Part 45 (1/2)

The first direct clash came when the scrubs were given the ball and d.i.n.k came in to aid his tackle box McCarty for the run that was signaled around their end.

Tough made the mistake of estimating Stover simply by his lack of weight, without taking account of the nervous, dynamic energy which was his strength. Consequently, at the snap of the ball, he was taken by surprise by the wild spring that Stover made directly at his throat and, thrown off his balance momentarily by the frenzy of the impact, tripped and went down under the triumphant d.i.n.k, who, unmindful of the fact that the play had gone by, remained proudly fixed on the chest of the prostrate tackle.

”Get off,” said the m.u.f.fled voice.

Stover, whose animal instincts were all those of the bulldog, pressed down more firmly.

”Get off of me, you little blockhead,” said McCarty growing furious as he heard the jeers of his teammates at his humiliating reversal.

”Hurry up there, you Stover!” cried the voice of the captain, unheeded, for d.i.n.k was too blindly happy with the thrill of perfect supremacy over the hated McCarty to realize the situation.

”Stover!!!”

At the shouted command d.i.n.k looked up and at last perceived the play was over. Reluctantly he started to rise, when a sudden upheaval of the infuriated McCarty caught him unawares and Tough's vigorous arm flung him head over heels.

Down went d.i.n.k with a thump and up again with rage in his heart. He rushed up to McCarty as in the mad fight under the willows and struck him a resounding blow.

The next moment not Tough, but c.o.c.krell's own mighty hand caught him by the collar and swung him around.

”Get off the field!”

”What?” said d.i.n.k, astounded, for in his ignorance he had expected complimentary pats on his back.

”Off the field!”

d.i.n.k, cold in a minute, quailed under the stern eye of the supreme leader.

”I did sling him pretty hard, Garry,” said Tough, taking pity at the look that came into d.i.n.k's eyes at this rebuke.

”Get off!”

d.i.n.k, who had stopped with a sort of despairing hope, went slowly to the side-lines, threw a blanket over his head and shoulders and squatted down in bitter, utter misery. Another was in his place, plunging at the tackle that should have been his, racing down the field under punts that made the blood leap in his exiled body. He did not understand. Why had he been disgraced? He had only shown he wasn't afraid--wasn't that why they had put him opposite Tough McCarty, after all?

The contending lines stopped at last their tangled rushes and straggled, panting, back for a short intermission. d.i.n.k, waiting under the blanket, saw the captain bear down upon him and, s.h.i.+vering like a dog watching the approach of his punishment, drew the folds tighter about him.

”Stover,” said the dreadful voice, loud enough so that every one could hear, ”you seem to have an idea that football is run like a slaughterhouse. The quicker you get that out of your head the better.

Now, do you know why I fired you? Do you?”

”For slugging,” said d.i.n.k faintly.

”Not at all. I fired you because you lost your head; because you forgot you were playing football. If you're only going into this to work off your private grudges, then I don't want you around. I'll fire you off and keep you off. You're here to play football, to think of eleven men, not one. You're to use your brains, not your fists. Why, the first game you play in some one will tease you into slugging him and the umpire will fire you. Then where'll the team be? There are eleven men in this game on your side and on the other. No matter what happens don't lose your temper, don't be so stupid, so brainless--do you hear?”

”Yes, sir,” said d.i.n.k, who had gradually retired under his blanket until only the tip of the nose showed and the terror-stricken eyes.

”And don't forget this. You don't count. It isn't the slightest interest to the team whether some one whales you or mauls you! It isn't the slightest interest to you, either. Mind that! Nothing on earth is going to get your mind off following the ball, sizing up the play, working out the weak points--nothing. Brains, brains, brains, Stover! You told me you came out here because we needed some one to be banged around--and I took you on your word, didn't I? Now, if you're going out there as an egotistical, puffed-up, conceited individual who's thinking only of his own skin, who isn't willing to sacrifice his own little, measly feelings for the sake of the school, who won't fight for the team, but himself----”

”I say, Cap, that's enough,” said d.i.n.k with difficulty; and immediately retired so deep that only the mute, pleading eyes could be discerned.

c.o.c.krell stopped short, bit his lip and said sternly: ”Line up now.

Get in, Stover, and don't let me ever have to call you down again.