on the second scrub for fellows like you!"

Cowan, his pride already sorely wounded, found the last too much for his
temper.

"No one can help an occasional accident," he blurted. "If I did fumble,
there's no reason why you should insult me. Lots of fellows have fumbled
before and got off without being walked on. I've played my position for
two years, and I guess I know how to do it. But when a fellow is singled
out as a--a scapegoat--"

"That will do, Cowan," interrupted Mills quietly. "You've lost your
temper. We don't want men on this team who can't stand criticism--"

"Criticism!" sneered Cowan, looking very red and ugly.

"Yes, criticism!" answered Mills sharply, "and scolding, too, my friend.
I'm here to turn out a team that will win from Robinson and not to cater
to any one's vanity; when it's necessary, I'm going to scold and say
some hard things. But I've never insulted any fellow and I never will.
I've had my eye on you ever since practise began, Cowan, and let me tell
you that you haven't at any time passed muster; your playing's been
slovenly, careless, and generally mean. You've soldiered half the time.
And I think we can get along without you for the rest of the season."

Mills, his blue eyes sparkling, turned away, and Stowell and White, who
for a minute past had been striving to check Cowan's utterances, now
managed to drag him away.

"Shut up!" whispered White hoarsely. "Don't be a fool! Come out of