“Ah, you know why, Ned!” He put his arm round his brother’s waist. “It almost made me cry—to keep pounding you when you were all played out. You don’t know how I wanted to try it somewhere else—especially when it came to striking for the touchdown. Oh, I’d have given anything to make it through Durant instead of you! But I did n’t dare to take the chance, Ned. I knew that everywhere else your line was strong—and it was up to me to win that game for St. John’s. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Charley. I suppose I’m selfish to feel the least bit sore about it. Your last year at St. John’s and being captain—of course you—I ought almost to be glad you won. But I’m sorry for Blanchard! If only I had n’t lost it—!”
“Nobody blames you. Jackson really is a wonder. You held him mighty well, until your strength gave out.”
“If I only thought so!”
“Everybody else thinks so. The way those St. Timothy’s fellows talk about you—it
