Dick read that letter to Stanley and Stanley chuckled a good deal over it. “Of course he is proud of you, just the same, Dick,” he said. “But I dare say there’s something to be said for his point of view. You’ll have to convince him that you’re doing a bit of studying now and then on the side, eh?”
“I suppose so. But he ought to know that if I wasn’t keeping my end up in class I’d be hiking home mighty quick! Maybe I ought to work harder, Stan, and let football alone, but, gee, a fellow’s got to do something besides study!”
“Can’t you persuade the editor of that home paper of yours to let up on you for awhile? How do you do it, anyway? Nobody in my home ever sees my doings in print. Got a drag with the editor, or what?”
“It’s the High School Argus,” responded Dick a trifle sheepishly. “The fellows that run it got The Leader here to exchange with them and they print everything about me they see in The Leader. Of course that isn’t much: just the accounts of the games: but the Argus fellows work it up and then the Sentinel copies it. I—I wish they wouldn’t.”
“Do you?” Stanley grinned wickedly. “Yes, you do! You’re tickled to death! So would I be, Dickie. Tell you what: you sit down and write a nice letter to your dad and tell him the facts and make him understand that playing football doesn’t incapacitate you for occasional attention to studies. Or you might write a little piece about how you stood highest in your class last month, and how teacher gave you a big red apple for it, and send it to the town paper. That would please your dad, wouldn’t it? And how about mentioning that you’ve made the Banjo and Mandolin Club? Think that would help any?”
“You go to the dickens,” grumbled Dick. “The trouble is, dad’s easy-going as you like until he gets his back up. Then you can’t argue with him at all. He will do just as he says he will unless I make him understand that I’m working as well as playing. If,” he added ruefully, “he learned about the Banjo and Mandolin Club he’d probably send me a ticket home!”
“But you played football when you were in high school, didn’t you? And did track work? And was on the Glee Club, or whatever the fearful thing was called?”
“Yes, but I suppose I was sort of under dad’s eye and he knew that I was getting along all right in school. Being away off here, he sort of thinks I’m being purely ornamental!”
“I don’t see how he could think you ornamental,” said Stanley soothingly. “Hasn’t he ever seen you?”