“In order to become a successful football player, Don,” said the doctor, breaking his silence when he saw the boy did not intend to speak, “you must receive instructions from those who know more about the game than you do, and you must take pains to follow the instructions as fully and faithfully as possible. A good soldier obeys his commander implicitly, without question or rebellion. A good football player should be as obedient as a good soldier. On the field, in practice and in play, you must let yourself be governed by your superiors, even though at times you find it necessity to hold yourself hard to keep from rebelling or from doing things the way you, yourself, fancy they should be done. No successful organization ever existed that did not have a commander who was obeyed, and the best commanders are those who have themselves learned well the lesson of exact and faithful obedience. If you ever expect or hope to rule others, my son, first learn the lesson of obedience and learn to rule your own disposition.”
Don’s face was flushed now, for, although his father had not referred to it directly, he felt that the open window had betrayed the exact condition of affairs. The doctor had chosen this indirect method of reproving his son for permitting himself to be ruled by his anger.
“That’s all I have to say,” concluded Dr. Scott, “with the exception of one thing: Shun evil companions. Better no friends than the friendship of the bad and vicious. Any boy who seeks revenge on another in a secret, underhand manner is vicious, and his companionship will prove degrading. Now get your bath, my boy, and change your clothes.”
Don was relieved to escape from his father’s presence, for his cheeks were burning and his ears tingling.
CHAPTER VII.
A BATTLE IN A HEART.
“Hang it!” muttered Don, when he was alone in his room; “I didn’t want him to know. I’d have given anything rather than have him know, and I’m sure he does know, from what he said at the end.”
The bath-room was just outside his door, and he had started the water running into the porcelain tub. In a savage manner he began to strip off his football suit.
“He won’t see me playing on the Rockspur Eleven this year,” he said, harshly. “I’m done with that crowd, the whole of them!”
This caused him to think of Leon Bentley and his compact with the fellow, and he realized that he was not “done” with one member of the village eleven, at least.
“I rather father would have known about anything else!” he murmured, his cheeks burning again. “I was a fool to have anything to do with Bentley, and I’m beginning to think I’d better withdraw from that compact, even though it is backing out of an agreement. I hate Renwood, but I don’t care about getting revenge on him in a sneaking way.”