“Oh, let me alone, Billy! I’m all right, I tell you! Coach! Coach! What are we going to do if they try that forward-passing again! We haven’t a man who can stop it! It’s rotten!”
“It’s up to the ends,” answered Mr. Driscoll. “What’s wrong with them? Where were you, White? And you, Price? Haven’t you been taught——”
“It wasn’t my end, sir!” denied Ray warmly.
“It’s always your end! Any end’s your end in a forward-pass! You don’t keep your eyes open! Bradford! You go in at left end next half and see if you can cover your man. Where’s Wells? Look here, what sort of football have you been taught? Can’t you do anything but throw your head back and paw the air? You weren’t much better, Cole. Someone’s got to get through that line if we expect to win this game. Slow starting and slow running! It’s been awful! Dannis, you’ve got to speed them up next half. They’ll fall asleep in their tracks! Lyons, for the love of Mike, let Billy get that bandage on you! What is it, Lowell? Oh, I don’t know. Yes, let them have it. Well, Rowland!” The coach paused in front of Ira and looked down at him with a sneer. “You’re a fine piece of work, aren’t you? Is that the best you can do?”
Ira, startled and surprised, looked back dumbly. Surely this wasn’t the Mr. Driscoll he knew, this snarling, contemptuous person with the flashing eyes!
“Can’t you fight a little bit?” went on the coach. “Clean yellow, are you? All you did was stand up there and take your punishment. Let me tell you something, Rowland. They’re coming after you this next half. They’re going to flay you if you don’t show signs of life. They want a touchdown and they mean to have it and they’ll be hitting the centre from now on. What do you intend to do about it, eh? Speak up!”
“Why—why—” faltered Ira, “I—I’m going to do the best I can!”
“Best you can be blowed! Don’t you know you’re up against the best centre there is today on a school team? ‘Do the best you can!’ Great Scott, man, you’ve got to do better than you can! Better than you ever dreamed of doing! You’ve got to fight! This isn’t any Sunday-school picnic. This is football. We’re out to win. I was afraid all along you had a yellow streak, and now I know it. But you’ll stay in there until you have to be carried off, like Conlon. Want to know what your trouble is?”