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diff --git a/26149-h/26149-h.htm b/26149-h/26149-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..12f825c --- /dev/null +++ b/26149-h/26149-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10035 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Left Guard Gilbert, by Ralph Henry Barbour. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Left Guard Gilbert, by Ralph Henry Barbour + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Left Guard Gilbert + +Author: Ralph Henry Barbour + +Illustrator: E. C. Caswell + +Release Date: July 29, 2008 [EBook #26149] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEFT GUARD GILBERT *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>LEFT GUARD GILBERT</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 264px;"> +<img src="images/cover01.jpg" width="264" height="400" alt="Cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='bbox'> +<h4><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></h4> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Other books by Barbour"> +<tr><td align='left'>LEFT END EDWARDS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>LEFT TACKLE THAYER</td></tr> +</table></div> + +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 314px;"><a name="front" id="front"></a> +<img src="images/gs01.jpg" width="314" height="400" alt=""Well, come on! How did it happen?" (Page 14)" title=""Well, come on! How did it happen?" (Page 14)" /> +<span class="caption">"Well, come on! How did it happen?" <br />(<a href="#Page_14">Page 14</a>)</span> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>Left Guard Gilbert</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>RALPH HENRY BARBOUR</h2> + +<div class='center'><small>AUTHOR OF</small><br /> + + +LEFT END EDWARDS,<br /> +FULL-BACK FOSTER, Etc.<br /> +<br /><br /><br /> + +<small>ILLUSTRATED BY</small><br /> + +E. C. CASWELL<br /><br /><br /><br /></div> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 125px;"> +<img src="images/tp01.png" width="125" height="116" alt="Emblem" title="Emblem" /> +</div> +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br /> +GROSSET & DUNLAP<br /> +<small>PUBLISHERS NEW YORK</small><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='center'> +<small><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1916, by</span></small><br /> +<small>DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, <span class="smcap">Inc.</span></small><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I</td><td align='left'> THE BOY FROM KANSAS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II</td><td align='left'> IN NUMBER SIX</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III</td><td align='left'> AMY HOLDS FORTH</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV</td><td align='left'> THE FIRST GAME</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V</td><td align='left'> DON GOES TO THE SECOND</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI</td><td align='left'> THE SEARCH OF ADVENTURE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII</td><td align='left'> FIGHTING FIRE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII</td><td align='left'> COACHING THE TACKLES</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX</td><td align='left'> THE WIDTH OF A FINGER</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X</td><td align='left'> TIM EXULTS AND EXPLAINS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI</td><td align='left'> MR. BRADY FORGETS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII</td><td align='left'> THE JOKE ON MR. MOLLER</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII</td><td align='left'> SOUTHBY YIELDS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV</td><td align='left'> WALTON WRITES A NOTE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV</td><td align='left'> A PROPOSITION</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI</td><td align='left'> DON VISITS THE DOCTOR</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII</td><td align='left'> DROPPED FROM THE TEAM</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII</td><td align='left'> "GOOD-BYE, TIMMY!"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_206">206</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX</td><td align='left'> FRIENDS FALL OUT</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX</td><td align='left'> AMY APPEARS FOR THE DEFENCE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_231">231</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI</td><td align='left'> THE DOCTOR TELLS A STORY</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXII</td><td align='left'> COACH ROBEY IS PUZZLED</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIII</td><td align='left'> CROSS-EXAMINATION</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_268">268</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIV</td><td align='left'> "ALL READY, BRIMFIELD?"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXV</td><td align='left'> TIM GOES OVER</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVI</td><td align='left'> LEFT GUARD GILBERT</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_300">300</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'>"<span class="smcap">Well, Come On! How Did It Happen?</span>" (<span class="smcap">Page</span> 14)</td><td align='right'><a href="#front"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><small>FACING<br />PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Finally, Don Was Unceremoniously YankedUp and Through</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">"Will You Unlock That Door?" Demanded Don Angrily</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Runner Smashed into Sight, Wild-faced for an Instant Before He Put His Head down and Charged In</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_306">306</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>LEFT GUARD GILBERT</h2> + + + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE BOY FROM KANSAS</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">Hold</span> up!"</div> + +<p>Coach Robey, coatless, vestless, hatless, his old +flannel trousers held up as by a miracle with the +aid of a leather strap scarcely deserving the name +of belt, pushed his way through the first squad +players. The Brimfield Head Coach was a wiry, +medium-sized man of about thirty, with a deeply-tanned +face from which sharp blue eyes looked +out under whitish lashes that were a shade lighter +than his eyebrows and two shades lighter than +his sandy hair. As the afternoon was excessively +hot, even for the twenty-first day of September +and in proximity to Long Island Sound, Mr. +George Robey's countenance was bathed in perspiration +and the faded blue silk shirt was plastered +to his body.</p> + +<p>"That was left half through guard-tackle, +wasn't it? Then don't put the ball in your arm, +St. Clair. You ought to know better than that.