Coach Cade chose to devote Friday to smoothing off the angles in preparation for the Oak Grove Academy contest the next day, and hence the second, its season almost over, was released from work that day. Oak Grove was not ordinarily a hard proposition; had, in fact, been given the date for that reason; but, with the Kenly game a week later, the time had come for a dress rehearsal. Indeed that time, but for the slump, would have arrived a week before. Released from practice, Russell went to the Sign of the Football at three to relieve Stick. He found the latter busy and the counter fairly crowded with customers and friends. Russell had long since discovered that it took, on the average, two and a half boys to conduct a purchase; which is to say that a customer was usually accompanied by from two to three—sometimes four—companions whose duty it was to lend advice and counsel. Russell went to Stick’s aid and half an hour later the last purchaser had departed and the store was, for the moment, empty of all save the partners and the ever-present Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer. Stick, free to return to school, lingered, and Russell guessed that he had something on his mind. What it was developed after a few moments of desultory conversation.
“Say,” began Stick, “I suppose you don’t want to buy me out, Rus.”
Russell shook his head slowly. “No, Stick. That is, I’d be glad to do it, if you wanted me to, but I haven’t got enough money. If I took a hundred and twenty-five out of the business I’d be in a hole right off. There’s another month’s rent coming due pretty soon, and three bills that must be paid by the twentieth. Maybe after the first of the year, though, I could manage it. Still, I don’t see why you want to get out, Stick. Things are coming our way at last and we’re doing pretty well.”
Stick nodded gloomily. “I know,” he agreed, “but—but I’ve got another use for the money.” He avoided Russell’s gaze, however, and the latter surmised that the statement wasn’t exactly truthful. The true explanation was indicated by Stick’s next remark. “You think you’ve got Crocker beaten, Rus, but he’s going to get you yet.”
“I don’t believe so, Stick, honestly. I’m sorry you can’t get out if you want to, but I don’t believe you’ll lose anything by staying in.”
Stick looked unimpressed during the short silence that followed. At last: “Well, I’ve made up my mind,” he said a trifle defiantly. “I can’t afford to lose that money, Rus. Now, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you until next Wednesday. Maybe you’ll change your mind. Maybe you can get the money somewhere?” Stick’s voice ended in a rising inflection.
Russell shook his head. “I can’t, Stick. But I don’t understand, I guess. Suppose I don’t change my mind by Wednesday. What do you intend to do?”
Stick hesitated. Then, “Sell out,” he answered challengingly.
Russell stared. “Sell out! But I tell you I can’t— Oh, I see! You mean to some one else.” Stick nodded. “I’m afraid you won’t find that very easy, Stick. Folks wouldn’t consider it a very enticing investment just now.” Russell smiled a little at his friend’s surprising ignorance, and Stick caught the smile and bristled.