He was stung by her words and manner.
"I might have played the game if I’d wished!" he said hotly.
"Why don’t you? I don’t believe you could make the team if you tried."
"Perhaps not now; but——"
"I thought so!" she said, in a manner that added to his discomfiture. "That’s why you’re against some other fellow who has made it on the first trial."
Her manner was quite unusual for her, and he felt it keenly. It stirred him to exclaim:
"I see you think I could not get onto the eleven if I tried! I’ll show you! I’ll go out for practise Monday. If I do not get onto the team, it will be the fault of somebody besides myself. I have played football. But perhaps Mr. Dick Merriwell will object to having me on the team. If he does, I won’t get on, no matter how good I may prove to be."
"He’ll never be mean enough to try to keep you off."
While this conversation was taking place Viewland had tried Fardale’s center again, but had been hurled back, with a loss of two feet. That seemed to indicate that, beyond a doubt, the center of the line was really one of the cadets’ strongest points. But Viewland was determined, and it found other spots which seemed weak, so that a succession of gains brought the ball to Fardale’s ten-yard line.
"Touch-down! touch-down!" the visiting rooters were shouting. "Put it over, Warne—put it over!"