"What made you stop?" he demanded hotly. If there was one thing more than another that angered the coach, it was an exhibition of mental stupidity.
Bunny looked down the field; down to where Buck was striding forward belligerently. Scrubs and regulars alike bent forward to listen. When he spoke, he faced the coach squarely.
"I committed a foul," he said slowly. "When I started to tackle Buck, I saw that he was holding the ball loosely. It had slipped out of his armpit. So, under cover of the tackle, because of some crazy notion, I jerked it away from him. I violated a rule. I'm sorry."
Coach Leland opened wide his blue eyes, but he said nothing then. A little later, when he was by Buck's side, he asked his question.
"Did you fumble when Bunny tackled you?"
"Maybe I did," said the captain shortly; "it seems to be a habit of mine." He kicked at a little clod of dirt. "Hang it all, coach," he volunteered, "the—the Scout was grandstanding for my benefit. He's afraid of me."
The practice that day ended with drop-kicking. Lining up the scrubs some thirty yards from the goal, Leland gave Bunny the ball, with instructions to boot it over the bar.
Bunny failed on five successive attempts. Twice he fumbled good passes. Twice he caught the ball with his toe too much on one side. Once he juggled it wildly, allowing himself to be tackled before he made the kick. And each time, as Buck noted with wrinkled brow, opposing players were close enough to threaten any kicker who might have fear in his heart.
When he made his fifth failure, Buck groaned. With the post-season game for the State high-school championship only two days away, his quarterback, the very pivot of the team, was in a stage of cowardly panic. He wished now that the game with Belden had never been arranged; that they had been content with a clean slate for the season; that they had agreed to claim the title jointly with unbeaten Belden.