“Perhaps you mean that I have not been giving it the right kind of practice?” Dolph cried. “Perhaps you know more about coaching a team than I do!”
“I didn’t say that, either,” grinned Bentley.
“You seldom say anything point-blank to a man’s face, but you insinuate and insinuate, and you talk behind his back.”
“Look here, Mr. Renwood,” Leon angrily snapped, “I don’t fancy that! I’ve always used you all right, and you have no reason for making that kind of talk. I won’t stand any more of it, either.”
Renwood shrugged his shoulders and turned to Sterndale, with whom he began to talk earnestly.
“Ginger!” cried Carter, starting up as the town clock in the Baptist church tower began to strike. “It’s nine o’clock! I told mother I’d be back before this. I’ve got some groceries to take home, and the stores will be closed. Good-night, fellows.”
He was hurrying out when Bentley also arose and remarked that he was going home, following Harry down the stairs. As Carter came out upon the street, Leon overtook him and grasped his arm.
“Look here, Cart,” he said, “can’t you see through this little game?”
“What game?” asked the boy addressed, turning sharply and shaking off the hand of his follower, whom he did not like. “What do you mean?”
“Why Renwood’s game, of course. It’s plain enough. He doesn’t want Rockspur to win, for all that he makes the bluff that he does. He has Sterndale on a string, and he’s the real manager and captain of the eleven. It was through him that all the shifting about on the team has come, and now he wants to make another shift. He’s sore because I made that touchdown, so he’s going to try to push me off. He’ll try to get Scott back into your place; then where will you be? He is going to keep this thing up just so that the team will be unsettled all the time, and that will fix us so that we’ll never win a game. Now, Carter, are you going to stand it? That’s the question.”