"Am I to understand, then, that you consulted no one in the matter?"
"No; I can hardly say that, Mr. Barry."
"Have you any objections to letting me know from whom you received suggestions?"
"Not the slightest. Bob Somers, for one; also Sam Randall, Harry Spearman and several others."
There was an awkward pause while the two waited for Mr. Barry to speak. The rattle of the silver knife alone broke the silence of the big room.
"Your reply has the merit of frankness," said the millionaire, at length. He leaned forward, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "Remember—there must be no sentiment in this matter. Throw off any player who does not come up to requirements. To be honest with yourself and the school you cannot do otherwise."
Coach Steele quieted a feeling of indignation which suddenly flared up within him. After all, he reflected, a man who had made such a magnificent offer to the school, and who felt such a deep interest in the welfare of its ball nine, must be pardoned if he spoke a little brutally.
"I don't believe there's a single member of the team who would not cheerfully step out if he thought it best for the school," he said.
"I'm sure of it, too," spoke up Bob Somers, earnestly. "You see, Mr. Barry, several of us traveled around a good bit, and, as Roger said, haven't had as much opportunity to play in regular games."
"That doesn't affect the matter," returned Mr. Barry, bluntly. "If you can't play, why are you on the team?"