ust a matter of following the ball," "Rus"
airs to me one night, "I don't care what these wise birds say. There's
breaks in every game that, if we could take advantage of 'em, would do
more than all the fancy plays ever invented. Look at last week when we
played Madison. We have 'em down on their own ten yard line and we
break through and block the punt and two of our fellows dives for it.
Do they get the ball? Yes, they do not! A Madison back, who knows his
onions, shoots in--picks the ball up off his shoe tops after it's
bounced out of our fellows' arms--and runs forty yards before he's
stopped. That's what I call converting good fortune out of disaster!
Either one of our boys ought to have downed the ball on Madison's eight
yard line but both of 'em muffed it. On a dry field, too...!
Inexcusable!"

"But you must realize, Rus," I argues, "that _your_ attitude on this
matter is very exceptional. You can't expect all football players to
pay the attention you've been paying to developing themselves to a fine
point on picking up loose balls!"

"Razzberries!" retorts "Rus," "Then they're not worthy of the name of
football players!"

And there the arbitration rests. But the season doesn't get much older
than "Rus's" mania begins to break out in a new channel. He's so
anxious to see all the boys proficient in the gentle art of falling on
the ball that he takes to ragging them every time they miss out.

"Butter fingers!" he yells, and gets a glare in return for his trouble.

"Butter fingers, yourself!" cries the guy who's just looked foolish.

And the first thing you know, the name that "Rus" has branded his
team-mates with, comes back on him like a boomerang. So, the only
fellow who doesn't deserve the title of "Butter Fingers" is the one who
gets it!

"That's all right," "Rus" says to me. "Let 'em call me 'Butter
Fingers.' I'll make 'em eat that word twenty times a day. And they'll
be trying extra hard to keep from being 'Butter Fingers.' You see!"

Which makes it sound like "Rus" has decided to act the martyr to some
adopted cause! Now right here's where a complication enters my story
in the shape of Mr. Maxwell Tincup, dignified member of the school
board and a political power in the town. Among other things Mr. Tincup
is bitterly opposed to football as a sport that's "absolutely
barbarious." Football, in Mr. Tincup's exalted opinion, is a machine
which manufactures a lot of good-for-nothing row