"And I think he does know a good deal of football." "You always stick up for him," growled Paul.

"And for Mills, too--white-haired, freckle-faced chump!" "Don't be an idiot," said Neil.

"One's captain and t'other is coach, and they're going to rub it into us whenever they please, and the best thing for us to do is to take it and look cheerful." "That's it; we _have_ to take it," Paul objected.

"They can put us on the bench if they want to and keep us there all the season; I know that.
But, just the same, I don't intend to lick Devoe's boots or rub my head in the dirt whenever Mills looks at me." "Well, it looks to me as though you'd been rubbing your head in the dirt already," laughed Neil.
"Connor stepped on me there," muttered Paul, wiping a clump of mud from his forehead.

"Come on; Mills is yelling for us.