“You mean that—that you’re going?” asked Lanny in surprise.
“Yes, didn’t you notice that the ‘Committee’ wanted everyone to come?” asked Dick, with a twinkle in his eye. “Yes, I shall go, and, if they’ll let me, I’ll have a few words to say.”
“I wouldn’t trouble to talk to them,” expostulated Lanny. “Just let them spout and get it off their chests, Dick. It’ll do them good.”
“All they want,” said Chester Cottrell, who had joined them, “is a chance to make some speeches and roast some one. Then they’ll forget all about it, Dick.”
“Maybe, but they’re dissatisfied with the way I’m running things, Chester, and I don’t want their antagonism toward me to spread to the team. There’s nothing worse than for a school to go back on the team. Every player feels it and it takes the heart out of him. I don’t say that they will do that, but they might, and if I can put things before them so they’ll see, at least, that it isn’t the team’s fault that we’re getting licked so often, I think I’d better. They’re at liberty to roast me as much as they please. I guess any football coach expects a certain amount of that sort of thing, and he can’t afford to be sensitive. Besides, I hope to show them in the end that I’m not as bad as they think!”
“All right, Dick,” agreed Lanny, doubtfully, “go ahead and give ’em fits! We’ll go and back you up.”
“But don’t go there in a bunch and sit together and try to—well, intimidate them,” smiled Dick. “Free speech for all, Lanny! Let them say what they want to. After they’ve said it I’ll try to satisfy them that there’s nothing wrong with the team, no matter how punk the coach may be!”
“And I’ll tell them, by George, that the coach is all right and knows what he’s doing a heap better than they do, the silly galoots!” exclaimed Lanny indignantly.
“You sit tight and say nothing,” replied Dick. “Let me do the explaining. All right now. Get your men out. We’re ten minutes late.”