Center Rush Rowland

Ira, struggling grimly with his shirt, heard his name called above the din and saw Coach Driscoll standing in front of him. The shirt parted with a rip and Ira stepped forward, free.

“Are we out of training yet, sir?” he asked.

The coach nodded. He was smiling gravely. Ira wondered at that smile even as he poised himself to strike.

“Wait a minute, Rowland,” said Mr. Driscoll quietly. “There’s time enough.”

Ira paused irresolutely. “What is it?” he demanded frowningly.

“First, it’s an apology,” answered the coach. “Don’t you understand yet, Rowland?”

“Understand? Yes, I understand that you – you called me a coward a while ago, Mr. Driscoll. We’re not in training now and you’re going to answer for it!”

“My dear fellow,” laughed the coach, “I’m quite ready to answer for it. But listen to me first, will you? I suppose I played rather a mean trick on you, but I think the end justifies it. You weren’t doing yourself justice. You weren’t half playing the game you could play – and did play afterwards. And I knew there was only one way to wake you up, and that that was to make you angry. I’m sorry, Rowland, if I hurt you, even for a half-hour, but – well, I wanted to win! We all did! Even you did, though you didn’t know it! Rowland, if I hadn’t insulted you you’d never have played Beadle to a standstill, my boy! We won and you did a big share of the work. And you did it because you were mad clean through. Now didn’t you?”

Ira’s look of amazement brought chuckles of amusement from the circle of listeners.

“You mean that – that you said that just to – to make me play better?” gasped Ira.

The coach nodded. “Just for that,” he said. “And now I apologise. You’re no coward, Rowland, and I never believed you to be. Want to shake hands and forget it?”

A smile came slowly to Ira’s face and he shook his head hopelessly. “Football,” he murmured, “is a funny game!” But he stretched his hand out and clasped the coach’s firmly.