ch drily.

"I could see it," murmured Don.

"So you were suddenly afraid of hard work, eh? It had never bothered you
before, 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 man
for the place, then?" surmised the coach.

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

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

"No, sir."

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

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

"Well, what did Walton say?"

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

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

"I don't remember that we ever--exactly did that," Don faltered. "There
was 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 or
whatever 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 too
slow."

"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 the
matter." 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 you
mightily. I'm going to tell you that Walton is _not_ a better left guard
than 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,
Gilber