“Just wanted to tell you that it’s all right,” he said. “I found my watch. It was in the—the washstand.”
After he had gone she suddenly paused and sniffed perplexedly. “Now that’s funny,” she thought. “How could he have found it in the washstand when the washstand hasn’t any drawer nor nothin’?”
At the luncheon-table Jack was conspicuous by his absence. The story of Gilberth’s action at breakfast had filtered through college in a dozen varied forms until by noon it was pretty widely known. The general opinion was that Gilberth had acted brutally; there were even some few who flatly called his behavior contemptible; there were others, fewer still, who thought that he had “given Weatherby just what he deserved.” There was considerable relief felt by the more charitably disposed members of the training-table when Jack failed to appear, for his suffering at the breakfast-table had not been a pleasant thing to watch. Gilberth, however, was in high feather. He believed Jack’s absence was a result of his treatment in the morning, and was quite proud of his abilities as a public prosecutor. But the rest of the table somehow did not appear to be quite so pleased with him. This fact was shown by a disposition to avoid entering into conversation with him. His remarks were received in silence, and after a while he gave up the attempt to entertain the company and finished his meal in ruffled dignity.
When luncheon was over “Baldy” Simson, the trainer, who occupied the seat at the foot of the board, called Joe Perkins’s attention to the fact of Jack’s absence.
“I know,” Joe answered, looking rather worried. “I’m going to look him up; you needn’t bother. By the way, Tracy, just wait a minute, will you? I want to see you.” Gilberth, in the act of leaving the room, returned and tilting a chair toward him slid into it over the back with a fine appearance of unconcern.
“Fire away, Joe,” he said. “But I’ve got a two-o’clock, and it’s getting late.”
Simson went out and left the two together and alone, save for the waitress who had begun clearing off the table. Joe pushed his plate away and looked gravely across at his friend.
“Look here, Tracy, this thing has simply got to stop, you know.”
“What thing?” asked the other, raising his eyebrows.