Kitty stared untroubledly and shook his head gently. “I don’t think so. Team needs fellows like me. Too many weak chaps on it. Cotting’s sensible, eh? You’ll see. Maybe I might say a good word for you, what?”
“I don’t think you’d better,” replied Rodney soberly. “I hope he does keep you, Kittson.” And, after a moment spent in reviewing the events of the last week of practice, “I don’t see why he shouldn’t, either,” added Rodney thoughtfully. “You’ve shown up pretty well, by Jove!”
Kitty blinked agreement. “For a beginner, eh? Seems so to me. May be mistaken, though. Hope not. Like the game. Fine for the chest. Fine for the whole body. Surprised me, really, what a lot of exercise there was in it!” Kitty took a long, deep breath that threatened to expand his lungs beyond the capacity of his Sunday waistcoat, and patted his chest approvingly. “Great for the lungs, Merrill!”
Monday afternoon Rodney entered the gymnasium in a funk. He had watched Tracey and two other Vests start along, and then, keeping behind them, had followed. He wanted to be alone when he faced the little black bulletin board in the entrance of the gymnasium. But in spite of his scheming he wasn’t, for when he swung open the big outer door and passed into the little lobby inside, two boys were in front of the board. One was Guy Watson and the other Peterson, the right end. There were so many notices of different kinds posted on the board that Rodney couldn’t see, from where he stood a few feet away, whether the announcement of the cut had been posted. He waited with his heart thumping a little harder than usual, for the others to move away. And then he heard Peterson say, with a laugh:
“Kittson! Well, what do you know about that, Guy?”
“That’s Gordon’s doings,” growled Watson, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. He turned then and saw Rodney, and nodded. “Hello, Merrill. Want to see the list?” he asked. “You’re down. Come on, Jim.”
They went on through the swinging doors, leaving Rodney alone in the lobby. So he and Kittson were both dropped! Well, now that he knew, it wasn’t so bad. And it had been foolish of him to expect anything else. Only—well, he had expected, or at least hoped! There was no especial reason now for reading the list, since Watson had told him, but he felt a desire to see for himself. As he stepped to the board he wondered why Watson had not taken the opportunity to sneer a little. He didn’t read the heading, but began with the names, which were arranged alphabetically. “Anson, Atwell, Browne, Burnham, Doyle——”
“Doyle?” Rodney read it again. How could they drop Doyle? Then his eyes flashed to the top of the sheet and he read:
“Football candidates. The following are retained. Cotting, Coach.”