"I have been hectored to pieces, at times, both on the baseball
and football teams. The hectoring has even gone so far that I
have had to fight, more than once. But never sulked in dressing
quarters and refused to go on the field."
"No!" taunted Drayne. "And a good reason why. You craved to
get out, always, and make grand stand plays!"
"I suppose I'm as fond of applause from the grand stand as any
other natural fellow," laughed Dick good-humoredly. "But I'll
tell you one thing, Drayne: I never hear a murmur of what comes
from the grand stand until the game is over. I play for the success
of the team to which I belong, and listening to applause would
take my mind off the plays. But, candidly, what the fellows have
against you, is that you're a quitter. You throw down your togs
at a critical moment, and tell us you won't play, just because
your fearfully sensitive feelings have been hurt. Now, a sportsman
doesn't do that."
"Oh, it's all right for you to take on that mighty superior air,
and try to lecture me," retorted Drayne gruffly.
"I'm not lecturing you. But the fellows chose me to lead the
team this year, and the captain is the spokesman of the team.
He also has to attend to its disagreeable business. Don't blame
me, Drayne, and don't blame anyone else-----"
"Captain Prescott!" sounded the low, but clean-cut, penetrating
voice of Mr. Morton, submaster and football coach of the Gridley
High School.
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