"But it isn't fair!" protested Bi. "You know yourself that Jordan can outplay me, sir!"
"I know it? I know nothing of the sort. Look at yourself! Look at your weight and your build! Look at those arms and legs of yours! Look at those muscles! And you dare to sit there, like a squeaking kid, and tell me that Jordan can outplay you! What have you got your strength for? What have we pounded football into you for?"
Over went his chair and he was shaking his finger within an inch of Bi's face, his eyes blazing behind his glasses.
"Shall I tell you what's the matter with you, Briggs? Shall I tell you why we wouldn't have chosen you if there had been anyone else? Because you're a coward—a rank, measly coward, sir!"
Bi's face went white and he got up slowly out of his chair.
"That will do, sir," he said softly, like a tiger-puss purring. "You've done what no one else has ever done, Mr. Hecker. You've called me a coward. You're in authority and I have no redress—now. But after to-day—" He stopped and laughed unpleasantly. "I'll see you again, sir."
"Heroics!" sneered the coach. "They don't impress me, sir. I've said you're a coward, and I stand by it. I repeat it. You are a coward, Briggs, an arrant coward."
Bi gripped his hands and tried to keep the tears back.
"Coward, am I? What are you, I'd like to know? What are you when you take advantage of your position to throw insults at me? If you weren't the head coach, I'd—I'd——"
"What would you do?" sneered Hecker.