“Oh,” said Stone, remembering at last, “we were playing football.”
“That fightin’ Irishman must have soaked ye,” observed Sile Crane. “You had him crazy all right, the way you bucked him around.”
“Carney did not hit me,” declared Ben positively.
Winton, like Eliot, had been working to bring Stone round. “Well,” he observed with satisfaction, “you seem to be all right now. I reckon you can get back into the game for the next half, can’t you?”
“Sure thing,” was the prompt answer. “I’m not hurt any.”
“That’s the stuff,” applauded the coach, rising to his feet. “That’s the spirit that wins. Some of you fellows need a little more of it. Rollins, you’re bigger and heavier than that man Hutt, but he’s walked through you four or five times. Brace up and stop him. Davis, you’ve got to show more nerve. Don’t be afraid of cracking yourself when you try to tackle; you’re not crockery. Look alive, Tuttle, and get into the plays quicker. Sometimes you take root in your tracks.”
“Great ginger!” gasped Chub in astonishment over this call-down. “I thought we were all doing pretty well.”
“Give him a peanut, somebody, to brace him up,” chuckled Chipper Cooper.
In another moment Chipper was shivering beneath the withering eye of the coach.
“You’ve got a whole lot to learn about football,” said Winton. “Move your feet when you go down the field under a kick. Davis can run around you twice and be ahead of you at the place where the ball falls.”