Part 125

Below there was nothing at all.

Stover stood, swaying from heel to heel, watching The Roman.

"What the deuce is he looking at?" he thought in wonder, as The Roman sat silently staring at the blank sheet.

Finally he turned over the page, as though carefully perusing it, poised a pencil, and said in a low voice, without glancing up:

"Well, John, I think this will just about pass."

XXVI

The football season had ended victoriously. The next week brought the captaincy for the following year to Stover by unanimous approval. But the outlook for the next season was of the weakest; only four men would remain. The charge that he would have to lead would be a desperate one. This sense of responsibility was, perhaps, more acute in Stover than even the pleasure-giving sense of the attendant admiration of the school whenever he appeared among them.

Other thoughts, too, were working within him. Ever since the extraordinary outcome of his examination at the hands of The Roman Stover had been in a ferment of confusion. The Roman's action amazed, then perplexed, then doubly confounded him.

If The Roman was not his enemy, had not been all this time his persistent, malignant foe, what then? What was left to him to cling to? If he admitted this, then his whole career would have to be reconstructed. Could it be that, after all, month in and month out, it had been The Roman himself who had stood as his friend in all the hundred and one scrapes in which he had tempted Fate? And pondering on this gravely, Dink Stover, in the portion of his soul that was consecrated to fair play, was mightily exercised.

He consulted Tough McCarty, as he consulted him now on everything that lay deeper than the lip currency of his fellows. They were returning from a long walk over the early December roads in the grays and drabs of the approaching twilight. Stover had been unusually silent, and the mood settled on him, as, turning the hill, they saw the clustered skyline of the school through the bared branches.

"What the deuce makes you so solemncholy?" said Tough.

"I was thinking," said Dink with dignity.

"Excuse me."

"I was thinking," said Dink, rousing himself, "that I've been all wrong."

"I don't get that."

"I mean The Roman."

"How so?"

"Tough, you know down at the bottom I have a sneaking suspicion that he's been for me right along. It's a rotten feeling, but I'm afraid it's so."

"Shouldn't wonder. Have you spoken to him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure. And then, I don't know just how to get to it."

"Jump right in and tackle him around the knees," said Tough.

"I think I will," said Dink, who understood the metaphor.

They went up swinging briskly, watching in silence the never stale spectacle of the panorama of the school.

"I say, Dink," said Tough suddenly, "Sis is going to put the clamps on that T. Willyboy, Ver Plank."

"Really--when?" said Dink, surprised that the news brought him no emotion.

"Next month."