“What of it? Last year we licked Southport something like 23 to 0. And the year before by— Well, I forget what it was.”
“I don’t,” returned Pill triumphantly. “It was 6 to 6, the same as to-day. And that year we licked Kenly, and last year we didn’t! So you can’t prove that the team’s going to be rotten that way!”
“I’m not saying it’s going to be rotten,” answered Tommy placidly. “All I say is that it was rotten to-day. Look at the way Burton played, for instance. He had three chances with forward-passes and missed every one of them. Touched them all, too. Why, we’d have had a touchdown any time if he could have frozen onto just one of them!”
“Chick was sort of out of tune,” acknowledged Pill. “He’s been that way ever since work started. Looks to me as if he was still sore about the captaincy.”
“Think so?” Tommy looked interested. “Say, I’ll bet you’re tres right! I thought he and Jonas Lowe weren’t acting awfully thick!”
“Oh, they get on all right,” said Pill. “Still, I do think that Chick was awfully disappointed last winter. Maybe you can’t blame him, either. Why, I’d have bet my shirt that they’d make him captain, Tommy!”
“Yes, so would I, I guess. The trouble with Chick Burton is that he’s a mighty pleasant guy, and most every one likes him a lot and all that. But when it comes to choosing a leader, why, Chick doesn’t—er—inspire confidence. That’s the way I get it, and I guess that’s the way the team felt last December. It was a surprise, though, when they elected Lowe. Guess Jonas was as surprised as any one, even Chick. Think he will make a good captain, Pill?”
“Jonas?” Pill looked frankly dubious. “Gee, I don’t know, Tommy. He’s a corking old scout, and the fellows like him well enough; and he knows a lot about football; his own position and the other chap’s; but it doesn’t seem to me that he’s what you’d call a born leader.”
“Huh, neither is Chick.”