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +On plays through the line hold it against your +stomach with both hands. How long do you think +you'd keep that ball in your elbow after you hit +the line? Someone would knock it out in about +one second! Now try it again and think what +you're doing. All right, Carmine. Same play."</p> + +<p>The panting and perspiring backs crouched once +more, Carmine shrilly called his signals, Thayer +and Gafferty plunged against an imaginary foe +as Thursby shot the ball back and St. Clair, hugging +the pigskin ecstatically with wide-spread +fingers, trotted through the hole, stopped, set the +ball on the grass and wiped his streaming face +with the torn sleeve of a maroon jersey.</p> + +<p>"All right," said the coach. "That will do for +today. In on the trot, everyone!"</p> + +<p>The first squad, exhaling a long, deep sigh of +relief as one man, set their faces toward the gymnasium +and trotted slowly off, their canvas-clad +legs <i>swish-swashing</i> as they met. Coach Robey +walked further down the sun-baked field to where +the nearer of the remaining four squads was at +work.</p> + +<p>"Oh, put some pep into it, McPhee!" called the +coach as he approached. "You all look as if you +were asleep! Come on now! Wake up! Jones, +get up there. You're away out of position. That's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +better. Now then, Quarter! Hold up! What's +your down?"</p> + +<p>"Third, sir, and four to go."</p> + +<p>"All right. Show me what you're going to do +with it. Head up, Martin! Look where you're +going."</p> + +<p>"36—27—43—86!" grunted the quarter-back. +"36——"</p> + +<p>"Signal!" cried Gordon, at right half.</p> + +<p>McPhee straightened, cast a withering look at +the half-back, wiped the perspiration from the end +of his sun-burnt nose and repeated:</p> + +<p>"36—27—43——"</p> + +<p>Gordon shifted his feet, and—</p> + +<p>"Hold up!" barked the coach. "Gordon, don't +give the play away. Shifting your feet like that +makes it a cinch for the other fellow. Get your +position now and hold it until the ball's passed. +All right. Once more, Quarter."</p> + +<p>"36—27—43—86!" wailed McPhee. "36—27——"</p> + +<p>The pigskin shot into his waiting hands, Gordon +leaped forward, took it at a hand-pass and +ran out behind his line, left half in advance, turned +sharply in and set the ball down.</p> + +<p>"First down!" called McPhee. "Sturges +over."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hold up! Try a forward pass, McPhee. +You're on the ten yards and it's third down. Get +into this, you ends. Put some pep into it!"</p> + +<p>"Signal! Martin back! 37—32—14—71—Hep!" +The backs jumped to the left one stride. +"37—32——"</p> + +<p>Back flew the ball to the full-back, right end +shot out and down the field across the mythical +last line, the defence surged against the imaginary +enemy and Martin, poising the ball at arm's +length, threw over the line to Lee.</p> + +<p>"All right," commented the coach. "That'll be +all for today. Trot all the way in, fellows."</p> + +<p>Five minutes later the field was empty of the +sixty-odd boys who had reported for the second +day's practice and the sun was going down behind +the tree-clad hill to the west. In the gymnasium +was the sound of rushing water, of many voices +and of scraping benches. Mr. Robey wormed his +way through the crowded locker-room to where +Danny Moore, the trainer, stood in the doorway +of the rubbing-room in talk with Jim Morton, this +year's manager of the team. Morton was nineteen, +tall, thin and benevolent looking behind a +pair of rubber-rimmed spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Did you put them on the scales, Dan?" asked +the coach.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sure, the first, second and third, sir. Some +of 'em dropped a good three pounds today. By +gorry, I feel like I'd dropped that much meself!"</p> + +<p>"It certainly is warm. Look here, Jim, is this +all we get to work on? How many were out today?"</p> + +<p>"Sixty-two, Coach. That's not bad. I suppose +there'll be a few more dribble along tomorrow and +the next day."</p> + +<p>"Well, they look pretty fair, don't you think? +Some of the new fellows seem to have ideas of +football. All the last year fellows on hand?"</p> + +<p>"All but Gilbert. He hasn't shown up. I don't +know why, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>"Better look him up," said the coach. "Gilbert +ought to make a pretty good showing this year, +and we aren't any too strong on guards."</p> + +<p>"Gilbert rooms with Tim Otis, I think," replied +Morton. "Oh, Tim! Tim Otis!"</p> + +<p>A light-haired boy of seventeen, very straight, +and very pink where an enormous bath-towel +failed to cover him, wormed his way to them.</p> + +<p>"Say, Tim, what's the matter with Gilbert?" +asked Morton. "Isn't he coming out?"</p> + +<p>Tim Otis shrugged a pair of broad, lean shoulders. +"He hasn't got here yet, Morton. I don't +know what's happened. He wrote me two weeks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +ago that he'd meet me at the station in New +York yesterday for the three-fifty-eight, but he +wasn't there and I haven't heard a word from +him."</p> + +<p>"Probably missed his connection," suggested +Morton. "He lives out West somewhere, +doesn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Osawatomie, Kansas."</p> + +<p>"It probably takes a good while to get away +from a place with a name like that," said +Mr. Robey drily. "Well, when he shows up, +Otis, tell him to get a move on if he wants a +place."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I will. I'm pretty certain he will be +along today some time. I wouldn't be surprised if +he was here now."</p> + +<p>"All right. By the way, Otis, how do you feel +at right half? Seem strange to you?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I don't notice it. I did play right, you +know, two years ago on the second. Seems to me +it's easier to take the ball from that position, too."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't try the fool trick your side-partner +did today," said Mr. Robey, smiling. "Putting +the ball under your elbow for a line plunge is a +fine piece of business for a fellow who's been playing +three years!"</p> + +<p>Tim laughed. "I guess he did that because it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +was just practice, sir. He knows a lot better than +to do it in scrimmage."</p> + +<p>"I hope so. Well, hurry Gilbert along, will +you? If he doesn't get out here inside of a few +days he won't find much of a welcome, I'm afraid. +I'm not going to keep positions open for anyone +this year, not with the first game coming along in +four days!"</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry, Mr. Robey," replied Tim, +with a chuckle and a flash of white teeth. "I'll +have him out here the first day he shows up, +even if I have to lug him all the way. Don't +think I'll have to, though, for you couldn't +keep Don from playing football unless you tied +him up!"