That incident seemed to bring about a subtle difference in Leonard’s relations with the other players. He received no particular praise for what, indeed, was only a part of the day’s work; probably none besides Appel and Slim referred to it; but the next day he noticed that many more of the fellows spoke to him or nodded to him in the gymnasium, on the way to the field or during practice. Jim Newton even hailed him as “General,” having probably heard Slim use that nickname. But Wednesday’s performance appeared to have made no difference in Leonard’s standing on the squad. To-day he relieved Lawrence for the last five minutes of the last scrimmage period, and that was all the attention he received from Johnny. Billy Wells nodded to him, but had nothing to say. That was Leonard’s last appearance in the line-up that week, for on Friday only the first- and second-string players got into the brief practice. On Saturday the eleven went to Hillsport and played Hillsport School, winning an easy contest by a score of 14 to 0. Leonard didn’t go along, although some half-hundred of the fellows did. Instead, he and a half-dozen others whose presence at Hillsport had not been considered necessary by the coach spent an hour or more on the field with a ball and they went across to the second team gridiron and saw the last half of a ragged game between the scrubs and a team of substitutes from the Alton High School. Slim showed up just before supper time with two broad strips of plaster over his right cheekbone.
It was on Sunday that Leonard first heard reference to the Sophomore Dinner. “By the way,” said Slim, looking up from the book he was reading—it was raining, and the usual Sunday afternoon walk was out of the question—“have you come across for the dinner yet, General?”
“Eh?” asked Leonard. “What dinner?”
“The class dinner. You’re going, of course.”
“Do you mean our class? I hadn’t heard about it!”
“Oh, that’s so; the notices aren’t out yet, are they? Well, it’s to be the seventh of next month. I forgot this was your first year with us, old son. It’s always the first Saturday in November.”
“First I’ve heard of it. How much does it cost?”
“A dollar and a half this year. It used to be a dollar, but they put up the price on us. You’ll get your money’s worth, though.”
“Why, I suppose I’ll go. Does every one? All the fellows in the class, I mean.”