“What’s the good of being decent?” asked Paul dolefully.  “I wish I’d gone to Robinson.”

“No, you don’t,” said Neil.  “You’d rather sit on the side-line at Erskine than play with a lot of hired sluggers.”

“Much you know about it,” Paul growled.  “If I don’t get into the Robinson game I’ll—­I’ll leave college.”

“But what good would that do?” asked Neil.

“I’d go somewhere where I’d stand a show.  I’d go to Robinson or one of the smaller places.”

“I don’t think you’d do anything as idiotic as that,” answered Neil.  “It’ll be hard luck if you miss the big game, but you’ve got three more years yet.  What’s one?  You’re certain to stand the best kind of a show next year.”

“I don’t see how.  Gillam doesn’t graduate until 1903.”

“But you can beat him out for the place next year.  All you need is more experience.  Gillam’s been at it two years here.  Besides, it would be silly to leave a good college just because you couldn’t play on the football team.  Don’t be like Cowan and think football’s the only thing a chap comes here for.”

“They’ve used him pretty shabbily,” said Paul.

“That’s what Cowan thinks.  I don’t see how they could do anything else.”

“He’s awfully cut up.  I’m downright sorry for him.  He says he’s going to pack up and leave.”

“And he’s been trying to make you do the same, eh?” asked Neil.  “Well, you tell him I’m very well satisfied with Erskine and haven’t the least desire to change.”

“You?” asked Paul.

“Certainly.  We hang together, don’t we?”

Paul grinned.

“You’re a good chap, chum,” he said gratefully.  “But—­” relapsing again into gloom—­“you’re not losing your place on the team, and you don’t know how it feels.  When a fellow’s set his heart on it—­”

“I think I do know,” answered Neil.  “I know how I felt when my shoulder went wrong and I thought I was off for good and all.  I didn’t like it.  But cheer up, Paul, and give ’em fits Monday.  Slam ’round, let yourself loose; show ’em what you can do.  Down with Gillam!”

“Oh, I dare say,” muttered Paul dejectedly.

Neil laid awake a long time that night; he was full of sympathy for his room-mate.  With him friendship meant more than it does to the average boy of nineteen, and he was ready and eager to do anything in his power that would insure Paul’s getting into the Robinson game.  The trouble was that he could think of nothing, although he lay staring into the darkness, thinking and thinking, until Paul had been snoring comfortably across the room for more than an hour.