“Yes, only that big circus wagon over there is roughing me every chance he gets!” snapped Don.
“They are all doing it,” replied the plucky little quarterback, wearily. He had worked with all his strength and was ready to drop. He fumbled the ball on the next pass and it rolled away. Immediately, every available player sprang toward the ball, but luckily a cadet fell on it, saving it for his team.
“Three downs, eight yards to go,” groaned the coach. “They’ll never make it, and Dimsdale will make another march down the field. It won’t even do any good to kick.”
Don had run toward the rolling ball, to be met by his heavy rival and knocked flat. There was no excuse for it, as there had been no danger that he would recover the ball, but he went flying, nevertheless, to land with jarring force on his stomach. With his breath whistling through his set teeth he staggered to his feet and walked to Vench, his eyes burning.
“Let me run that ball!” he hissed in the quarterback’s ear. “Just give me a chance to run that ball once!”
Chapter 9
Terry Engages in an Argument
Mr. Vench had passed the ball more than once to Don without anything spectacular having happened, but he was willing to do it once more. One look at the flushed face of his friend showed him that Don was mad clear through and that he could be counted upon to put at least as much of a punch into the play as anyone. Accordingly, after a brief nod and a sweeping glance over the two tense teams Quarterback Vench bent over the center.
“19-84-6-10-2” he called, and the ball was snapped to him. The play meant that Don was to take the ball through tackle and guard, on the right side of the line.
The long, tapering fingers of Vench rested lightly but firmly on the ball and he swung it on to Don, who was passing him on a dead run, his head down, his eyes alert. Don’s eager hands swept the ball out of the quarterback’s grasp and he hurled himself into the gap which his teammates had opened between guard and tackle. For a single moment there was utmost confusion and then the Dimsdale players became aware that he had the ball. Those who were still on their feet swung in toward him.
They met a fighting-mad young savage. The first man clutched at Don’s flying legs, only to be hurled violently to one side like a piece of paper. A second lunged and felt his one hand slide off the halfback’s jersey. Then, up in front of Don loomed the big, beefy bruiser who had aroused his anger. There was a determined look in this man’s face as he lunged at the running back.