He followed the other into the house, and waited at the door of the room while Mr. Cotting found the gas jet and lighted it.
“Sit down, Merrill. Throw your coat off first. Put it anywhere. Now then, let’s talk this thing over. Your brother and I were good friends, my boy, and we’ve had some fine old chats in this room. You may have wondered sometimes why I kept you on the squad when you weren’t showing very much in the way of football, Merrill. I’m speaking quite frankly, you see. I did it because, in spite of appearances, I had it in my head that you could be taught the game, taught to play it—well, perhaps not quite the way your brother did, but well enough to make it worth the trouble. I still think so, Merrill. But there’s something wrong yet. You haven’t found yourself. Perhaps you don’t put your whole soul into it. Now tell me about to-day. You had the ball, the way was clear. What went wrong?”
“I hardly know, sir. I—I wasn’t supposed to take the pass, and when it came I—somehow I didn’t seem to know what to do for a second. And then—it was too late.”
Mr. Cotting nodded. “I see. Mind didn’t work quick enough. Well, that’s something that will remedy itself, I think. After all, the best way to learn football is to play it. What you need is, I fancy, only experience, after all. So, Merrill, I guess we won’t say anything more about resigning.”
“Then, sir, you think——”
“I think you’d much better stick it out. Watch the way other fellows play the game, do the best you can when you get your chance and, above all, don’t imagine that because your wits failed you to-day they’re bound to do it again. I made that mistake, as I’ve told you, and wasted a year. Perhaps you won’t get into the game next week, it’s likely your turn won’t come; but keep on watching and learning, Merrill. We may need you badly next year.”
Rodney tramped back toward school through the dim, leaf strewn streets comforted and encouraged. And he made up his mind that when the next chance came, if ever it did come, he’d be ready for it.