It is this insistence on teaching the referee his business which costs so many teams dear. While Cuthbertians called reproachfully to the referee, Dick galloped on unchallenged, with painful memories of the earlier final tie serving to speed his footsteps.
No half-witted "mascot" in blue-and-white paper costume to cut across his path this time! But he had still to pass Bessingham's partner, and that less-resourceful full-back, angered by the referee's disregard of what St. Cuthbert's considered a clear case of offside, permitted his fury to outweigh his discretion. Making no attempt to get the ball, he took a tigerish spring at Dick and passionately kicked him off his feet a full yard within the penalty-area.
"Steady, you rotter!" Dick could not help saying.
Never was there a more flagrant case for punishment, and the referee inflicted it immediately. His arm shot out towards the penalty-mark, and a few moments later he was firmly devoting himself to the hard task of persuading the sore-headed Cuthbertians, still pleading "offside", to form up behind the goal-line till the spot-kick was taken.
"Get behind, boys," snapped Bessingham. "Bawling won't alter it. Keep cool!"
Penalty-kicks are thrilling things at most times, but the situation now was so "nervy" that Dick almost wished that the duties of captaincy could be passed on to someone else. The difficulty was that Broome had always hitherto taken penalty-kicks with success, and Broome was mixing uselessly with the crowd to-day.
Who, then, was to take the all-important kick? Lyon, perhaps? But the only goal of Lyon's career had been scored that day against his own side. Meynard or Lake? Both these wingers had shown a disposition to funk on big occasions, and could not be depended on. That kick was more precious to Foxenby than the Koh-i-noor diamond would have been, and must not be left to a chance lunge from an inexperienced boot.
"The responsibility is clearly mine," Dick thought, as he rubbed his bruised shins. "No use shuffling it. I will take the kick myself."
What a moment of trial that was for the captain of Foxenby!
The goalkeeper danced about to put him off his shot, and the thud of his boots could be heard in the breathless silence of the crowd. Dick had an instinctive contempt for all forms of parade, and the custodian's ludicrous antics, intended to upset him, actually helped to steady his nerves. Drawing back one pace only, he suddenly let fly, and a low shot flashed under the goalie's feet as that too-animated Cuthbertian was actually jumping in the air.