“No, I’m not,” returned Rodney, speaking in very bored tones. “I wish Stanley had never been at school here.”
“Why, Rodney!” This was May, scandalized. “How can you say such a thing? Just think what it is to be the brother of a real hero like Ginger Merrill! You can’t mean it!”
“Do, though,” grunted Rodney doggedly. “I’m sick of hearing about him and sick of seeing his pictures all over the shop. And look what a mess I’m in on his account. Got to go out to-morrow and fall around on a slippery old football and get bruised up. I can’t play and I told them so, but it didn’t do any good.” He kicked exasperatedly at the mallet he held. “I’ve a good mind not to go at all!”
“Oh, Rodney!” cried Matty. “You must! Think what a splendid thing it will be to get on the team and play against Bursley and maybe win the game for us!”
“Tell you I’m no good at it!” said Rodney impatiently. “I’ve tried it. Besides, I don’t want to play football. I won’t have time.”
“Because I want to study. I’m going to try for a scholarship. I’m willing to try for the baseball team and I like to play tennis, but I don’t want anything to do with football.”
“But――but――you ought to, Rodney! Your duty to the school――――”
Matty looked pained. “But you _did_ ought to――――”
“_Had_ ought to, I think,” corrected May.
“_Should_ ought to,” laughed Rodney. “Oh, well, I’ll have to see it through, I guess. After I’ve been out a few days they’ll be glad to let me alone. Only that’s going to get fellows sort of down on me. They’ll say ‘Ginger Merrill’s brother is an awful duffer. He can’t even hold the ball!’”
“But I don’t believe you’re nearly as bad as you try to make out,” said Matty, smiling. “How could you be? Ginger Merrill’s brother――――”
“There you go! I wish they’d forget I’m Ginger Merrill’s brother. You, too. I’m going home.”
“Well, it was very nice of you to play croquet with us, wasn’t it, May?”
“It was,” agreed May promptly and calmly.
“And to-morrow, if mama will allow us to, we’ll go over to the field and watch you practice.” And Matty smiled encouragingly.
“Rather you didn’t,” replied Rodney gloomily. “So long.”
He squirmed through a thin place in the hedge that separated the Binner’s garden from Mrs. Westcott’s yard, and entered the cottage. Mrs. Westcott, as luck would have it, was seated in her private parlor at the left of the door, and at sight of Rodney hurried into the hall.