COACH ROBEY IS PUZZLED
SOME twenty minutes later Don dropped into a chair in Number 6 and
heaved a deep sigh of relief. "Gee," he muttered, "I wouldn't go through
that again for--for a million dollars!"
Tim chuckled as he seated himself beyond the table. "Why not?" he asked
innocently. "I thought everyone treated you very nicely."
A smile flitted across Don's face. "I suppose they did, only--I guess
that was the trouble! I felt like an awful fool, Tim! Look here, what
did he have to go and tell everything he knew for? I was afraid he was
going to and I wanted like anything to sneak out of there, but the place
was so quiet I didn't have the nerve! At first I didn't suspect that he
had seen me. I didn't recognise him until he stood up to speak this
evening. Yesterday I thought he looked sort of familiar, but I couldn't
place him. He--he talks too much!"
"He said some awfully nice things about you, old man."
"He said a lot of nonsense, too! Exaggerated the whole thing, he did.
Why, to listen to him you'd think I saved about a thousand people from
certain death! Well, I didn't. I helped about six or seven folks out of
those cars. They were sort of rattled and didn't seem to know enough to
beat it."
"They weren't in any danger, then?"
"No, not much. All they had to do was crawl out of the way."
"Then they weren't any of them burned, Don?"
"A few were."
"How about the man with the broken arm?"
"Oh, he'd got caught somehow." Don looked up and saw Tim's laugh.
"Well," he added defensively, "he needn't have told about it like that,
right out in front of the whole school, need he?"
"You bet he need! Donald, you're a bloomin', blushin' hero, and we're
proud of you! And when I say blushing I mean it, for you haven't stopped
yet!"
"I guess you'd blush," growled Don, "if it happened to you!"
"I dare say, but it never will. _I'll_ never have the whole school get
up on their feet and cheer me like mad for three solid minutes! And I'll
never have Josh shake my hand off and beam at me and tell me I'm a
credit to the school! Such beautiful things are not for poor little
Tim!"
Don sighed. "Well, it's over with, anyway."
"Over with, nothing! It won't be over with as long as you stay here,
Donald. A hero you are and a hero you remain, old chap. And--and I'm
mighty proud of you, you old humbug! Telling us you didn't do anything
but help lug folks to the relief train, or something!"
"I didn't say that," replied Don defensively.
"You let us think it. Gee, if I'd done anything like that I'd have put
it in the papers!" Tim chuckled and then went on seriously. "You don't
need to worry about the fellows thinking you a quitter any more, do you?
I guess Proctor settled that once and for all, Don. And suppose you'd
run away home the other night. This wouldn't have happened and fellows
would have said you had a yellow streak. I guess it was a mighty lucky
thing you have little Tim to look after you, dearie!"
"I'm glad I didn't," said Don earnestly. "I'd have made a worse mess of
it, shouldn't I? I--I'm sorry you got that punch, though, Timmy."
"Forget it! It was worth it! Being the room-mate of a hero atones for
everything you ever did to me, Donald. I'm that proud----"
But Tim didn't finish, for Don started around the table for him.
* * * * *
At the time this conversation was taking place Mr. Robey and Doctor
Proctor were walking back to the former's room in the village through a
frosty, starlit night.
"You certainly managed to spring a sensation, Gus," observed the coach
as they turned into the road.
"I should say so! Well, that boy deserved all the cheering and praise he
received. And I'm glad I told that story."
"Well, it's got me guessing," responded the other. "Look here, Gus, take
a chap like the one you described tonight. What would you think if he
quit cold a week before the big game?"
"Quit? How do you mean, George?"
"Just that. Develops an imaginary illness. Tells you he doesn't feel
well enough to play, in spite of the fact that he has nothing more the
matter with him than you or I have. Probably not so much. Shows absolute
relief when you tell him he's dropped. What would you say to that?"
"You mean Gilbert did that?" Mr. Robey assented. "I wondered why he
wasn't on the platform with the rest of the team," mused the doctor.
"I'd say there was something queer about it, George. When did this
happen?"
