“But that isn’t it. Ought I to? Is it my duty to—to the School?”
Jimmy was silent for nearly half the block. Then: “Well, if you want my perfectly honest opinion, Emerson,” he said, “I think it’s every fellow’s duty to do what he can for the old A. A. If you can play a fair line of football and Steve needs you—” He stopped. “Still, there’s this store. I don’t believe any fellow could find fault with you if—well, if you didn’t play, Emerson. At least—” Then his voice dwindled again.
“Just the same,” persisted Russell, “you do think it’s my duty to, don’t you?”
“Except for the store—”
“Leave the store out of it, please, Austen.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” said Jimmy relievedly, “absolutely yes. Maybe I’m a little nutty on the subject, Emerson, but I never could stand fellows who weren’t willing to pitch in and do their blamedest for their school or their college or—or their country. Maybe I’m sort of sentimental, but that’s the way I feel. I hate a quitter. Not that you’d be that, of course, under the circumstances—”
“I guess, though, I would be,” said Russell thoughtfully. “Well, that’s settled then.”
“Meaning you’ll go back on the second? What about the store, though. Hang it, Emerson, you’d better not take my say-so. Leave it to some one else. Put it up to—to—I tell you! Have a talk with Mr. Kincaid. He’s a good old scout and has a fine bean on him!”
But Russell shook his head. “I’d rather have your idea than any of the faculty’s, Austen. I mean, it’s the way the fellows look at it that interests me. You’re right, and Gaston was right, and I’m sure of it.” Then he smiled ruefully in the twilight. “I wish, though,” he added, “I didn’t have to convince Stick!”
“Stick? Oh, Patterson: yes, I see. He won’t like it, eh? Look here, Emerson, why shouldn’t he take over the store afternoons? He’s got his money in it, the silly ass. Doesn’t want to lose it, does he? Well, it seems to me it would be just common horse sense for him to—to leap into the breeches—I should say breach, eh?”