On the toss-up that began the second half, Vern’s attempt to whack the ball was so weak that it brought a hiss or two from the spectators. Worse still, it made them watch him suspiciously after that. When he failed twice on free throws, and Murphy took his place after the next foul, the crowd began to mutter.
“What do you think now about the little angel named Vern Judd?” triumphantly demanded the girl on Hazel’s right.
“I—I don’t want to talk, please!” said Hazel. She couldn’t think; she couldn’t understand her own emotions or the wonderful metamorphosis of her desires. Something had changed her whole point of view. The integrity of Vernon Judd meant more to her, all at once, than anything else in the world. Indignant at first that he should play so well when she had asked him not to, she was now praying that he would yet do his best, that he would strive to win like a clean sportsman, that he would forget everything save his own honesty and good name. If he wasn’t that kind——She dared not complete the thought.
The game wore on, with varying fortunes. Players from first one team and then the other rushed the ball up and down the court in zigzagging passes, tapping, tossing, dribbling, shooting it from man to man, looping it for the basket, scrambling for it when it missed, and trotting back to their positions when a goal was scored.
Eventually the Landon five began to assume the upper hand. There was no denying that its center outclassed Vern—or, at least, the Vern who was playing to-night. He could throw better, he could block better with his arm, he could bat the ball better on the toss-up. Because of these advantages, Landon finally assumed the lead by the slender margin of a single point in the 9-8 score.
“If I could only talk to him for a minute!” Hazel whispered to herself, watching the player fail in encounter after encounter. “If I could tell him to forget me, and play—play! I must have been mad to ask him to sacrifice himself for me!”
She watched, with staring eyes, as he whacked clumsily at the ball.
“Vern!” she called appealingly. “Vern!”
But he couldn’t hear her, of course. The whole gymnasium was a Babel of confused shouts. She could only lean forward, with her hands clutching the balcony rail, and follow him with her eyes; gloating when he broke free or handled the ball, wincing when opponents crashed into him, and telling herself always that if the opportunity offered he would prove his true character yet.
Some official at the side of the court made an announcement. Hazel could not hear what he said, and she turned to a man behind her for the information.