“Pull that scrimmage off again,” directed Coach Havens dryly.
The ball was placed, the whistle sounded, and again Dave received the ball and tried to break through. With the Rustlers prepared for the move, it was blocked and the ball was “down.”
Jetson felt his face burning. He knew, well enough, that many of the players regarded him with suspicion.
“I suppose that suspicion will stick, and my chances of making the Navy eleven are now scantier than ever,” muttered the unfortunate midshipman to himself.
The whistle blew before any further advantage had been gained. Coach and Midshipman Hepson had gained considerable insight into the work of the team.
“Mr. Hepson,” said coach aside, in the interval that followed, “you have done well, I think, to place two such men as Darrin and Dalzell on the provisional team.”
“I am glad you think so, sir,” replied the Navy football captain, “for that is the way it strikes me.”
“If you keep them at the left flank you’ll have something like dynamite there,” smiled coach. “Mr. Darrin goes through like a cannon-ball, and Dalzell is always just where Darrin needs him.”
“These men have played together before, and they’re used to team work, sir,” said Midshipman Hepson.
“So? Where did they play before coming to Annapolis?”
“On what was, in their day, one of the best High School eleven’s going, sir.”
“Oho! Do you know, Mr. Hepson, they play more like college men than anything else. It must have been a bully High School team that graduated them.”
“From the little that I’ve heard, sir, that High School team was a great one.”
Coach and captain walked back to the scene.
“You will now play another ten-minute period,” directed Mr. Havens. “Jetson will withdraw from the second eleven during the next period and Doyle will take his place.”
“So that’s what coach and team captain were hatching up?” thought Midshipman Jetson. “That gives me a black eye, and my chances of making the Navy eleven are now worse than ever. Probably I won’t even make sub.”
As Navy and Rustlers again collided in the fray, Jetson watched Dave’s work narrowly, furiously.
“Darrin always was a smooth one,” Jetson declared angrily to himself. “And now, just because he raised a ‘holler’, my football prospects are set back for this year. Probably I can’t make the eleven next year, either. And it’s all Darrin’s fault!”
In forming the second half the coach called:
“Mr. Jetson will resume his place as right tackle on the second eleven.”
“Jetson’s not here, sir,” called a midshipman.
“Where is he?” asked Coach Havens.
“I think he went off the field, sir, to un-tog.”
“He should not have left the field without permission,” remarked the coach coldly.
Jetson heard of the remark that evening, and his anger