</p> + +<p>"Nice chap," commented Morton, nodding at +Tim as the latter returned to his bench. "Awfully +clean-cut sort."</p> + +<p>"A fine lad," agreed Danny Moore, and Mr. +Robey nodded thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe we're going to miss Kendall +and Freer as much as I thought," he said after +a moment. "Otis looks to me like a fellow who +will stand a lot of work and grow on it. Well, I'm +going to get a shower and get out of this sweat-box. +As soon as you get time, Jim, I wish you'd +catalogue the players the way we did last year and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +let me have the list. You know how Black did it, +don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I'll have the list ready for you tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Good! Got a towel I can use, Dan? I haven't +brought any yet. Thanks." The coach nodded +and sought a place to disrobe. The trainer's gaze +followed him until he was lost to sight beyond the +throng.</p> + +<p>"I wonder will he put it over again this year," +he mused.</p> + +<p>"Surest thing you know," asserted Morton. +"Think I'm going to have the team licked the year +I'm manager, Danny? Not so you'd notice it!"</p> + +<p>"Well, between you and him," chuckled Danny, +"I've no doubt you'll turn out a fine team. Say, +he's the lad that can do it, though, now ain't he? +Four years he's been at it, and it's fifty-fifty now, +ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we lost the first two years and won last +year and the year before. It was Andy Miller's +team that started the ball rolling for us. No one +could have won those first two years, anyhow, +Danny. Robey had to start at the bottom and +build up the whole thing. We hadn't been playing +football here for several years before that. It +takes a couple of years at the least to get a foundation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +laid. If we win this year we'll have something +to boast of. No other team ever beat +Claflin three times running."</p> + +<p>"Maybe we won't either. I'm hoping we do, +though. Still and all, it don't do to win too many +times. You get to thinking you can't lose, d'ye +see, and the first thing anyone knows you're all +shot to pieces. I've seen it happen, me boy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say, Danny, but don't let's start the +losing streak until next year. I want to manage +a winning team. Well, so long. See about some +cooler weather tomorrow, will you?"</p> + +<p>"I will so," replied the little trainer gravely. +"I'll start arrangements to once."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Tim Otis, again arrayed in grey +flannels and a pair of tan, rubber-soled shoes +rather the worse for a hard summer, was on his +way along the Row to the last of the five buildings +set end to end on the brow of the hill. As he +swung in between Wendell and Torrence—the +gymnasium stood behind Wendell, and, save for +the Cottage, as the principal's residence was +called, was the only building out of alignment—he +saw the entrances to dormitories and Main Hall +thronged with youths who evidently preferred the +coolness of outdoors to the heat of the rooms, +while others were seated on the grass along the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +walk. It almost seemed that the entire roster of +some one hundred and eighty students was before +him. He answered many hails, but declined all +inducements to tarry, keeping on his way past +Main Hall and Hensey until Billings was reached. +There he turned in and tramped to the right along +the first floor corridor to the open door of Number +6, a room on the back of the building that looked +out upon the tennis courts and, beyond, the football +and baseball fields. From the fact that no +sound came from the room, Tim decided that Don +Gilbert had, after all, and in spite of what Tim +called a "hunch," failed to arrive. But when he +entered his mistake was instantly apparent. A +maroon-coloured cushion hurtled toward him, narrowly +missing the green shade of the droplight +on the study table and, thanks to prompt and instinctive +action on the part of Tim, sailed on, +serene and unimpeded, into the corridor. Whereupon +Tim uttered a savage whoop of mingled joy +and vengeance and, traversing the length of the +room in four leaps, hurled himself upon the occupant +of the window-seat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>IN NUMBER SIX</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">For</span> a long minute confusion and the noise of +battle reigned supreme. Then, in response to a +sudden yelp of pain from Don, Tim drew off, panting +and grinning. Don was extending a left hand, +funereally wrapped in a black silk handkerchief, +further along the window-seat and away from the +scene of action.</div> + +<p>"Hello!" said Tim. "What's the matter with +that?"</p> + +<p>"Hurt it a little," replied Don.</p> + +<p>"Well, I supposed you had, you idiot! How? +Hit it against your head?"</p> + +<p>The other smiled in his slow fashion. "We had +a sort of a wreck coming on. Out in Indiana somewhere. +I got this. That's why I'm behind +time."</p> + +<p>"I'm beastly sorry, old man! I didn't notice +the crêpe. Did I hurt it much!"</p> + +<p>"No. I yelled so you wouldn't. Preparedness, +you know. Safety first and so on. It isn't much. +How's everything here?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tim seated himself at the other end of the seat, +took his knees in his hands, and beamed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, fine! Say, I'm tickled to death to see your +ugly mug again, Don. You aren't a bit handsomer, +are you?"</p> + +<p>"I've been told I was. Trouble with you is, you +don't recognise manly beauty when you see it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't I?" Tim twirled an imaginary +moustache. "I recognise it every time I look +in the glass! Well, how are you aside from the +bum fist?"</p> + +<p>"Great! I've just had a séance with Josh. I +tried to register and sneak by, but Brooke +wouldn't have it that way. 'Er, quite so, Gilbert, +quite so, but I—er—think you had better +see Mr. Fernald.' So I did, and Josh read me +the riot act. Thought for awhile he was going +to send me home again."</p> + +<p>"But didn't you tell him your train was +wrecked?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but he didn't believe in it much. +Thought I was romancing, I guess. Got a railway +guide and showed me how I might have got +here on time just the same. Maybe he's right, +but I couldn't figure it out in Cincinnati. Besides, +I didn't get away with much of anything +besides pajamas and overcoat and shoes, and so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +I had to refit. That lost me the first connection +and then I got held up again at Pittsburg. So +here I am, the late Mr. Gilbert."