"I have played on a champion university team," he said, "and when engaged by the athletic association of the Kingswood High I was given a free hand to choose whichever candidates seemed to be the most promising. I believe in the end my selections will prove to be wise ones." "Am I to understand, then, that you consulted no one in the matter?" "No; I can hardly say that, Mr. Barry." "Have you any objections to letting me know from whom you received suggestions?" "Not the slightest. Bob Somers, for one; also Sam Randall, Harry Spearman and several others." There was an awkward pause while the two waited for Mr. Barry to speak. The rattle of the silver knife alone broke the silence of the big room. "Your reply has the merit of frankness," said the millionaire, at length. He leaned forward, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "Remember--there must be no sentiment in this matter. Throw off any player who does not come up to requirements. To be honest with yourself and the school you cannot do otherwise." Coach Steele quieted a feeling of indignation which suddenly flared up within him. After all, he reflected, a man who had made such a magnificent offer to the school, and who felt such a deep interest in the welfare of its ball nine, must be pardoned if he spoke a little brutally. "I don't believe there's a single member of the team who would not cheerfully step out if he thought it best for the school," he said. "I'm sure of it, too," spoke up Bob Somers, earnestly. "You see, Mr. Barry, several of us traveled around a good bit, and, as Roger said, haven't had as much opportunity to play in regular games." "That doesn't affect the matter," returned Mr. Barry, bluntly. "If you can't play, why are you on the team?" "Oh, we don't admit we can't play," laughed Bob. "I think, before very long, your opinion of the club will change." "I hope so," said Mr. Barry. "My object in sending for you was to enforce upon you--I am going to speak plainly--this principle: there must be no favoritism. Meanwhile I suspend judgment." The two rose to their feet and bowed. "You may be sure there'll be no favoritism while I am coach," said Steele, a trifle stiffly. "I hope, Mr. Barry, we shall see you at the next game." "Very probably." Mr. Barry pressed a button. "Cassius will accompany you to the gate." Coach Steele and Bob Somers, bidding the millionaire good-evening, were presently joined in the hallway by the servant, already provided with a lantern. "A little light on a dark night ain't such a bad thing," said Cassius, cheerily, as he led the way outside. "A header down them steep steps wouldn't be calc'lated to do a feller any good." "No; not even a ball player could stand it," chuckled Bob. Cassius laughed softly.