“I don’t believe it matters an awful lot,” said the coach. “It isn’t likely the chap who starts will finish, anyway. But you’re captain, and if you say Morely——”
“I’m not captain any longer,” returned Jack. “Larry had better take it on, hadn’t he? As for using Ted, I haven’t anything to say. Only you’re wrong about him. He’s played in hard luck, that’s all. I knew him back home. He didn’t play football then, but he was always a mighty spunky chap, and I never saw anything that looked like quitting. He is a bit light, but he’s a fighter, and he can do more damage in a broken field than anyone we have. I’ve heard fellows say, or intimate, just what Pay said a minute ago; that Ted’s a quitter. It’s too bad, for it’s a rank injustice, and I’d like to see him have a chance to prove it. But I’m not going to insist on playing him. You’re running this show, Coach, and after this minute I’m not going to have another word to say about it. After this Larry’s captain. I’m out of it.”
“Field captain, of course,” said the coach. “You’re still the real captain, Jack, and we want your advice and your help as much as ever.”
“Nothing doing!” Jack shook his head. “You won’t hear me open my mouth again, Thornton. I’m off. Anyone going up?”
“I’ll go along, I guess,” said Jim Walsh. “You don’t need me any more, do you, Coach?”
“No, I guess not. We don’t have to decide about Morely until the game starts, anyway, Cap. If you still think——”
“I’ve stopped thinking,” answered Jack, smiling, as he worked his crutches under his arm and, aided by Jim, swung himself up. “Good-night, everybody.”
“Hard luck,” said Payson Walsh as the departing couple passed down the short brick walk to the street and went off through the rustling leaves that lay thick on the sidewalk. “Poor Jack! I’ll bet he’s feeling perfectly rotten.”
“I know he is,” said Larry Logan. “When Jack doesn’t laugh once in a quarter of an hour——” He shook his head eloquently.
“We’ll miss him Saturday,” mused the coach. “I don’t mean any reflection on you, Logan.”