Football -- Juvenile fiction; Schools -- Juvenile fiction
Rob was standing on the steps of Academy after dinner with Malcolm and
Wright when Prentiss came along. They all nodded to him and Prentiss
responded, but as he reached the door he turned back and addressed Rob.
“Say, Langton, you think you’re smart, don’t you?” he sneered.
Rob looked at once surprised and pained.
“I do? Why do you say thus?”
“Putting that fool box in there. If you don’t want the school to have a
foot-ball team that’s your affair, I suppose. But you might act like a
gentleman and not try to ridicule the team.”
“Do you suspect me of that?” asked Rob sorrowfully.
“I don’t suspect; I know,” responded Prentiss warmly. “Any one would
think you were a prep, doing such fool stunts as that!”
“I don’t see what you’re mad about, though,” said Rob innocently. “I’ll
bet there was as much as sixty cents in that box.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t give any of it, then!” Prentiss sneered.
“You wrong me. I gave a whole bright, new penny.”
“That’s more than you gave at the meeting last night.”
“I didn’t have a penny with me then,” answered Rob sweetly. “If I had
I’d have given it, really and truly. I don’t see how you can expect
fellows to give money if you scatter it around the floor the way you
did this morning. Why, there was enough in that contribution-box to buy
half a dozen ice-cream sodas for the captain and manager!”
“Look here,” demanded Prentiss angrily, “do you mean to insinuate that
I spend the football funds on soda water?”
“Of course not. How could you when you keep a nice itemized account of
all expenditures? Let me see, you didn’t read the accounts last night,
did you?”
“I’m not required to; but if you mean to accuse me of stealing the
football money, Langton, you’d better come right out and say so.”
“He doesn’t,” interposed Wright soothingly. “He’s just talking, aren’t
you, Rob?”
“Am I? Just as you say. All right, then, Prentiss, I’m just talking.
It’s a habit I have.”
“You talk too much,” growled Prentiss wrathfully. “You’re a sore-head,
that’s what you are. You’re always trying to make trouble for Hop and
me. Just because you tried for the team last year and didn’t make it
you do nothing but knock. You make me tired.”
“That’s all right. You’re not the only one that’s tired. You’ll find
that there are a whole lot of others who are tired, too. Tired of
giving their money to a football team that never makes good from one
year to the next, tired of having you and Hopkins run the whole thing
yourselves. Oh, you’re not the only tired one, Prentiss!”
“I suppose you think you ought to manage it?”
“Well, I’m naturally modest,” drawled Rob, “but I have had suspicions
that way.” Prentiss laughed derisively.
“You’d make a dandy manager, you would. Maybe you’d like to be captain,
too?”
“Not of that team, thanks.”
“Is that so? Why, you don’t know the first thing about football, Lanky;
you’re a joke!” And Prentiss disappeared laughing hugely.
Rob smiled as he looked after him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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