Toby flushed, walked onto the gridiron, where the pigskin was wobbling erratically about, and picked it up. Then, facing the longest stretch of the field and trying to recall all he had learned of punting, he swung his right foot against the dropping ball and was rewarded with a very healthy-sounding thump. Such a performance in a game would have won him applause, for the ball, in spite of its sodden condition, arched toward the further corner of the field in a fine, long flight and came to earth a full forty-five yards away. But there was no applause on this occasion, unless the amused glances of those who happened to see the feat could have been construed as applausive. Frick came running, his face redder than Toby’s had been.
“What’s the idea, Tucker?” he demanded threateningly. “You go and fetch that now!”
“Not likely,” answered Toby in a growl.
“Yes, you will, or I’ll knock your red head off! You get it, do you hear?”
Toby’s face paled from red to white. “Yes, I hear,” he said in a low and steady voice. He covered the distance of a scant yard that separated them in one quick step. “I hear a lot I don’t take stock in, Frick. I hear you’re a fighter, for instance!”
Frick’s right arm went back, elbow crooked, hand clenched, and his right foot moved back with it, but Toby didn’t wait. Instead, he stepped suddenly forward with his own left foot and thrust shoulder and flattened hand against Frick’s chest with the result that the latter staggered back, failed to recover his balance and sat down hard. He was up in an instant, his eyes blazing, silent, and just a bit doubtful. And Toby, who had followed, stood ready. But, while a fight would have been a welcome relief from boredom, the others interposed. Watson and Farquhar and Sid Creel and several more got between the opponents with words of caution and displeasure.
“Cut it, you chumps!” said the big center, pushing Frick away. “Here comes Mr. Burtis!”
“What do I care?” cried Frick. “Think he’s going to knock me down and get away with it? Let go of me, Ben, or I’ll—I’ll smash you! I will! Take your hands——”
But Watson wouldn’t, and Farquhar was there too, soothing and ridiculing, and every one had mixed in and the incident was perforce closed. And lest Toby, who really seemed quite calm and peaceable, should attempt to continue the discussion, Sid Creel and Stover stood guard over him. And onto the scene strode Coach Burtis and Captain Beech, suspicious but asking no questions, and every one strolled casually somewhere else and looked very innocent.
“What was the trouble?” whispered Sid Creel as he and Toby wandered along the side-line. Toby related the incident in a few words, and Sid observed him curiously.