"I do, sir. If I were referee in a regular game, I would penalize the team and order the player from the field."
"Mr. Jetson—" began the coach, but, swift as a flash Dave Darrin interposed, though respectfully, saluting at the same time.
"Will you pardon me, sir. Mr. Jetson has given me his word that he did not intend a foul trip. I accept his word without reservation."
"Very good, then," nodded coach. "But Mr. Jetson, you will do well to be careful in the future, and avoid even the appearance of evil."
"Yes, sir; very good, sir," answered Jetson, looking decidedly sheepish.
In giving his word Jetson had told the truth, or had intended to. The exact truth was that he really did not realize what he had done until it was too late to avoid the foul. He had meant to stop Darrin, somehow.
"Pull that scrimmage off again," directed Coach Havens dryly.
The ball was placed, the whistle sounded, and again Dave received the ball and tried to break through. With the Rustlers prepared for the move, it was blocked and the ball was "down."
Jetson felt his face burning. He knew, well enough, that many of the players regarded him with suspicion.
"I suppose that suspicion will stick, and my chances of making the Navy eleven are now scantier than ever," muttered the unfortunate midshipman to himself.