“No, but it’s something about money. As I understood it he doesn’t want to marry until he’s settled down in his law practice and can stay at home and attend to things. Anyway, that’s the dope. Of course I said I hoped we’d beat Saturday, and--well, what do you suppose he said?” “Said he hoped so, too, probably.” “He said, ‘How hard do you hope it, Burton?’ I said that I hoped it a whole lot, or something like that. ‘Well, do you hope it hard enough to pitch in and help us?’ he asked. I said I sure did. Then--well, he talked a lot. Made me feel sort of small, Bert. You know, when you come right down to it, I’ve been an awful fizzle this fall!” “What I want to know is, is he going to let you play?” “I don’t know. I think so. He didn’t promise it, though. What he said was that I was to start in to-morrow and forget everything but football and beating Kenly and show what I could do. I guess he doesn’t feel like sticking me in ahead of Fitz, and I don’t blame him, because, say what you like, Fitz is a mighty good end, Bert.” Bert suppressed a grin. “Then all he agreed to was letting you show what you can do, eh?” “He didn’t agree to anything,” responded Chick a trifle warmly. “He made me see what a blamed poor piece of cheese I’ve been this season and asked me to help him come through with a win. And that on top of all this other business! I’ll say that’s fair enough, and I’m ready to do everything I can so he can get married like he wants to. Of course I want to beat Kenly, too, but I’m in it now so that girl won’t have to wait another year. So he won’t, either. What’s wrong with that?” “Not a thing,” replied Bert. “Only the girl must be a peach, Chick, to get you all het up like this!” “She is,” replied Chick stoutly. “But I’m not het up, you blamed cynic. I’m just mighty grateful to Johnny for not raising the old Ned about Les Devore. He might have been nasty, for I certainly did a lot of fool talking with my mouth.” “What about that? Could you remember saying anything to Devore that would matter?” “I said plenty,” answered Chick grimly. “I told him about two or three plays; drew them out for him with a piece of billiard chalk on the table one night. I remembered it last night after I got to bed. That Number 14 was one of them. He insisted that we didn’t have anything but old stuff and wouldn’t let me tell him anything different and I drew the plays out so he could get them. Of course it was a perfectly idiotic thing to do, but I never suspected that he was anything but the dumb-bell he seemed to be.” “Wow!” muttered Bert. “What did Johnny say to that?”