Left Guard Gilbert Part 26

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 a.s.sented. "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 Sat.u.r.day--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 gra.s.s. 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 gra.s.s, 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 Sat.u.r.day, George!"

CHAPTER XXIII

CROSS-EXAMINATION

DON found being a hero an embarra.s.sing 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 embarra.s.sment, 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?"