Part 21 (2/2)
”Perhaps he would, and perhaps he wouldn't,” muttered Phil.
”Oh, it's a dead sure thing he would have done it.”
”How do you know?”
”Didn't I tell you he tried to find you! Why, he even sent for me; he was going to put me in.”
”You?” breathed Springer incredulously.
”Yes, me; and I didn't have on a playing suit. If Grant hadn't managed to steady down at the last moment, I'd gone onto the slab. What made you skin out, Phil?”
After a few moments of silence, Springer forced himself by a great effort to speak:
”I tut-told you I thought the game was o-over.”
”You might have waited for the rest of the bunch. If you'd done that you'd known it wasn't over. The fellows are pretty sore on you, for they say you deserted.”
Phil flushed and flared. ”Let them be sore, I don't care! I'm the one to be sore! I got a rotten deal to-day. I had every reason to suppose I was going to pitch that game, but Roger Eliot ran Grant in. I want him to understand he can't play that sort of fuf-funny business with me; I won't sus-stand for it. I'm glad they hammered Grant! Did they win?”
”No; we pulled through by the skin of our teeth--seven to six. It was an awful snug rub. I believe I could have stopped the Porters if I'd got the chance; I'm dead sure you could. That's why I say you made a big mistake by scooting.”
Herbert Rackliff, smoking, laughed sneeringly.
”Don't blame Springer a bit,” he said. ”He did get a rotten deal, and he has a right to resent it. What ails you, Hook; are you going to let Eliot softsoap round you? He'll do it if you'll let him, for he's got to have some sort of a scrub pitcher to fall back on for part of the work. Of course, this wild and woolly Texan will be the star and get all the glory, but somebody must do the dirty work. Hook, you're a lobster. I didn't think you'd fall for taffy like that. You give me a cramp.” He coughed behind a thin hand as he finished, his flat chest torn and his stooping shoulders shaken by the effort.
”Now that will about do for you!” blazed Roy, turning on his erstwhile chum. ”I want you to know that, at least, I'm no traitor to my school team, and, though you hinted for me to favor you to-day, I'd done my level best to win for Oakdale if I'd ever got the chance.”
”You're a fool,” returned Herbert coldly. ”Springer is a fool, too.
He made a chump of himself when he taught Grant to pitch. In this world the fellow who looks out for himself and lets others do the same for themselves is the one who gets along. You can bank on that every time. Think it over and see if I'm not right. Good night.” With which expression of selfish wisdom, he turned up his coat collar, snapped aside his half-smoked cigarette and took his departure, leaving Phil and Roy staring at each other in uncomfortable silence.
After a time Springer succeeded in forcing a laugh.
”That's just about what you told me a few days ago, Hook,” he said, ”but I really didn't need anyone to point out that I had made a fool of myself. Sorry I didn't wait to make sure rain was going to stop the game to-day. What makes it worse, I told my folks a lie about that game. I'll feel cheap enough when they fuf-find out the truth. Guess I'll be going, too. So long, Hook.”
”Good night,” said Roy.
He stood at the open door and watched Phil's figure disappear into the gloom of the rainy night that was coming on.
”Told your folks a lie, did you?” he muttered after a time. ”Well, that wasn't half as bad as stealing from them, and I----” Without finis.h.i.+ng the sentence, he closed the door of the carriage house.
CHAPTER XXI.
A PERSISTENT RASCAL.
Nearly always it is false pride that spurs on the naturally decent fellow who realizes he has made a mistake and knows deep down in his heart that the course he is pursuing is wrong. Thus it was with Phil Springer. Time and again his conscience condemned him and his judgment bade him come forth like a man and own up to his error, but his pride would not let him yield.
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