Bangs, senior society man, manager of the crew, took the driving and the leash without a protest, knowing though he did that the trouble was beyond him—that he was up against a better man.
Suddenly Harden turned on Stover, who, a little apart, was moving uneasily, feeling profoundly sorry for the tanning Bangs was receiving on his account.
"Look here, young fellow, you're not playing that right."
Stover was amazed.
"What's the first thing you've got to think about when you follow down your end?"
"Keep him out of the play," said Stover.
"Never!" Harden seized him by the jersey, attacking with his long expostulating forefinger, just as he had laid down the law to Bangs. "Never! That's grand-stand playing, my boy; good for you, rotten for the team. The one thing you've got to do first, last, and always, is to know where the ball is and what's happening to it. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now you didn't do that. You went down with your eyes on your man only, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."