“Thanks.” Lane tossed his cap on the table and drew a chair toward the hearth. “Cold, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Syddington went back to the armchair and wondered what the visit meant. Lane had not the air of a casual caller; his face was serious and held a suggestion of embarrassment. There was a moment’s silence; then Lane went on in a tone of frank sincerity:
“Look here, Syddington. The fellows are talking about the captaincy.” He was watching Syddington closely. “And I find that I can have every vote but four.”
“I don’t know who the four are,” answered Syddington, bravely, “but if I’m one of them you can count me out. I’m going to vote for you, and if you’ll let me, I’ll put your name up.”
“Thank you. I didn’t expect that. I fancied you’d want it yourself.”
“So I do. So does every fellow, I guess. But you’ve won it, Lane, fair and square, and I don’t begrudge it to you. I’ll acknowledge that I did at first, but after you won the game——”
“You mean that you knew before the game that I might get the captaincy?” Lane’s voice was full of wonder.
“Yes. Carter told me.”
“And you let me play?”
“Yes, although—” he faltered—“although I came near not.”