“All right, sir. You know best. But Tyson still looks good.”
“I know, but—Who’s got that ball? He’s down! Fumbled! Good work, Hunter! He’s played a good game, Hunter. Well, we’ll try Merrill, I guess. I’ll send him in after this play. Merrill!”
Rodney ran up, trailing his blanket behind him. The coach took his arm and led him along with them as they walked. “Merrill,” he said, never taking his eyes from the play for more than a fleeting instant, and speaking easily and untroubledly, “do you want to go in and have a try at it?”
“Yes, sir!” Rodney’s heart jumped into his throat.
“Well, go ahead after this play. You know you slipped up the other day, Merrill. Maybe this is a good time to get square. What do you think?”
“Yes, sir! I’ll try, Mr. Cotting.”
The coach nodded. “I would. Tell Trowbridge I said he was to use you and that from now on everything goes. He will understand. Get it?”
“He’s to use me and from now on everything goes,” repeated Rodney.
“Right. There’s the whistle. Go in for Tyson.”
Rodney dropped his blanket and raced on with upraised head. The teams were on Maple Hill’s forty-five yards and already Stacey was taking his position behind Pounder.