“Get back! Lay off two weeks and get back! That’s likely! By that time we’ll be in the middle of the season. Who do you suppose is going to take time to coach you individually, Ordway?”
“Well,” and Hugh smiled ingratiatingly at Hanrihan, “you could, you know, if you cared to!”
“I could!” Hanrihan stared in amazement. “Well, you’re certainly a cheeky youngster, Ordway! What the dickens should I do it for? You don’t suppose the team’s going to pot just because you’re out, do you?”
“N-no, of course not. I didn’t mean that.” Hugh colored in his quick fashion. “Only, I thought that possibly—if I sort of watched practice and saw what was being done, why, after I was off probation, you might sort of—sort of show me, if you know what I mean!”
“Huh! You’ll have to get Bonner to let you back first. And I don’t think he will.” Hanrihan paused. “He might, though, if I put it up to him. Confound you, Ordway, you seem to think you can do as you please and play hob all around and then—then get folks to square things for you! You are a cheeky youngster, and no mistake!”
“I dare say,” replied Hugh, “but you’ll speak to Mr. Bonner, eh? You know yourself it wasn’t my fault, old chap, now don’t you?”
“Well, no, I suppose it wasn’t—in a way,” acknowledged Hanrihan more graciously. “Well, I’ll see if we can do anything. But look here, now. You keep in shape, do you understand? And keep in right with faculty. No more nonsense, Ordway!”
“Right-o! And thanks awfully, Hanrihan.”
“Don’t thank me until it happens—if it does,” grumbled the other. “I’ll let you know if—if anything comes up. So long.”
That conversation left Hugh hopeful again, but when he recounted it to Bert the latter threw cold water on the project. “Tom will do his part,” he said, “but there isn’t a chance that Bonner will let you back. I know him too well. I’m sorry, Hugh. I wish he would. But I wouldn’t expect too much if I were you.”