</p> + +<p>"Josh is an idiot," said Tim disgustedly. +"Didn't he see your hand? How did he think you +did that if you weren't in a wreck?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I kept that in my pocket and I guess he +didn't notice it. He came around all right in the +end, though. We parted friends. At least, I did."</p> + +<p>"Well, what about that?" Tim nodded at the +injured hand. "How'd you cut you, burn you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Things got on fire."</p> + +<p>"You're the most vivid descriptionist I ever +listened to! Come across with the sickening details. +How did it happen? I didn't see anything +about it in the papers."</p> + +<p>"Probably wasn't on the sporting page," replied +Don gravely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dry up and blow away! Wasn't it in the +papers?"</p> + +<p>"Cincinnati papers had it. I haven't read the +others. It wasn't much of a wreck really. Engineer +killed, fireman scalded, about twenty passengers +injured more or less. Several considerably +more. Express messenger expected to pass out. +Just a nice, cosy little wreck with no—no spectacular +features, as you might say."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, come on! How did it happen?"</p> + +<p>"Freight train taking a siding and went to sleep +at it. Our engine bumped the other engine and +they both went smash. Hot coals and steam and +so on got busy. It was about five in the morning. +Just getting lightish. Everyone snuggled up in +bed. <i>Biff! Wow!</i> I landed out on the floor on my +hands and knees. Everyone yelled. Car turned +half over and sat that way. Doors got jammed. +We beat it out by the windows. I was a Roman +Senator with a green berth curtain wrapped about +me. Afterwards I sneaked back and pulled out my +shoes and overcoat. Always sleep with my shoes +under my pillow, you see. Good idea, too. If I +hadn't had them there I'd never have got them. +Couldn't get my bag out. Car was on fire by that +time. Three others, too. They saved all but the +one I was in and the express and baggage cars. +After awhile a wrecking train came and then a lot +of us walked to a village about a mile and a half +away and had breakfast and went on to Cincinnati +about noon."</p> + +<p>"Gee! But, still, you know, I don't see how you +got burned."</p> + +<p>"Well, things were pretty hot. Some of them +got burned a lot worse than I did. Had to pull +some of them out the windows and through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +roofs. Women, too. Lucky thing our car had only +two in it. Two women, I mean. Things were +fairly busy for awhile."</p> + +<p>"Must have been. The engineer was killed +straight off, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Ours was. The other one managed to jump. +Firemen got off all right, too. The other fireman. +Ours got caught and scalded like the dickens. Saw +the engineer myself." Don frowned and shuddered. +"Nasty mess he was, too, poor fellow. +Let's talk about something else. I don't like to +remember that engineer."</p> + +<p>"Too bad! But, say, you were lucky, weren't +you? You might have been killed, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"Might have, maybe. Didn't come very near it, +though. First wreck I ever saw and don't want +to see any more. Funny thing, though, I didn't +mind it at all until I was on the train going to +Cincinnati. Excitement, I suppose. Then I came +near keeling over, honest! What do you know +about that, Timmy?"</p> + +<p>"I guess anyone would have. How bad is your +burn?"</p> + +<p>"Not bad. Hurts a bit, though. It's the inside +of the fingers and the palm. It'll be all right in a +few days, I guess. Doctor chap said I'd have to +have it dressed every day for awhile."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But, Great Scott, Don, what about football?"</p> + +<p>"I've thought of that. Nothing doing for a +week or so, I guess. Rotten luck, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Beastly! And Robey was telling me only half +an hour ago to hurry you up. Said you'd have to +come right out if you wanted a place. Still, when +he understands what the trouble is——"</p> + +<p>"I'll see him tonight, I guess. Who's playing +guard, Tim?"</p> + +<p>"Joe Gafferty, left; Tom Hall, right. Walton +and Pryme and Lawton are all after places. Walton's +been doing good work too, I think."</p> + +<p>"All the fellows back?"</p> + +<p>"Every last one. Remember Howard, who +played sub half-back for the second last year? +He's showing great form. Still, you can't tell +much yet. There's to be scrimmage tomorrow. +We play Thacher Saturday, you know. Sort of +quick work and I don't believe we'll be anywhere +near ready for them."</p> + +<p>"Thacher's easy. We beat them 26 to 3 last +year."</p> + +<p>"Twenty-three to three."</p> + +<p>"Twenty-six."</p> + +<p>"Twenty-three. Bet you!"</p> + +<p>"I don't bet, Timmy. Know I'm right, though. +Anyway, Thacher's easy. Tell me the news."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, there isn't anything startling. We had +the usual polite party at Josh's last night. Shook +hands with the new chaps and told 'em how tickled +we were to see them. Ate sandwiches and cake +and lemonade and—by the way, we've got a new +master; physics; Moller his name is; Caleb Moller, +B.A. Quite a handsome brute and a swell dresser. +Comes from Lehigh or one of those Southern colleges, +I believe."</p> + +<p>"Lehigh's in Pennsylvania, you ignoramus."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" answered Tim untroubledly. "All +right. Let it stay there. Anyhow, Caleb is some +cheese."</p> + +<p>"Where's Rollinson gone?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know what happened to Rollo. Draper +said he heard he'd gone to some whopping +big prep school up in New Hampshire or somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Or some other Southern school," suggested +Don soberly.</p> + +<p>"Dry up! And, say, get a move on. It's nearly +time for eats and I'm starved."</p> + +<p>"Timmy, I never saw the time you weren't +starved. All right. I'm sort of hungry myself. +Haven't had anything since about ten o'clock this +morning. Ran out of money. Got here with eight +cents in my pocket. That and my tuition check.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +I'd have cashed that if I could have and had a +dinner. I was sure hungry!"</p> + +<p>"Well, wash your dirty face and hands," said +Tim, "and come along. Oh, say, Don, wait till you +see the classy Norfolk suit I've got. I enticed +dad into Crook's when we struck the city; told him +I had to have some hankies and ties, you know. +Then I steered him up against this here suit, and +this here suit made a hit with him right away. +If he could have got into it himself he'd have +walked out in it. It's sort of green with a reddish +thread wandering carelessly through it. It's some +apparel, take it from me."</p> + +<p>"Maybe I will if it fits me," responded Don.</p> + +<p>"Will what?"</p> + +<p>"Take it from you."