Saturday afternoon came at last, with no change in the situation. The two opposing teams lined up.
"Are you ready, Belden?" asked the official.
No answer.
"Are you ready, Lakeville?"
Crouching just behind the line on which the new football lay teed, Buck Claxton nodded his head. The great crowd stilled expectantly. On the side lines, blanketed and squatting like Indians, the substitutes hunched forward their shoulders.
The official shrilled a blast on his whistle. Before the echo had died, Bunny Payton's toe lifted the ball from the ground and sent it hurtling high and far toward the opposing eleven. The game was on.
As he ran, Buck sighed with relief. He had been afraid of that first kick; afraid that Bunny's toe would thug into the ground, or hit the ball askew, or roll it feebly along the ribbed field.
But now, with the game actually begun, the splendid kick-off gave Lakeville's captain hope. As Buck ran, indeed, he let out his breath with an explosive gasp, and the decisive way in which he downed the Belden fellow who caught the ball was proof of his renewed confidence. If Bunny Payton could only keep that yellow streak under cover!
In the gruelling battle that followed, Buck was forced to admit that Bunny shirked no duty. His end runs were triumphs; his forward passes were pinnacles of accuracy; his share in the interference were niceties of skill and training. But always, as the tide of the game flooded or ebbed, Buck shivered apprehensively over possible situations that might reveal to their opponents his quarterback's cowardice.
As they might have expected, Belden proved no mean enemy. They could gain at times; once, indeed, they might have pushed through the wavering Belden line for a touchdown, except for a fumble. And that fumble, as Buck recalled with grim pain, was his own. Couldn't he ever learn to hold the ball once he had it?