“Well, you look as if you’d come off second-best,” chuckled the coach. He led the way back to the living room. “How does it feel now?” he asked.
“Better, sir, thank you.”
“Head ache?”
“Like the dickens.”
“Better sit down awhile then before you go up.”
“I guess we’d ought to beat it,” said Bert. “It’s long after ten, and we’re supposed to be inside at ten, sir.”
“After ten when you got here, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, a little.”
“I thought so. Well, you can say now that I kept you. Take this chair, Burton, and put your head back. Bring that chair over there up, Hollins. Now I’m going to talk a little to this chap. He’s feeling pretty rotten, and that’s an advantage to me.”
Chick grinned, but looked uneasily across at Bert. Mr. Cade busied himself with refilling and lighting his briar pipe as he went on. “You know, Burton, you haven’t been giving me a square deal this fall. I was looking to you to do big things. I thought you’d be a much better end than last year, but you’ve let me down badly. I haven’t complained, partly because I’ve been expecting you’d come around, partly because I didn’t want to start any unpleasantness. I saw quite early in the season that you were carrying a chip on your shoulder; why I don’t know; but I was careful not to disturb it. It wouldn’t have done any good to get you sore, old chap. Anyway, the way I doped it, you’d play the game when you got ready and not before. Of course I couldn’t wait for you after mid-season. You wouldn’t expect me to. And, as it has turned out, I was wise not to, for you haven’t come back yet. And now, of course, you’re not going to.”