"Correct," said Dennis, who didn't budge.

They sat in moody silence, without lighting the lamp.

"Pretty tough," said Dennis at last.

Stover's answer was a grunt.

"You couldn't see it the way the umpire did, could you?"

"No, I couldn't."

"Pretty tough!"

"I suppose," said Dink finally, "the fellows are wild."

"A little--a little excited," said Dennis carefully. "It was
tough--pretty tough!"

"You don't suppose I wanted that gang of muckers to win, do you?" said
Stover.

"I know," said Dennis sympathetically.

The Tennessee Shad now returned from the wars, covered with mud and
the more visible marks of the combat.

"Hello," he said gruffly.

"Hello," said Stover.

The Tennessee Shad went wearily to his corner and stripped for the
bath.

"Well, say it," said Stover, who, in his agitation, had actually
picked up a textbook and started to study. "Jump on me, why don't
you?"

"I'm not going to jump on you," said the Tennessee Shad, who weakly
pulled off the heavy shoes. "Only--well, you couldn't see it as the
umpire did, could you?"

"No!"

"What a day--what an awful day!"

Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, with great tact, rose and hesitated:

"I'm going--I--I've got to get ready for supper," he said desperately.
Then he went lamely over to Stover and held out his hand: "I know how
you feel old man, but--but--I'm glad you did it!"

Whereupon he disappeared in blushing precipitation.

Stover breathed hard and tried to bring his mind to the printed
lesson. The Tennessee Shad, sighing audibly, continued his ablutions,
dressed and sat down.

"Dink."

"What?"

"Why did you do it?"

Then Stover, flinging down his book with an access of rage, cried out:

"Why? Because you all, every damn one of you, expected me to _lie_!"

* * * * *

The next day Stover, who had firmly made up his mind to a sort of
modified ostracism, was amazed to find that over night he had become a
hero. By the next morning the passion and the bitterness of the
struggle having died away, the house looked at the matter in a calmer
mood and one by one came to him and gripped his hand with halting,
blurted words of apology or explanation.

Utterly unprepared for this development, Stover all at once realized
that he had won what neither courage nor wit had been able to bring
him, the something he had always longed for without being quite able
to name it--the respect of his fellows. He felt it i