“No, girls, that’s a contemptible way to play, and I am surprised that any Girl Scouts would stoop to it. I would be mortally ashamed of my team if they would do such a thing. Better a thousand times to lose the game.”
“But our team has them cinched a mile!” protested Stella, who was very eager to win.
“I wish we could consult Mr. Wilkinson!” exclaimed Queenie. “He’d let us play rough.”
“No, he wouldn’t, either,” answered Marjorie. “He’s too good a sport for that—and that kind of playing is the poorest kind of sportsmanship. We can consult him between halves, but not on a time-out. There’s the whistle—remember now, girls—good, clean playing!”
The girls sulked a little, but Marjorie knew that they would do as she asked.
The game proceeded with very little difference. The referee eased his conscience by calling one personal foul when the opposing side-center actually knocked little Dot Williams down in an attempt to secure the ball; but after that he subsided into the same slip-shod manner. At last the whistle blew for the half, with Troop Ninety-Seven in the lead at a score of 14–10.
Marjorie’s team was absolutely worn out, besides being angry and disgusted. They rushed over to Jack, repeating their plea to use the same kind of tactics their opponents were employing. But Jack was as firm as Marjorie in his refusal; in fact, he went farther and said that if they tried it in spite of his orders, he would sever his connections with the team. This was the deciding factor; the girls all liked and admired their coach, and had no desire to lose him.
To Marjorie’s amazement, however, she saw the opposing team return to the floor with a sullen sort of dejection in their countenances. What, she wondered, could be the cause of this, in the light of their probable victory? The captain shuffled towards her.
“You the Captain?” she asked Marjorie somewhat gruffly.
“Yes,” she replied, still at a loss because of her manner.