Don tried to look indignant and failed, tried to look hurt and failed again. Then he gave it up and dropped his gaze before the searching eyes of the other. "I'm feeling some better now," he muttered. Coach Robey laughed shortly. "Gilbert, you can't lie worth a cent! Now, look here. I'm your friend. Why not come across and tell me what's up? I know you weren't sick. Danny gave you a clean bill of health that morning. And I know you haven't got any nerves to speak of. There's something else, Gilbert. Now what is it?" "Nothing, sir." "Then why did you act that way?" "I--I just didn't want to play." "Didn't want to play! Why not?" "I wasn't doing very well, and it was pretty hard work, and there was Walton after the place, too. He could play better than I could." "Who told you so? Walton?" asked the coach 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."