</p> + +<p>"Gee, but you're bright! Getting wrecked's put +an edge on you, sonny. I'm afraid that suit +wouldn't fit you, though, Don. You've grown +about an inch since Spring, haven't you? You're +beastly fat, too."</p> + +<p>"I am not," denied Don, good-humouredly indignant. +"I've kept in strict training all summer. +What you think is fat is good hard muscle, Timmy. +Feel of that arm if you don't believe it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite village-blacksmithy."</p> + +<p>"Quite <i>what?</i>"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Village-blacksmithy. 'The muscles of his +mighty arms were strong as iron bands,' or something +like that. Get out of the way and let me +wash up."</p> + +<p>Don retired to his dresser and passed the +brushes over his brown hair and snugged his tie +up a bit. The face that looked back at him from +the mirror was not, perhaps, handsome, although +it by no means merited Tim's aspersions. There +was a nice pair of dark brown eyes, rather slumberous +looking, a nose a trifle too short for perfection +and a mouth a shade too wide. But it was +a good-tempered, pleasant face, on the whole, intelligent +and capable and matching well the physically +capable body below, a body of wide shoulders +and well-knit muscles and a deep chest that might +have belonged to a youth of eighteen instead of +seventeen. Compared with Tim Otis, who was of +the same age, Don Gilbert suffered on only two +counts—quickness and vivacity. Tim, well-muscled, +possessed a litheness that Don could never +attain to, and moved, thought and spoke far more +quickly. In height Don topped his friend by +almost a full inch and was broader and bigger-boned. +They were both, in spite of dissimilarity, +fine, manly fellows.</p> + +<p>Tim, wiping his hands after ablutions, turned to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +survey Don with a quizzical smile on his good-looking +face. And, after a moment's reflective regard +of his chum's broad back, he broke the +silence.</p> + +<p>"Say, Don," he asked, "glad to get back?"</p> + +<p>Don turned, while a slow smile crept over his +countenance.</p> + +<p>"<i>Su-u-re</i>," he drawled.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>AMY HOLDS FORTH</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Brimfield Academy</span> is at Brimfield, and Brimfield +is a scant thirty miles out of New York City +and some two or three miles from the Sound. It is +more than possible that these facts are already +known to you; if you live in the vicinity of New +York they certainly are. But at the risk of being +tiresome I must explain a little about the school +for the benefit of those readers who are unacquainted +with it. Brimfield was this Fall entering +on its twenty-fifth year, a fact destined to be +appropriately celebrated later on. The enrollment +was one hundred and eighty students and +the faculty consisted of twenty members inclusive +of the principal, Mr. Joshua L. Fernald, A.M., +more familiarly known as "Josh." The course +covers six years, and boys may enter the First +Form at the age of twelve. Being an endowed +institution and well supplied with money under +the terms of the will of its founder, Brimfield +boasts of its fine buildings. There are four dormitories, +Wendell, Torrence, Hensey and Billings,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +all modern, and, between Torrence and Hensey, +the original Academy Building now known as +Main Hall and containing the class rooms, school +offices, assembly room and library. The dining +hall is in Wendell, the last building on the right. +Behind Wendell is the gymnasium. Occupying +almost if not quite as retiring a situation at the +other end of the Row, is the Cottage, Mr. Fernald's +residence. Each dormitory is ruled over +by a master. In Billings Mr. Daley, the instructor +in modern languages, was in charge at +the period of this story, and since it was necessary +to receive permission before leaving the school +grounds after supper, Don and Tim paused at Mr. +Daley's study on the way out. Don's knock on +the portal of Number 8 elicited an instant invitation +to enter and a moment later he was shaking +hands with the hall master, a youngish man with +a pleasant countenance and a manner at once +eager and embarrassed. Mr. Daley was <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'usully'">usually</ins> +referred to as Horace, which was his first name, +and, as he shook hands, Don very nearly committed +the awful mistake of calling him that! After +greetings had been exchanged Don explained +somewhat vaguely the reason for his tardy arrival +and then requested permission to visit +Coach Robey in the village after supper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></div> + +<p>"Yes, Gilbert, but—er—be back by eight, please. +I'm not sure that Mr. Robey isn't about school, +however. Have you inquired?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, but Tim says he isn't eating in hall +yet, and so——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, in that case perhaps not. Well, be back +for study hour. If you're going to supper I'll +walk along with you, fellows." Mr. Daley closed +his study door and they went out together and, +as they trod the flags of the long walk that passed +the fronts of the buildings, Mr. Daley discoursed +on football with Tim while Don replied to the +greetings of friends. They parted from the instructor +at the dining hall door and sought their +places at table, Don's arrival being greeted with +acclaim by the other half-dozen occupants of the +board. Once more he was obliged to give an account +of himself, but this time his narrative was +considered to be sadly lacking in detail and it was +not until Tim had come to his assistance with a +highly coloured if not exactly authentic history of +the train-wreck that the audience was satisfied. +Don told him he was an idiot. Tim, declining to +argue the point, revenged himself by stealing a +slice of Don's bread when the latter's attention +was challenged by Harry Westcott at the farther +end of the table.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>Westcott, who was one of the editors of the +school monthly, <i>The Review</i>, had developed the +journalistic instinct to a high degree of late and had +visions of a thrilling story in the November issue. +But Don utterly refused to pose as a hero of any +sort. The best Harry could get out of him was +the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'acknowledgement'">acknowledgment</ins> that he had seen several +persons removed from the wreck and had helped +carry one to the relief train later. That wasn't +much to go on, and, subsequently, Harry regretfully +abandoned his plan.</p> + +<p>After supper Don and Tim walked down to the +village and Don had a few minutes of talk with +the coach. Mr. Robey was sympathetic but annoyed. +Although he didn't say so in so many +words he gave Don to understand that he had +failed in his duty to the school and the team in +allowing himself to become concerned in a train-wreck. +He didn't explain just how Don could +have avoided it, and Don didn't think it worth +while to inquire.