Maybe,” replied Martin cautiously. “Anyway, the fellow’s good. He was here last year. Let’s go. I’ve always wished I’d been born a cliff-dweller. There’s something awfully fascinating in the idea of shinning up a tree-trunk and climbing through a window when you’re ready for bed! Think what fun there must have been at a prep school in those days. When the fellow who lived above you was climbing up all you had to do was reach out and push the tree-trunk away. Gee, you miss a lot of innocent amusement by being born too late!”