"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.

"Coming, sir!" answered Dick promptly.

Then he added, to Drayne:

"Just blame your own conduct for the decision that was reached
by coach and myself after listening to the instructions of the
alumni Athletics Committee."

Dick moved away at a loping run, for football practice was limited
to an hour and a half in an afternoon, and he knew there was
no time to be frittered.

"Oh, you sneak!" quivered Drayne, clenching his hands as he scowled
at the back of the captain. "It was you who brought up the old
dispute. It is you who are keeping me from any decent chance
this last year of mine in the High School. I won't stand it!
I'll shake the dust from my feet on this crowd. I won't remain
in the squad, just for a possible chance to sub in some small
game!"