Westby did his best and flung himself desperately into the thick of every scrimmage. The whole team did its best, but Harvard would not be denied. By short rushes they fought their way down, down, and at last across the goal line-and the game was won. There were only three minutes left to play, and in that time neither side scored.

When Mr. Barclay blew his whistle, the Harvard team a.s.sembled and cheered St. Timothy's, and then St. Timothy's a.s.sembled and cheered Harvard. After that the players walked to the athletic house, beset on the way by the curious or by friends.

Westby was the victim of condolences, well meant but ill-timed; he responded curtly when Blake, pushing near, said to him, "It was awfully hard luck, Wes-but after that you played a mighty good game." He wished nothing but to be let alone, he wished no sympathy. He knew that he had lost the game; that was enough for him.

In the dressing-room he sat on a bench next to Lawrence Upton and began putting on his clothes in silence. The other boys were talking all round him, commenting cheerfully on the plays and on the future prospects of the teams.

Lawrence refrained from discussing the game at all; he asked Westby what St. Timothy's boys he knew at Harvard, and where he expected to room when he went there; he tried to be friendly. But Westby repelled his efforts, answering in a sullen voice. At last Lawrence finished dressing; he picked up his bag and turned to Westby.

"Look here," he said, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm going to be at Harvard the next three years; we're likely to meet. Must a little hard luck make hard feeling?"

"Oh, there's no hard feeling," Westby a.s.sured him.

"Glad to hear it. Good-by." Lawrence held out his hand.

"You're not going to stay for supper?"

"No. I'm going back with the team on the six o'clock train-hour exam on Monday. My brother's waiting for me outside; I want to see him for a while before we start. I hope to come up here some time again-hope I'll see you."

"Thanks. I hope so. Good-by."

The words were all right, but Westby spoke them mechanically. It had flashed upon him that Lawrence would now learn from his brother the charge that he had so unjustly and hotly made. And of a sudden he wished he could prevent that. He would have been glad to go to Irving and retract it all and apologize; anything to keep Lawrence from hearing of it.

Why had he been so slow in dressing-why hadn't he hurried on his clothes and gone out ahead of Lawrence and made it all right with Irving!

With a wild thought that it might not yet be too late, he flung on his coat and rushed from the building-only to see Irving and Lawrence walking together across the football field.

CHAPTER X

MASTER AND BOY

For several days Westby's unnatural quiet was attributed to his sensitiveness over the error which had given the Harvard Freshmen their victory. It was most noticeable at Irving's table; there his bubbling spirits seemed permanently to have subsided; he wrapped himself in silence and gloom. His manner towards Irving was that of haughty displeasure. Carroll was at a loss to understand it and questioned him about it one day.

"Oh, I'm just tired of him-tired of hearing his everlasting brag about his brother," Westby said sharply.

"He bragged so little about him once you wouldn't believe he had a brother," replied Carroll. "I don't see that he brags much more about him now."

"Well, I see it, and it annoys me," retorted Westby rudely. "I think I'll see if I can have my seat changed. I'd rather sit at Scabby's table."

Mr. Randolph, however, the head of the Upper School, refused to grant Westby's pet.i.tion.

"You don't give any special reason," he said. "You have friends at Mr.

Upton's table; you ought to be contented to stay there. What's the matter? Are you having friction with some one?"

"I should be better satisfied if I were at Scarborough's table," said Westby.

"We can't gratify every individual preference or whim," replied Mr.

Randolph.

He asked Irving if he knew of any reason why Westby should be transferred and told him that the boy had asked for the change.

"Oh, it's just between him and me," said Irving wearily. "We don't get on."

"Then you'd like to have him go, too?"

"No, I wouldn't. When he's his natural self, I like him. And I haven't yet given up the hope that some time we'll get together."

He met Westby's coldness with coolness. But on the morning of the St.

John's game, after breakfast, he drew Westby aside. He held a letter in his hand.

"Westby," he said, "I don't know that you will care to hear it, but I have a message for you from my brother."

Westby cast down his eyes and reddened. "I don't suppose I shall care to hear it," he said with a humility that amazed Irving. "But go ahead-give it to me, Mr. Upton."

"I don't quite understand-he just asked me to say to you that he hopes you'll get your chance in the game to-day. He felt you were rather cut up by your hard luck in the Freshman game."

"Didn't he-isn't he-" Westby hesitated for an uncomfortable moment, then blurted out, "Isn't he sore at me, Mr. Upton?"

"What for?"

"For saying about him what I did-about his trying to lay Collingwood out when he tackled."

"He doesn't know you said it."

"Oh! Didn't you tell him?"

"No. The criticism was unjust-there was no use in repeating it."

"It was unjust." Westby had lowered his voice. "I am very much ashamed, Mr. Upton."

"That's all right," said Irving. He took Westby's hand. "I hope too you'll get your chance in the game."

"Thank you." Westby spoke humbly. "I hope if I do, I won't make a mess of it again."

That game was far different in color and feeling from the one with the Freshmen on the Sat.u.r.day before. Long before it began the boys of St.

John's with their blue banners and flags and the boys of St. Timothy's with their red were ranged on opposite sides of the field, hurling defiant, challenging cheers across at one another; for St. Timothy's a band, in which Scarborough beat the drum and was director, paraded back and forth; the little boys were already hopping up and down and trembling and squealing with excitement; already their little voices were almost gone.

Irving knew that to himself alone was this occasion one of less moving interest than that of the preceding Sat.u.r.day; as he stood and looked on at the waving red and the waving blue and later at the struggle that was being waged in the middle of the field, he wondered how on this afternoon that other game between the red and the blue was going, and how Lawrence was acquitting himself.

Certainly it could not, he thought, be any more close, more hotly contested, than this of the two rival schools. All through the first half they fought each other without scoring.

Once St. Timothy's had got down to St. John's fifteen-yard line, but then had been unable to go farther, and Dennison had missed by only a few feet his try for a goal from the field.

Early in the second half St. Timothy's met with misfortune. Dennison was laid out by a hard tackle; when at last he got to his feet, he limped badly. Louis Collingwood took him by the arm and walked round with him; Dennison was arguing, protesting. But Collingwood led him towards the side-line, patting him on the back, and called "Westby!"