</p> + +<p>"You have that hand looked after properly and +regularly, Gilbert," he said, "and watch practice +until you can put on togs. Losing a week or +so is going to handicap you. No doubt about that. +And I'm not making any promises. But you keep +your eyes open and maybe there'll be a place for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +you when you're ready to work. It's awfully hard +luck, old chap. See you tomorrow."</p> + +<p>Don went back to school through the warm dusk +slightly cast down, although he had previously +realised that football would be beyond him for at +least a week. It is sometimes one thing to acknowledge +a fact oneself and another to hear the +same fact stated by a second person. There's a +certain finality about the latter that is convincing. +But if Don was downcast he didn't show it to his +companion. Don had a way of concealing his emotions +that Tim at once admired and resented. +When Tim felt blue—which was mighty seldom—he +let it be known to the whole world, and when he +felt gay he was just as confiding. But Don—well, +as Tim often said, he was "worse than an +Indian!"</p> + +<p>After study they sallied forth again, arm in arm, +and went down the Row to Torrence and climbed +the stairs to Number 14. As the door was half +open knocking was a needless formality—especially +as the noise within would have prevented its +being heard—and so Tim pushed the portal further +ajar and entered, followed by Don, on a most +animated scene. Eight boys were sprawled or +seated around the room, while another, a thin, tall, +unkempt youth with a shock of very black hair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +which was always falling over his eyes and being +brushed aside, was standing in a small clearing +between table and windows balancing a baseball +bat, surmounted by two books and a glass of water, +on his chin. So interested was the audience in +this startling feat that the presence of the new +arrivals passed unnoted until the juggler, suddenly +stepping back, allowed the law of gravity +to have its way for an instant. Then his right +hand caught the falling bat, the two books crashed +unheeded to the floor and his left hand seized the +descending tumbler. Simultaneously there was a +disgruntled yelp from Jim Morton and a howl of +laughter from the rest of the audience. For the +juggler, while he had miraculously caught the +tumbler in mid-air, had not been deft enough to +keep the contents intact and about half of it had +gone into the football manager's face. However, +everyone there except Morton applauded enthusiastically +and hilariously, and Larry Jones, +sweeping his offending locks aside with the careless +and impatient grace of a violin virtuoso, +bowed repeatedly.</p> + +<p>"Great stuff," approved Amory Byrd, rescuing +his books from the floor. "Do it again and +stand nearer Jim."</p> + +<p>"If he does it again I'm going into the hall,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +said Morton disgustedly, wiping his damp countenance +on the edge of Clint Thayer's bedspread. +"You're a punk juggler, Larry."</p> + +<p>"All right, you do it," was the reply. Larry +proffered the bat and tumbler, but Morton waved +them indignantly aside.</p> + +<p>"I don't do monkey-tricks, thanks. Gee, my collar's +sopping wet!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," called someone. "You'll +be going to bed soon. Say, Larry, do that one with +the three tennis balls."</p> + +<p>"Isn't room enough. I know a good trick with +coins, though. Any fellow got two halves?"</p> + +<p>Groans of derision were heard and at that moment +someone discovered the presence of Don and +Tim and Larry's audience deserted him. When +the new-comers had found accommodations, such +as they were, conversation switched to the all-absorbing +subject of football. Most of the fellows +assembled were members of the first or second +teams: Larry Jones was a substitute half; Clint +Thayer was first-choice left tackle; Steve Edwards, +sprawled on Clint's bed, was left end and +this year's captain; the short, sturdy youth in the +Morris chair was Thursby, the centre; Tom Hall, +broad of shoulders, was right guard; Harry Walton, +slimmer and rangier, with a rather saturnine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +countenance, was a substitute for that position. +Jim Morton was, as we know, manager, and only +Amory—or "Amy"—Byrd and Leroy Draper, the +tow-headed, tip-nosed youth sharing the Morris +chair with Thursby, were, in a manner of speaking, +non-combatants.</p> + +<p>But being a non-combatant didn't prevent Amy +Byrd from airing his views and opinions on the +subject of football, and that he was now doing. +"Every year," he protested, "I have to hear the +same line of talk from you chaps. It's wearying, +woesomely wearying. Now, as a matter of fact, +every one of you knows that we've got the average +material and that we'll go ahead and turn out an +average team and beat Claflin as per usual. The +only chance for argument is what the score will be. +You fellows like to grouse and pretend every fall +that the team's shot full of holes and that the +world is a dark, dreary, dismal place and that winning +from Claflin is only a hectic dream. For the +love of lemons, fellows, chuck the undertaker stuff +and cheer up. Talk about something interesting, +or, if you must talk your everlasting football, cut +out the sobs!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dry up, Amy," said Tom Hall. "You +oughtn't to be allowed to talk. Someone stuff a +pillow in his mouth. No one has said we were shot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +full of holes, but you can't get around the fact that +we've lost a lot of good players and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, gee, he's at it again!" wailed Amy. "Yes, +Thomas darling, you've lost two fellows out of the +line and two out of the backfield and there's nothing +to live for and we'd better poison ourselves off +before defeat and disgrace come upon us. All is +lost save honour! Ah, woe is me!"</p> + +<p>"Cut it out, Amy," begged Edwards. "You +don't know anything about football, you idiot."</p> + +<p>"Two in the line and two in the backfield is +good," jeered Tim. "We've lost Blaisdell and +Innes and Tyler——"</p> + +<p>"Never was any good," interpolated Amy.</p> + +<p>"And Roberts and Marvin——"</p> + +<p>"Carmine's better!"</p> + +<p>"And Kendall and Harris!" concluded Tim triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Timmy, you've still got me!" replied +Amy sweetly. "Gee, to hear you rave you'd +think the whole team had graduated!"</p> + +<p>"So it has, practically!