“They’ve been talking of taking one of the mill fellows along as a substitute, but they don’t like to do it. There are a dozen fellows who go to the academy and who might play, but they won’t have anything to do with the game. They’ve got a scrub team from Lobsterville playing with them for practice to-night. Perhaps they’ll get somebody out of that.”
“Perhaps so, but I doubt it. Sterndale can blame himself for letting Renwood boss things, if they do happen to get into a box.”
“One thing is certain,” said Leon, wagging his head; “they won’t get us to help them out.”
“It isn’t likely they’ll want us,” muttered Don, bitterly.
And so they passed the time in talking of these things till the doctor’s son dared venture homeward. On his way, he dropped into a tobacco store and, in a very self-conscious, guilty manner, bought a package of cigarettes, which he slipped into an inner pocket.
Bentley had spoken the truth in saying the eleven was not progressing in a satisfactory manner. Renwood had worked hard to teach them, and they had received instructions in punting, drop-kicking, place-kicking, passing, tackling and interference; but when it came to working out the various plays, Thad Boland could not be aroused to the absolute necessity of quick and decisive action, and he bothered and hindered the others in a provoking manner. Thad was large enough and heavy enough to become a good man in the line, but it seemed doubtful if he would get into action and make himself of the least consequence in the game. Renwood scolded him and Sterndale coaxed him, but neither scolding nor soft words brought the desired result.
That night in the game against the scrub team, which was made up of all sorts and conditions of boys, there being sixteen in all, instead of eleven, Thad utterly refused to earnestly exert himself, declaring it was no use to “slash and tear ’round” in a fooling game of that sort, nor could any kind of talk or influence affect him. As the regulars failed to make an entirely satisfactory showing against the scrub, this was most annoying and not a little disheartening.
After the game, Sterndale, Renwood, Smith and Murphy drew aside to talk matters over.
“Of course we gave the scrub the advantage of numbers and the wind,” said the coach, somewhat ruefully; “but that is no excuse for our failure to score oftener.”
“The right end of the line is terribly weak,” confessed Sterndale, who looked troubled. “Carter is a new man on the end, Boland is too lazy at tackle, and Sprout is too fat as guard. We must make a change, Renwood.”