"Last week. Thursday or Friday, I think. He'd been laid off for a day or
so and I thought he'd gone a bit fine, although he's rather too
phlegmatic to suffer much from nerves. Some of the high-strung chaps do
go to pieces about this time and you have to nurse them along pretty
carefully. But Gilbert! Well, on Saturday--yes, that was the day--he'd
been reported perfectly fit by the trainer and just as a matter of form
I asked him if he was ready to play. And, by Jove, he had the cheek to
face me and say he wasn't well enough! It was nonsense, of course. He'd
simply got scared. I told him so and dropped him. But it's curious that
a boy who could do what you told of this evening could prove a quitter
like that."
"You say he seemed relieved when you let him go?"
"Yes, he showed it plainly."
"That is funny! I wonder what the truth of it is?"
"Nerves, I suppose. Cold feet, as the fellows say."
"Never! There's something else, old man, that you haven't got hold of.
Can he play?"
"Y-yes. Yes, he can play. He's the sort that comes slow and plays a bit
logy, but he's steady and works hard. Not a brilliant man, you know, but
dependable. He's been playing guard. Losing him has left us a bit weak
on that side, too."
"Why not take him back then? Look here, George, you're a good coach and
all that, but you're a mighty poor judge of human nature."
"Piffle!"
"It's so, though. You've only got to study that chap Gilbert to see that
he isn't the quitting kind. His looks show it, his manner shows it, the
way he talks shows it. He's the sort that might want to quit; we all do
sometimes; but he couldn't because he's got stuff in him that wouldn't
let him!"
"That's all well enough, Gus, but facts are facts. Gilbert _did_ quit,
and quit cold on me. So theories don't count for much. And this human
nature flapdoodle----"
"I don't say he didn't quit. But I do say that you've made the wrong
diagnosis, George. Did you talk to him? Ask him what the trouble was? Go
after the symptoms?"
"No, I'm no physician. He said he wasn't feeling well enough to play. I
told him we had no place for quitters on the team. He had nothing to
say to that. If you think I can feel the pulse and look at the tongue of
every fellow----"
Doctor Proctor laughed. "And take his temperature too, eh? No, I don't
expect you to do that, George. But I'll tell you what I would do, and
I'd do it tomorrow too. I'd call around and see Gilbert. I'd tell him
that I wasn't satisfied with the explanation he'd made and I'd ask him
to make a clean breast of the trouble, for he must be in some trouble or
he wouldn't thank you for firing him. And then I'd stop cutting off my
nose to spite my face and I'd reinstate him tomorrow afternoon!"
"Hmph! The trouble with you doctors is that you're too romantic. You
imagine things, you----"
"We have to imagine, George. If we stuck to facts we'd never get
anywhere in our profession! You try a little imagination, old chap.
You're too matter-of-fact. What you can't see you won't believe in."
"I certainly won't! As the kids say, seeing's believing."
"Well, there's a very unattractive board fence across the road, George.
On the other side of it there are shrubs and grass. I can't see them,
but I know they're there."
"More likely tin-cans and ashes," grunted Mr. Robey.
"Pessimist!" laughed the other. "But never mind; ashes or grass,
something's there, and you can't see it and yet you've got to
acknowledge the existence of it. Now haven't you?"
"I suppose so, but"--Mr. Robey laughed--"I'd rather see it!"
"Climb the fence and have a look then! But you'll try my plan with the
boy, won't you?"
"Yes, I will. If only to satisfy my curiosity, Gus. Hang it, the chap
_can't_ be a quitter!"
"He isn't. I'll stake my reputation as--as a romanticist on that! I'd
like mighty well to stay and solve the mystery with you, but I'll have
to jump for that early train. I wish, though, that you'd drop me a line
and tell me the outcome. I'm interested--and puzzled."
"All right. I'm not much of a letter-writer, though. I'll see you before
you go back and tell you about it. You'll be in New York on Sunday,
won't you?"
"Until two o'clock. Have lunch with me and see me off. Come to the hotel
as early as you can and we'll hold post-mortems on the games. Let's hope
that Princeton and Brimfield both win next Saturday, George!"