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, and I heard the same dope this time +last year. We'd lost Miller and Sawyer and Williams +and—and Milton and a dozen or two more +and there wasn't any hope for us! And all we +did was to go ahead and dodder along and beat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +Claflin seven to nothing! Not so bad for a lifeless +corpse, what?"</p> + +<p>Steve Edwards laughed. "Well, maybe we do +talk trouble a good deal about this time of year. +It's natural, I guess. You lose fellows who played +fine ball last year and you can't see just at first +how anyone can fill their places. Someone always +does, though. That's the bully part of it. I dare +say we'll manage to dodder along, as Amy calls +it, and rub it into old Claflin as we've been doing."</p> + +<p>"First sensible word I've heard tonight," said +Amy approvingly. "I wouldn't kick so much if I +only had to hear this sort of stuff occasionally, but +I'm rooming with the original crêpe-hanger! +Clint sobs himself to sleep at night thinking how +terribly the dear old team's shot to pieces. If I +remark in my optimistic, gladsome way, 'Clint, +list how sweetly the birdies sing, and observe, I +prithee, the sunlight gilding yon mountain peak,' +Clint turns his mournful countenance on me and +chokes out something about a weak backfield! +Say, I'm gladder every day of my life that I +stayed sane and——"</p> + +<p>"Stayed <i>what?</i>" exclaimed Jim Morton incredulously.</p> + +<p>"And didn't become obsessed with football +mania!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where do you get the words, Amy?" sighed +Clint Thayer admiringly.</p> + +<p>"Amy's the original phonograph," commented +Tim. "Only he's an improvement on anything +Edison ever invented. You don't have to wind +Amy up!"</p> + +<p>"No, he's got a self-starting attachment," +chuckled Draper.</p> + +<p>"Returning to the—the original contention," +continued Amy in superb disdain of the low jests, +"I'll bet any one of you or the whole kit and +caboodle of you that we beat Claflin again this +year. Now make a noise like some money!"</p> + +<p>"Amy, we don't bet," remarked Tom Hall. +"At least, not with money. Betting money is very +wrong. (Amy sniffed sarcastically.) But I'll +wager a good feed for the crowd that we have a +harder time beating Claflin this year than we had +last. And I'll——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, piffle! I don't care whether you have to +work harder to do it or not. I say you'll do it! +Hard work wouldn't hurt you, anyway. You're a +lot of loafers. All any of you do is go out to the +field and strike an attitude like a hero. Why——"</p> + +<p>Cries of expostulation and threats of physical +violence failed to disturb the irrepressible +Amy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell you what I'll do, you piffling Greeks, I'll +blow you all off to a top-hole dinner at the Inn if +Claflin beats us. There's a sporting proposition +for you, you undertakers' assistants!"</p> + +<p>"Yah! What do we do if she doesn't?" exclaimed +Walton.</p> + +<p>Amy surveyed him coldly. He didn't like +Harry Walton and never attempted to disguise +the fact. "Why, Harry, old dear, you'll just keep +right on squandering your money as usual, I suppose. +But I don't want you to waste any on me. +This is a one-man wager."</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't," said Leroy Draper, "I'm in on +it, Amy. I'll take half of it."</p> + +<p>"All right, Roy. But our money's safe as safe! +This bunch of grousers won't get fat off us, old +chap!"</p> + +<p>"Say," said Walton, who had been trying to get +Amy's attention for a minute, "what's the story +about my squandering my money? Anybody seen +you being careless with yours, Amy?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I know of. I'm not careless with it; +I'm careful. But being careful with money is different +from having it glued to your skin so you +have to have a surgical operation before——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, cut it, Amy," said Tim.</p> + +<p>"I spend my money just as freely as you do,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +returned Walton hotly. "You talk so much with +your face——"</p> + +<p>"Let it go at that, Harry," advised Tom Hall +soothingly. "Amy's just talking."</p> + +<p>"That's all," agreed Amy sweetly. "Just talking. +You're the original little spendthrift, Harry. +I'm going to write home to your folks some time +and warn 'em. Hold on, you chaps, don't hurry +off. The night is still in its infancy. Wait and +watch it grow up. Steve! <i>Sit down!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, I've got to be moseying along," replied +Captain Edwards. "It's pretty near ten. I +think it would be a rather good idea if we had a +rule that football men were to be in their rooms +at a quarter to ten all during the season."</p> + +<p>"I can see that you're going to be one of these +here martinets you read about," said Tim with +a sigh. "Steve, remember you were young once +yourself."</p> + +<p>"He never was!" declared Amy with decision. +"Steve was grown-up when he was quite young +and he's never got over it. Thank the Fates <i>I</i> +don't have to be bossed by him! Are you all leaving? +Clint, count the spoons and forks! Come +again, everyone. I've got lots more to say. Good-night, +Don. Glad to see you back again, old sober-sides. +Sorry about that fin of yours. Be careful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +with him, Tim. You know how it is with the dear +old team. We need every man we can get. Hold +on, Harry! Did you drop that quarter? Oh, I +beg pardon, it's only a button. That's right, +Thurs, kick the chair over if it's in your way. +We don't care a bit about our furniture. For the +love of lemons, Larry, don't grin like that! Think +of the team, man! Remember your sorrows! +Good-<i>night!</i>"</p> + +<p>Half-way to Billings Don broke the silence.</p> + +<p>"Fellows are funny, aren't they?" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Funny? How do you mean?" asked Tim.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," replied Don after a +thoughtful moment. "They're—they're so different, +I guess."</p> + +<p>"Who's different from who?"</p> + +<p>"Everyone," answered Don, smothering a +yawn.</p> + +<p>Tim viewed him in the radiance of the light +over the doorway with profound admiration. +"Don, you're a brilliant chap! Honest, sometimes +I wonder how you do it! Doesn't it hurt?"</p> + +<p>Don only smiled.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE FIRST GAME</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Don</span> sat on the bench and watched the game +with Thacher School. With him were nearly a +dozen other substitutes, but they, unlike Don, +were in football togs and might, in fact probably +would, get into the game sooner or later. There +was no such luck for Don so long as his hand remained +swathed in bandages, and he was silently +bewailing his luck. At his right sat Danny Moore, +chin in hand and elbow in palm, viewing the contest +from half-closed eyes. The trainer was small +and red of hair and very freckled, and he was +thoroughly Irish and, in the manner of his race, +mightily proud of it. Also, he was a clever little +man and a good trainer.