CROSS-EXAMINATION
DON found being a hero an embarrassing business the next day. The
masters bothered him by stopping and shaking hands and saying nice
things, and the fellows beamed on him if they weren't well enough
acquainted to speak and insisted on having a full and detailed history
of that train-wreck if they were! Of course they all, masters and
students, meant well and wanted to show their admiration, but Don wished
they wouldn't. It made him feel horribly self-conscious, and feeling
self-conscious was distinctly uncomfortable. At breakfast table his
companions referred to last evening's incident laughingly and poked fun
at Don and enjoyed his embarrassment, but it wasn't difficult to tell
that Doctor Proctor's narrative had made a strong impression on them and
increased their liking for Don. When, just before Don had finished his
meal, Mr. Robey left the training-table and crossed the room toward him
he braced himself for another scene in which he would have to stand up
and be shaken by the hand, and possibly, and worst of all, listen to
some sort of an apology from the coach. But Don was spared, for Mr.
Robey only placed a hand on the back of his chair, included the rest of
the occupants of the table in his "Good-morning," and said carelessly:
"Gilbert, I wish you'd drop over to Mr. Conklin's office some time this
morning and see me. What time can you come?"
"Half-past ten, sir?"
"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 Saturday, 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 passing 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 passing 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 assume,
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 Saturday. 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 Saturday 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_----"
"I did, though!" Don looked up desperately. "That was the truth of it!"
Mr. Robey sighed deeply. "Gilbert," he said patiently, "if I couldn't
lie better than you can I wouldn't try it! You weren't afraid and you
aren't afraid and you know it and I know it! So, then, is it Walton?"
After a moment Don nodded silently.
"You think he's a better man than you are, eh?"
Don nodded again, but hesitatingly.
"Or you've taken pity on him and want him to play against Claflin,
perhaps."
"Yes, sir. You see, his folks are going to be here and they'll expect
him to play!"
"Oh, I see. You and Walton come from the same town? But of course you
don't. How did you know his folks were coming, then?"
"He told me."
"When?"
"About--some time last week."
"Was it the day you had that talk about the position and which of you
was to have it?"
"I guess so. Yes, sir, it was that time."
"And he, perhaps, suggested that it would be a nice idea for you to back
out and let him in, eh?"
Don was silent.
"Did he?" insisted the coach.
"He said that his folks were coming----"
"And that he'd like to get into the game so they wouldn't be
disappointed?"
"Something like that," murmured Don.
"And you consented?"
"Not exactly, but I thought it over and--and----"
Mr. Robey suddenly leaned forward and laid a hand on Don's knee.
"Gilbert," he asked quietly, "_what has Walton got on you_?"