"I don't want to play, sir—that ought to be enough."
"We're not asking you what you want to do."
"But, sir, I don't like it," said Moore, beginning to shrink under the cold, boring gaze of Hasbrouck.
"That has nothing to do with it, either."
"Nothing——"
"Certainly not. We don't want you; in fact, we're crying because we've got to take you. You're a flubdub and a quitter. But there's no one else, and so, Piggy, mark you—we're going to make a demon out of you, a regular demon. Mark my words!"
All of which was accomplished easily and naturally within a short two weeks by the discipline and tradition which has put courage into the hearts of generations of natural cowards.
The crisis came in the first game of the series; when for the first time, Piggy beheld the terrifying spectacle of an end run started in his direction. At the sight of the solid front of bone and muscle ready to sweep him off his feet and send him tumbling head over heels, he shut his eyes and funked deliberately and ingloriously.
The next moment Jock had him by the small of the neck; Jock's hand jerked him to his feet and Jock's voice cried:
"You cowardly little pup! You do that again and I'll tear the hide off you!"