“Yes, and I guess you do, too.”
“You mean——?”
“Yes. He stuck it out as long as he could, but I guess things got too hot for him. His note made mention of something that happened this morning at training-table.”
“By Jove!” muttered the other. “It’s a blamed shame! You know, Tidball, I never quite believed him the—er—coward they say he is. What do you think?”
“Me? Oh, I don’t know,” answered Anthony uneasily, puckering his lips together. “Maybe he isn’t.”
Joe looked a little surprised.
“I don’t know just why,” he said, “but I had an idea you’d support my judgment of him. Well, perhaps it’s just as well that he’s gone. Although he had the making of——”
“No, no,” cried Anthony in sudden contrition, the blood rushing into his thin face. “I didn’t mean that! I shouldn’t have said it, Perkins! I think he’s—I don’t believe he’s a coward!” He pressed the other’s arm convulsively with his long fingers as though seeking to give added weight to the emphatic assertion and hurried away. “Come and see me,” he called back.
Joe stared after him in bewilderment.
“Strange duffer, Tidball,” he reflected. “Wonder if he and Weatherby had a row? Sounds like it. Poor old Weatherby! I’m sorry he’s gone; by Jove, I am sorry! And I fancy I might have prevented it if I’d got after Tracy sooner. Hang him, he ought to be licked!”