Left Guard Gilbert Part 27

"That will be all right, thanks."

The coach returned to his table, leaving Don wondering what was up.

Possibly, he thought, the coach wanted to make some sort of retraction of his accusation of Sat.u.r.day, although Don didn't believe that Mr.

Robey was the sort to funk a public apology. If it wasn't that it could only be that he was to be offered his place on the team again. Don sighed. That would be beastly, for he would have to tell more fibs, and brand new ones, too, since not even a blind man would believe him ill now! It was something of a coincidence that Don should run across Walton in the corridor a few minutes later. Don was for pa.s.sing by with no recognition of the other, but Walton, with a smirk, placed himself fairly in the way.

"Great stuff, Gilbert," he said with an attempted heartiness. "Some hero, eh, what?"

"Drop it, Walton!" Don lowered his voice, for others were pa.s.sing toward the doorway. "And I'll thank you not to speak to me. You know my opinion of you. Now shut up!"

Walton found nothing to say until it was too late. Don approached the gymnasium after his ten o'clock recitation with lagging feet. He had scant taste for the impending interview and would have gladly avoided it if such a thing had been possible. But he didn't see any way out of it and he heard the big door bang to behind him with a sinking heart. Why, he hadn't even thought up any new excuse!

Mr. Robey and Mr. Conklin, the athletic director, were both in the latter's room when Don knocked at the half-opened door. Mr. Conklin said "Good-morning" and then followed it with: "I've got something to attend to on the floor, Robey, if you'll excuse me," and went out, closing the door behind him. Don wished he had stayed. He took the chair vacated by the director and faced Coach Robey with as much ease as he could a.s.sume, which was very little. The coach began without much preamble.

"I didn't ask you over here to talk about last night, Gilbert, or to offer you any apology for what I said on the field last Sat.u.r.day. I don't believe much in spoken apologies. If I'm wrong I show it and there's no mistake about it. I think I was wrong in your case, Gilbert.

And I'll say so, if you like, very gladly, and act so if you'll prove it."

"I don't want any apology, sir," answered Don. "I guess you were right enough."

"Well, that's what I want to find out. What _was_ the trouble, Gilbert?"

"Why, just what I said, Coach. I--I didn't feel very fit and I didn't think it would be any use playing, feeling like I did. If you don't feel well you can't play very well, and so I thought I'd say so. I didn't mind being dropped, sir. I deserved it. And--and that's quite all right." Don got up, his eyes shifting to the door.

"Wait a minute! Let's get the truth of this. You're lying, aren't you?"

Don tried to look indignant and failed, tried to look hurt and failed again. Then he gave it up and dropped his gaze before the searching eyes of the other. "I'm feeling some better now," he muttered.

Coach Robey laughed shortly. "Gilbert, you can't lie worth a cent! Now, look here. I'm your friend. Why not come across and tell me what's up? I know you weren't sick. Danny gave you a clean bill of health that morning. And I know you haven't got any nerves to speak of. There's something else, Gilbert. Now what is it?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Then why did you act that way?"

"I--I just didn't want to play."

"Didn't want to play! Why not?"

"I wasn't doing very well, and it was pretty hard work, and there was Walton after the place, too. He could play better than I could."

"Who told you so? Walton?" asked the coach drily.

"I could see it," murmured Don.

"So you were suddenly afraid of hard work, eh? It had never bothered you before, had it? Last year or this year either?"

"No, I guess not."

"Perhaps it was more because you felt that Walton would be a better man for the place, then?" surmised the coach.

Don agreed eagerly. It was a case of any port in a storm by now and he was glad enough to have the coach find an explanation. "Yes, sir, I guess that was it."

"Well, that was generous of you," said the other approvingly. "But didn't it occur to you that perhaps I would be a better one to decide that matter than you? You've never known me to keep a fellow on the team for sentimental reasons, have you?"

"No, sir."

"Hm. Now when was it--I mean how long before last Sat.u.r.day was it--that you and Walton talked it over?"

"Sir?" Don looked up startledly. "I--we--there wasn't any talk about it," he stammered.

"Well, what did Walton say?"

Don hesitated, studying Mr. Robey's face in the hope of discovering how much that gentleman knew. Finally: "When do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean the time you and Walton talked about which was the best man for the position," replied the other easily. To himself he reflected that he was following Gus Proctor's advice with a vengeance! But he was by this time pretty certain of his ground.

"I don't remember that we ever--exactly did that," Don faltered. "There was some talk, maybe, but he--he never said anything like that."

"Like what?"

"Why, that he was a better guard."

"Then what put the idea in your head, Gilbert?"

"I suppose I just saw it myself."

"But you were playing the position pretty regularly before Thursday or whatever day it was you were taken ill, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then how could you tell that Walton was better?"

"I don't know. He--he seemed better. And then Tim told me I was too slow."

"Tim Otis? Otis had better mind his own business," grumbled the coach.

"So that was it, then. All right. I'm glad to get the _truth_ of the matter." The little tightening of Don's mouth didn't escape him. "Now, then, I'm going to surprise you, Gilbert. I'm going to surprise you mightily. I'm going to tell you that Walton is _not_ a better left guard than you. He isn't nearly so good. That does surprise you, doesn't it?"

Don nodded, his eyes fixed uneasily on the coach's.

"Well, there it is, anyway. And so I think the best thing for all of us, Gilbert, is for you to come back to work this afternoon."

Don's look of dismay quite startled the other.

"But I'd rather not, sir! I--I'm out of practice now. I've quit training. I've been eating all sorts of things; potatoes and fresh bread and pastry--no end of pastry, sir!--and--and candy----"

Mr. Robey grunted. "You don't show it," he said. "Anyway, I guess that won't matter. I'll chance it. Three o'clock, then, Gilbert."

Don's gaze sought the floor and he shook his head. "I'd rather not, sir, if you don't mind," he muttered.

"But I do mind. The team needs you, Gilbert! And now that I know that you didn't quit because you were _afraid_----"