“And I let Sellig get around me, and missed tackling him,” said Joe Jackson, fairly groaning. “That cost us the game.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Captain Cross, who knew the danger of despondency. “You did all right, Joe; and the other Jersey twin shone like a star on a dark night. We’re all right.”
“Yes, except for what ails us,” added Dutch Housenlager, making a playful attempt to trip up Tom.
“Here! Quit that!” exclaimed the left-end in no gentle voice.
Coach Lighton noticed it. Tom, as well as the others, was “on edge.” It would not need much more to demoralize the team. He must stop the growing feeling.
“Fellows,” he exclaimed, “you’re all right! I know what I’m talking about. I’ve coached teams before, and I say that for the first game of the season you did all that could be expected. I’m proud of you. I——”
“A thing like this happened once before,” said a voice at the elbow of the coach. “My uncle says——”
But Ford Fenton got no further, for Dutch Housenlager, putting out his foot, neatly tripped the offending one, and the rest of his sentence was mumbled to the grass.
“Serves him right!” exclaimed Tom, and in the laugh that followed the nervous, disappointed feeling of the team, in a measure, passed off.