“I don’t think so,” replied Dick. “But that’s his look-out. He’s suspended for a week—if I’m manager.”
“All right,” muttered Gordon. “Of course, you realize that leaves us in a hole next Saturday, Dick. Jack’s one of our best players, and I don’t know where we’ll find anyone to take his place.”
“Neither do I yet. But we’ve got a whole week to find someone. He’d be suspended, though, if he was the last player on the team.”
“Are you going to tell him?” asked Gordon uneasily. Dick smiled.
“Evidently you don’t care to?”
“I surely don’t.”
“Yes, I’ll tell him. He ought to know it, though, because I usually mean what I say. You needn’t mention it to anyone to-day. I’ll have a talk with him to-morrow, maybe.”
“He’ll quit flat-footed,” mourned Gordon. Dick smiled again.
“I don’t believe so. I think I know Jack a little better than you do, Gordie.”
The next afternoon, an hour or so after dinner, Dick called Gordon on the telephone. “Can you come around here for a few minutes?” he asked.