Part 13 (2/2)

”I dare say if I was willing to toady to Mills and Devoe, and tell everybody they're the finest football leaders that ever came down the pike, it would be different,” he sneered angrily. ”Maybe then Mills would give me private instruction in goal-kicking and let me black his boots for him.”

Neil closed his book and leaned back in his chair, a little disk of red in each cheek.

”Now, look here, Tom Cowan, let's have this out,” he said quietly.

”You're hitting at me, of course--”

”Oh, keep out, chum,” protested Paul. ”Cowan hasn't mentioned you once.”

”He doesn't need to,” answered Neil. ”I understand without it. But let me tell you, Cowan, that I do not toady to either Mills or Devoe. I do treat them, however, as I would any one who was in authority over me. I don't think merely because I've played the game before that I know all the football there is to know.”

”Meaning that I do?” growled Cowan.

”I mean that you've got a swelled head, Cowan, and that when Mills said you hadn't been doing your best he only told the truth, and what every fellow knows.”

”Shut up, Neil!” cried Paul angrily. ”It isn't necessary for you to pitch into Cowan just because he's down on his luck.”

”I don't mind him,” said Cowan, eying Neil with hatred. ”He's sore about what I said. I dare say I shouldn't have said it. If he's Mills's darling--”

Neil pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet with blazing eyes.

”Kindly get out of here,” he said. ”I've had enough of your insults.

This is my room; please leave it!” Cowan stared a moment in surprise, hesitated, threw a glance of inquiry at Paul's troubled and averted face, and slid from the table.

”Of course you can put me out of your room,” he sneered. ”For that matter, I'm glad to leave it. I did think, though, that part of the shop was Paul's, but I dare say he has to humor you.”

”The room's as much mine as his,” said Paul, ”and I want you to stay in it.” He looked defiantly over at his friend. Neil had not bargained for a quarrel with Paul, but was too incensed to back down.

”And I say you sha'n't stay,” he declared. ”Paul and I will settle the proprietors.h.i.+p of the room after you're out of it. Now you get!”

”Maybe you'll put me out?” asked Cowan with a show of bravado. But he glanced toward the door as he spoke. Neil nodded.

”Maybe I will,” he answered grimly.

”Cowan's my guest, Neil!” cried Paul. ”And you've no right to put him out, and I sha'n't let you!”

”He'll go out of here, if I have to fight him and you too, Paul!” Paul stared in wonderment. He was so used to being humored by his roommate that this declaration of war took his breath away. Cowan laughed with attempted nonchalance.

”Your friend's a bit chesty, Paul,” he said. ”Perhaps we'd better humor him.”

”No, stay where you are,” said Paul. ”If he thinks he's boss of me he's mistaken.” He glared wrathfully at Neil, and yet with a trifle of uneasiness. Paul was no coward, but physical conflict with Neil was something so contrary to the natural order that it appalled him. Neil removed the gorgeous bottle-green velvet jacket that he wore in the evenings, and threw open the study door. Then he faced Cowan. That gentleman returned his gaze for a moment defiantly. But something in Neil's expression caused his eyes to drop and seek the portal. He laughed uneasily, and with simulated indifference laid his hand on Paul's shoulder.

”Come on, old chap,” he said, ”let's get out before we're torn to bits.

There's no pleasure in staying with such a disagreeable fire-eater, anyhow. Come up to my room, and let him cool off.”

Paul hesitated, and then turned to follow Cowan, who was strolling toward the door. Angry as he was, deep in his heart he was glad to avoid conflict with his chum.

”All right,” he answered in a voice that trembled, ”we'll go; but”--turning to Neil--”if you think I'm going to put up with this sort of thing, you're mistaken. You can have this room, and I'll get another.”

”I'd suggest your rooming with Cowan,” answered Neil, ”since you're so fond of him.”

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