“That’s only what might be, Pete. I’m not saying it’s so. From what I’ve seen of Merrill I rather like him. Perhaps a little too—too independent, but a decent sort for all that. What he’s got to be made to understand, Pete, is that being Ginger Merrill’s brother butters no parsnips; that if he’s going to make good he’s got to forget that and dig out on his own account.”
“Going to tell him so?”
“Me?” Jack shook his head slowly. “No, at least not in so many words. Perhaps a hint will do him good some time though. I don’t believe in interfering much, Pete. Every fellow has his own row to hoe, and you can’t help him very much. For my part, I shan’t say anything to him about his brother. Better let him think we don’t care much about whose brother he is. Who made the discovery, Pete?”
“Cotting. Tad says Cotting knew him the moment he saw him, and came up and shook hands with him.”
“Oh, is Merrill out for the team?”
“Not yet. He and Tad were looking on. He’s going out to-morrow though, Tad says. Cotting wouldn’t take no. Merrill says he can’t play, but Cotting wouldn’t believe him. Neither do I. Stands to reason that Ginger Merrill’s brother can play football, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t see why, Pete. Anyhow, I hope he makes good. It’ll save him a lot of trouble if he does. Let’s go and wash up.”
Rodney came down to supper looking self-conscious in spite of his efforts not to. He suspected that all the other fellows in the house had learned of his relationship with the redoubtable Ginger, for Kitty had shaken him gravely by the hand ten minutes before and assured him that he considered it an honor to have Ginger Merrill’s brother for a roommate. Kitty also declared that the records showed Ginger to have had one of the finest chest developments in the history of the school, a fact which ennobled that youth more in Kitty’s estimation than all his football prowess. Pete Greenough, reading Rodney’s expression aright, recalled Jack’s theory and concluded that perhaps after all young Merrill wasn’t such a modest kid as he had thought. At table, however, not a word was said about Ginger Merrill until Mrs. Westcott herself brought up the subject. Wasn’t it delightful, she asked, to have dear Stanley’s brother with us? Whereupon Jack said:
“Pass the bread, please, Tom,” and Warren Hoyt expressed the hope languidly that Merrill could chase a pigskin half as well as his brother had. That gave Rodney the opportunity he wanted.
“I can’t though,” he said bluntly. “I’m no good at football and I don’t want to play it. I told Mr. Cotting so but he insisted that I was to come out to-morrow. I won’t stay long though.”