American choice for the position the previous year and was a recognized star. "Getting a swell head? Think you've got your job cinched, hey? Well, let me tell you, young feller, that I got ten bloaters here that would have sense enough not to send a play straight into the line when they're five yards from the goal and can see the other team's tackles and guards all nicely pulled in to stop that very play.
"All you had to do was send somebody around end and you'd have caught them flat-footed. As it was, we lost the ball and seven points. And that's only one of the bones you pulled. Those All-American pickers will be giving you the icy mitt this year, old boy, if you keep that up. You want to snap out of it if you want to play on my little football club, Mr. All-American Crawford!"
It was the beauty of Mike Cavendish's bawling outs that he always delivered them in front of the whole assembled squad. And nobody dared smile or even look sympathetically at the man assailed, for nobody knew where the lightning would strike next. Not even Captain Trask was immune. Harold was especially interested in the coach's analysis of Crawford's shortcomings. For was not he the man for whose position Trask was grooming his private pupil?
