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“He’d have to if I knew him,” replied the other grimly. “Why, confound it, Tracey, if Dobs thinks I’m lying he will—will——” Harry choked. Tracey nodded sympathetically.

“Pro,” he answered. “I know. Off goes your head! No more football. It’s—it’s a shame, old man!”

“And Adams will tell his story and I won’t have a show at all,” mourned Harry. “If—if he says I can’t play any more I won’t stay here, Tracey! I—I’ll leave!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, chum. After all, you know, things like this are likely to happen to a fellow occasionally. And as for football, why, there’s another year coming, and——”

“You make me tired! Another year coming! Just when I’ve beaten Dyker out for my position, and the St. Matthew’s game comes to-morrow! No, sir, if he says I can’t play to-morrow I’ll quit, Tracey! It isn’t fair! I didn’t do anything and they’ve no right to punish me for something I didn’t do! You—you just wait and see!”

“You’ll think differently later, I guess,” said Tracey sympathetically. He put an arm through Harry’s. “Come on and have some breakfast. You’ll feel better after that.”