Left Guard Gilbert

  CHAPTER XXIII

  CROSS-EXAMINATION

  DON found being a hero an embarrassing business the next day. Themasters bothered him by stopping and shaking hands and saying nicethings, and the fellows beamed on him if they weren't well enoughacquainted to speak and insisted on having a full and detailed historyof that train-wreck if they were! Of course they all, masters andstudents, meant well and wanted to show their admiration, but Don wishedthey wouldn't. It made him feel horribly self-conscious, and feelingself-conscious was distinctly uncomfortable. At breakfast table hiscompanions referred to last evening's incident laughingly and poked funat Don and enjoyed his embarrassment, but it wasn't difficult to tellthat Doctor Proctor's narrative had made a strong impression on them andincreased their liking for Don. When, just before Don had finished hismeal, Mr. Robey left the training-table and crossed the room toward himhe braced himself for another scene in which he would have to stand upand be shaken by the hand, and possibly, and worst of all, listen tosome 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 ofthe 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 thismorning 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 retractionof 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 couldonly be that he was to be offered his place on the team again. Donsighed. That would be beastly, for he would have to tell more fibs, andbrand new ones, too, since not even a blind man would believe him illnow! It was something of a coincidence that Don should run across Waltonin the corridor a few minutes later. Don was for passing by with norecognition of the other, but Walton, with a smirk, placed himselffairly in the way.

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

  "Drop it, Walton!" Don lowered his voice, for others were passing towardthe doorway. "And I'll thank you not to speak to me. You know my opinionof you. Now shut up!"

  Walton found nothing to say until it was too late. Don approached thegymnasium after his ten o'clock recitation with lagging feet. He hadscant taste for the impending interview and would have gladly avoided itif such a thing had been possible. But he didn't see any way out of itand 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 thelatter'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 attendto on the floor, Robey, if you'll excuse me," and went out, closing thedoor behind him. Don wished he had stayed. He took the chair vacated bythe 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 tooffer you any apology for what I said on the field last Saturday. Idon't believe much in spoken apologies. If I'm wrong I show it andthere'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 proveit."

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

  "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'tthink it would be any use playing, feeling like I did. If you don't feelwell you can't play very well, and so I thought I'd say so. I didn'tmind being dropped, sir. I deserved it. And--and that's quite allright." 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 failedagain. Then he gave it up and dropped his gaze before the searching eyesof 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? Iknow you weren't sick. Danny gave you a clean bill of health thatmorning. And I know you haven't got any nerves to speak of. There'ssomething 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 wasWalton 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 youbefore, 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 manfor the place, then?" surmised the coach.

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

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

  "No, sir."

  "Hm. Now when was it--I mean how long before last Saturday was it--thatyou and Walton talked it over?"

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

  "Well, what did Walton say?"

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

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

  "I don't remember that we ever--exactly did that," Don faltered. "Therewas 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 orwhatever 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 tooslow."

  "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 thematter." 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 youmightily. I'm going to tell you that Walton is _not_ a better left guardthan 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 quittraining. I've been eating all sorts of things; potatoes and fresh breadand pastry--no end of pastry, sir!--and--and candy----"

  Mr. Robey grunted. "You don't show it," he said. "Anyway, I guess thatwon'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 thatyou didn't quit because you were _afraid_----"

&
nbsp; "I did, though!" Don looked up desperately. "That was the truth of it!"

  Mr. Robey sighed deeply. "Gilbert," he said patiently, "if I couldn'tlie better than you can I wouldn't try it! You weren't afraid and youaren'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 expecthim to play!"

  "Oh, I see. You and Walton come from the same town? But of course youdon'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 youwas 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 backout 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 bedisappointed?"

  "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_?"