“Oh, don’t talk poppycock, Tracy,” he said. “Look here, you must see how difficult you’re making it for Hanson and me. We can’t do what we want to do if there are dissensions among you chaps. Like a good fellow, promise me to leave Weatherby alone. He isn’t going to interfere with you; you know that. The other fellows aren’t kicking up a row about having him at table, so why should you? Besides, Tracy, consider what a thundering hard row the chap has to hoe. Maybe he acted the coward; I didn’t see it and don’t know; but even if he did it’s more than likely that he’s a lot worse ashamed of it than you are, and probably wants to make up for it. Give him a show, can’t you? Be generous, Tracy!”
“Well, let him keep away from me, then,” Tracy growled.
“How can he when you’re both on the team?” asked Joe impatiently. “We want him because he’s got the making of a good player; he’s sure, quick, and—honest.”
“Huh!”
“Yes, honest! We’ve watched him just as we’ve watched all you fellows—perhaps a bit more, because he’s under suspicion, as it were—and he’s played us fair every time. He’s done as he’s been told and done it just as hard as he knew how. And it’s all wrong to call a man dishonest until he’s done something dishonest.”
“How about that affair at the river?” asked the other sneeringly.
“A man may be a coward at a—a crisis and a brave man all the rest of his life. Physical cowardice isn’t dishonesty. For that matter, I can imagine a chap running from bullets and yet standing up like a little man in front of bayonets. I’m not sure I wouldn’t run away from bullets myself, and if I were you I wouldn’t be too sure, either.”
“I’m not a coward,” cried Tracy.
“I don’t say you are; I don’t think you are. And yet you’re not brave enough to let public opinion go hang and give that poor duffer, Weatherby, a fighting chance!”