George confided that evening to Cottrell that Dick didn’t seem much worried by the day’s fiasco.
“Why should he?” asked Chester loyally, observing the manager with a disapproving scowl. “Who cares what Locust Valley does if we can get a team that will beat Springdale?”
“I know,” George hastened to say, “but seems to me it’s a bad idea to let any team walk over us the way Locust Valley did. It—it sort of destroys confidence. Besides, just between you and me, Chester, the fellows don’t like it much. I’ve heard talk of a meeting to protest.”
Chester shrugged his square shoulders and grinned. “Let ’em,” he said shortly. “Much good it’ll do ’em. Dick Lovering’s coach and he’s going to be coach. We all agreed to give him a free rein and he’s going to have it. It seems to me the best thing you can do is to stand up for him, George.”
“I am!” declared the other, scandalized by the insinuation. “I do! I’ve been telling fellows all the afternoon that Dick knows what he’s doing and that if he wants to lose every game but the Springdale game he has a perfect right to do it!”
“All right. Then don’t talk as if you thought he didn’t have any sense.” And Chester turned away with a scowl that, because of a strip of dirty white plaster on his cheek-bone, made him look quite ferocious.
Dick’s request for twenty more candidates resulted in the appearance of some eight or ten youths, mostly of tender years and all without football experience. Cotner and Lanny viewed the volunteers pessimistically, but Dick failed to exhibit any disappointment at the result of his summons. He added the new fellows to the rest and went diligently on. On Monday there was a full hour of dummy-tackling, and fellows who had prided themselves on their ability in that line had much of the conceit taken out of them. Dick’s knowledge of tackling surprised even Lanny and Gordon and others who believed the most firmly in his ability to lead Clearfield to victory. For a fellow who had never handled a pigskin, he certainly had a whole lot of knowledge stowed away in that head of his! He fell foul of Tom Haley early in the proceedings and the fact that Tom was a very good friend of his made no difference in his speech.
“How long have you been playing, Tom?” asked Dick coldly as the last year’s center picked himself up from the dirt.
“Three or four years,” answered Tom in some surprise, pausing in the act of rubbing the soil from his face.