“The story? Oh, never mind that! Jack’s just been here.”
“He has? Well—what—how did he take it?” asked Gordon anxiously.
Dick gravely regarded the point of one shoe. “Well, I’ll tell you the last thing he said as he went off, Gordie. He said: ‘Tell Gordon I know a fellow named Shores who works in the plating factory. He’s a pretty good ball player. If you like, I’ll talk to him and see if he will play for us Saturday.’”
Gordon viewed his friend with admiration, and shook his head helplessly. “I don’t see how you manage folks the way you do, Dick,” he said.
“That comes of being manager,” laughed Dick.
“If I’d told Jack he was suspended for a week he’d have sassed me and gone off in a huff and never played again!”
“Oh, no, he wouldn’t! Jack’s a good, sensible chap. He’s a little bit stuck on himself, but that doesn’t matter, and he will get over it some time. I just told him that he was wrong, and made him see it. And I convinced him without much trouble that it was for the good of the team that he should sit on the bench for a week. Of course, he was a bit huffed at first, but he got over that. In fact, Gordie, I think he’s rather proud of being suspended. It sounds sort of professional and big-leaguish!”
“You could convince a fellow it was a real pleasure to have his head cut off!” said Gordon. “I wish I had your—your diplomacy.”
“That’s a big word for it, Gordie. Last night’s meeting was rather a fizzle, wasn’t it?”
Gordon nodded gloomily. “I don’t see how we’re going to get a field in time for football practice if we don’t do more than we did last night.”