It is possible that Don was nervous, for he fumbled the pass the very first time, and the ball quite escaped from his clutch. This made him so angry that he sprang after it and gave it a fierce kick. In a moment Sterndale was at his side.
“That won’t do, old man,” said Dick. “Any of us is liable to make a fumble, so don’t——”
“Mayfair didn’t!” panted Don, his face flushed and his eyes flashing. “It wasn’t my fault! I don’t propose to be made a show of!” He gave Renwood a savage look.
“Steady!” warned Dick. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do! It was the same way yesterday. Put another fellow in Renwood’s place and I’ll guarantee to get the passes all right.”
This was enough to arouse Dolph, who promptly said:
“Don’t try to blame any one else for your own fault, Mr. Scott. I passed you the ball in exactly the same manner that I passed it to Mayfair. He took the pass cleanly.”
“And by that you call me a fumbler, do you? All right! I knew what would happen!” He took three steps toward Renwood. “I knew you meant me when you said there were some men on the team who were no earthly good,” he went on, his anger blazing forth unrestrained. “You don’t like me, because I won’t bow down and let you walk on my neck. I’m not one of the bowing kind, Mr. Renwood, and I’m just as good as you are, if you have played football in Boston. You come down here with your airs and expect to overawe us because we live in the country, but you are nothing but a stuck-up——”
Sterndale grasped with crushing force the arm of the angry and excited speaker, and he sternly said:
“Stop right where you are, Scott! You are making a spectacle of yourself by letting your unreasonable anger run away with your judgment. Renwood is our coach, accepted by unanimous consent, and as such he has a right to instruct and criticize us. We should feel under obligations to him for his kindness, and——”