“What do you say, now?” asked that man’s companion.  “Though, of course, Prescott and Holmes knew that help wasn’t far off.”

“It doesn’t make any difference,” retorted the recent kicker.  “Either boy might have been killed by that big brute before the help could have arrived.”

“Then does football teach nerve?”

“It certainly must!” agreed the recent kicker.

CHAPTER XII

DICK, LILE CAESAR, REFUSES THE CROWN

A few days later the members of the school team, and the substitutes, had been announced.  Then the men who had made the team came together at the gymnasium.

Who was to be captain of the eleven?

For once there seemed to be a good deal of hanging back.

If there were any members of the team who believed themselves supremely fitted to lead, at least they were not egotistical enough to announce themselves.

There was a good deal of whispering during the five minutes before Mr. Morton called them to order.  Some of the whisperers left one group to go over to another.

“Now, then, gentlemen!” called Coach Morton.  “Order, please!”

Almost at once the murmuring stopped.

“Before we can go much further,” continued the coach, “it will be necessary to decide upon a captain.  I don’t wish to have the whole voice in the matter.  If you are to follow your captain through thick and thin, in a dozen or more pitched football battles, it is well that you should have a leader who will possess the confidence of all.  Now, whom do you propose for the post of captain?  Let us discuss the merits of those that may be proposed.”

Just for an instant the murmuring broke out afresh.

Then a shout went up: 

“Purcell!”

But that young man shook his head.

“Prescott!” shouted another.

Dick, too, shook his head.

“Purcell!  Purcell!”

“Now, listen to me a moment, fellows!” called Purcell, standing very straight and waving his arms for silence.  “I don’t want to be captain.  I had the honor of leading the baseball nine last season.”

“No matter!  You’ll make a good football captain!”

“Not the best you can get, by any means,” insisted Purcell.  “I decline the honor for that reason, and also because I don’t want the responsibility of leading the eleven.”

“Prescott!” shouted three or four of the squad at once.

Purcell nodded his head encouragingly.

“Yes; Prescott, by all means!  You can’t do better.”

“Yes, you can!  And you fellows know it!” shouted Dick.

His face glowed with pleasure and pride, but he tried to show, by face, voice and gesture, that he didn’t propose to take the tendered honor.

“Prescott!  Prescott!” came the insistent yell.

Above the clamor Coach Morton signaled Dick to come forward to the platform.