As Dunn was putting on his coat Rob came in, distress written on his
face.

"Are you going to get Cameron, Jack?" he asked timidly. "I asked
Nesbitt, and he said--"

"Now look here, youngster," said his big brother, then paused. The
distress in the lad's face checked his words. "Now, Rob," he said
kindly, "you needn't fret about this. Cameron is all right."

The kind tone broke down the lad's control. He caught his brother's
arm. "Say, Jack, are you sure--he didn't--funk?" His voice dropped to a
whisper.

Then his big brother sat down and drew the lad to his side, "Now listen,
Rob; I'm going to tell you the exact truth. CAMERON DID NOT FUNK. The
truth is, he wasn't fit,--he ought to have been, but he wasn't,--and
because he wasn't fit he came mighty near quitting--for a moment, I'm
sure, he felt like it, because his nerve was gone,--but he didn't.
Remember, he felt like quitting and didn't, And that's the finest thing
a chap can do,--never to quit, even when he feels like it. Do you see?"

The lad's head went up. "I see," he said, his eyes glowing. "It was
fine! I'm awfully glad he didn't quit, 'specially when he felt like it.
You tell him for me." His idol was firm again on his pedestal.

"All right, old chap," said his big brother. "You'll never quit, I bet!"

"Not if I'm fit, will I?"