"No," said Perry.
Praska fell into a silence. Somehow Perry got the idea that, if he spoke again, his words would hold something of moment. And at last he spoke.
"I—I'd watch my step for—the next few days."
Just that—nothing more. Perry was disappointed. Their ways parted. Something that Mr. Banning had said had started Perry on another line of thought and he wanted Ida Tarbell's "Lincoln." He was coming out of the public library, with the book under one arm, when a phrase of Praska's came back to him. For the next few days! He stumbled down the library steps, unconsciously hugging the book, lost for the moment to all else but a great and surging hope. For now he knew the truth. He was the fellow the football squad was considering.
It was hours after he went to bed that night before he fell asleep. His ambitions, called back to life, painted a riotous succession of pleasing pictures. He saw himself as one of the football squad, traveling to games in their bus, a locker-room companion of all who wore the moleskin, sitting in by right at their most sacred conferences. His soul thrilled. Watch his step? He'd watch it as step was never watched before.
The morning sent him to Northfield High
