“Why, you know what I mean. I won’t have Weatherby persecuted the way you’re doing. I can’t turn out a decent team unless you fellows get together and work in harmony. You know that as well as I do. Whatever your sentiments toward Weatherby may be, you’ve got to treat him politely in his position as a member of the varsity nine. I won’t have any more scenes like the one you brought about this morning. You’re worrying Weatherby half sick. He may be what you think he is; I’m not in position to know; but it’s all nonsense for you to take on yourself the duties of judge, jury, and hangman. You attend to yourself and let Weatherby attend to himself. That’s what I want you to do.”
Joe’s voice had been getting sharper and sharper as he proceeded and when he had finished his eyes were sparkling dangerously. As always, when Joe’s temper threatened to get the better of him, Tracy’s usual aggressiveness disappeared and gave place to a sullen stubbornness. Now he traced figures on the stained cloth with a fork and was silent a minute before he made reply. Then:
“There’s no use in your lecturing me like that,” he muttered. “You can stick up for Weatherby if you want to, but you needn’t think you can make me coddle him too. The fellow’s a coward and a cad, and you’ve no business asking decent fellows to sit at table with him.”
“You’ll sit at table with him or you’ll get out,” cried Joe hotly.
“Then I’ll get out!”
There was silence for a moment, during which Tracy continued to mark up the cloth and Joe struggled more or less successfully to get command of his temper. Finally he asked, almost calmly:
“Do you mean that you’ll leave the team, that you’ll throw me over and threaten the college with defeat for a mere whim?”
“It isn’t a whim,” growled Tracy. “It—it’s a principle.”
Joe smiled in spite of himself and the last of his ill-humor vanished.