</div> + +<p>An attempted forward pass by the visitors +grounded and the horn squawked the end of the +first period. Danny turned his beady green eyes +on Don. "Likely you're wishin' yourself out there +with the rest of 'em, boy," he said questioningly.</p> + +<p>Don nodded, smiled his slow smile and shook +his head. "I guess I won't get into it for a week<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +yet. Doc says this hand has got to do a lot of +healing first. He has a fine time every day pulling +and cutting the old skin off it. Guess he enjoys +it so much he will hate to have it heal. I should +think, Danny, that if I had a heavy glove, sort of +padded in the palm, I might play a little."</p> + +<p>"Sure, I'll fix you up something real nate," +replied Danny readily. "Nate an' scientific, d'ye +see? An' so soon as the Doc says the word +you come to me an' I'll be having it ready for +you."</p> + +<p>"Will you? Thanks, Danny. That's great! I +would like to get back to practice again. I'm +afraid I'll be as stiff and stale as anything if I +stay out much longer."</p> + +<p>"Go easy on your eating, lad, and it'll take you +no time at all to catch up with the rest of 'em. +Spread this hand for me while I see the shape of +it. What happened to your finger there?"</p> + +<p>"I broke it when I was a little kid, playing +baseball."</p> + +<p>"Sure, whoever set it for you must have been +cross-eyed," said the trainer, drily. "'Tis a bum +job he did."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a little crooked, but it works all +right."</p> + +<p>"You'd have hard work gettin' your engagement<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +ring over that lump, I'm thinking. It's a fortunate +thing you're not a girl, d'ye mind."</p> + +<p>Don laughed. "Engagement rings go on the +other hand, don't they, Danny?"</p> + +<p>"Faith, I don't know. Bad luck to him, he's +done it again!"</p> + +<p>"Who? What?" asked Don startledly.</p> + +<p>"Jim Morton. That's twice today he's spilled +most of the water from the pail. Well, I'll have +to go an' fill it, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Danny went off to get the water bucket and the +teams lined up again near the visitors' twenty-five +yard line. Coach Robey had put in a somewhat +patched-up team today. Captain Edwards was +at left end, Clint Thayer at left tackle, Gafferty at +left guard, Peters at centre, Pryme at right guard, +Crewe at right tackle, Lee at right end, Carmine +at quarter, St. Clair and Gordon at half and Martin +at full. It was not the best line-up possible, +but it was so far handling the situation fairly satisfactorily. +The practice of the last two days had +developed one or two strains and proved more +than one of the first-choice fellows far below condition. +Tim Otis was out for a day or two with +a twisted knee and Tom Hall with a lame shoulder. +Thursby had developed an erratic streak the +day before and was nursing his chagrin further<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +along the bench. Holt, the best right end, was in +trouble with the faculty, and Rollins, full-back, had +pulled a tendon in his ankle. A full team of second- and +third-string players were having signal +work on the practice gridiron.</p> + +<p>In the stands a fairly good-sized gathering of +onlookers was applauding listlessly at such infrequent +times as the maroon-and-grey team gave it +any excuse. Thus far, however, exciting episodes +had been scarce. The weather, which was enervatingly +warm, affected both elevens and the playing +was sluggish and far from brilliant. The +Brimfield backs, with the exception of Carmine, +who was always on edge, conducted themselves as +if they were at a rehearsal, accepting the ball in +an indifferent manner and half-heartedly plunging +at the opposing line or jogging around the +ends. As the first half drew to a close both goal +lines were still unthreatened and from all indications +would remain so for the rest of the contest. +A slight thrill was developed, though, just before +the second period came to an end when a Thacher +half-back managed to get away outside Crewe and +romped half the length of the field before he was +laid low by Carmine. After that there was an exchange +of punts and the teams trotted off to the +gymnasium.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>Don left the bench with the others, but did not +follow them to the dressing room. Instead, he +strolled down the running track and across to the +practice field, where Tim was superintending the +signal practice. Don joined him and followed the +panting, perspiring players down the field. Tim's +conversation was rather difficult to follow, since he +continually interrupted himself to instruct or admonish +the toilers.</p> + +<p>"I feel like a slave-driver, pushing these poor +chaps around in this heat. How's the game going? +No score? We must be playing pretty punk, I +guess. What sort of a team has—Jones, you +missed your starting signal again. For the love +of mud, keep your ears open!—Thacher must be +as bad as we are. Who's playing in my place? +Gordon? Is he doing anything?—Try them on +that again, McPhee, will you? Robbins, you're +supposed to block hard on that and not let your +man through until the runner's got into the line.—I +could have played today all right, but that idiot, +Danny, wouldn't let me. My knee's perfectly all +right."</p> + +<p>"Then why do you limp?" asked Don innocently.</p> + +<p>"Force of habit," said Tim. "What time is +it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>Don consulted his silver watch and announced +a quarter to four.</p> + +<p>"Thank goodness! That'll do, fellows. You'd +better get your showers before you try to see that +game. If Danny catches you over there the way +you are he will just about scalp you! By the way, +McPhee, you saw what I meant about that end-around +play, didn't you? You can't afford to +slow up the play by waiting for your end to get +to you. He's got to be in position to take the +pass at the right second. Otherwise they'll come +through on you and stop him behind the line. +There ought to be absolutely no pause between +Smith's pass to you and your pass to Compton, +or whoever the end is. You get the ball, turn +quick, toss it to the end and fall in behind him. +It ought to be almost one motion. Of course, I +know you fellows were pretty well fagged today, +but you don't want to let your ends think they can +take their time on that play, old man, for it's got +to be fast or it's no earthly good. Thus endeth +the lesson. Come on, Don, and we'll go over and +add the dignity of our presence to that little +affair."</p> + +<p>They reached the bench just as the two teams +trotted back and Brimfield's supporters raised a +faint cheer. Don imagined that there was a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +more vim in the way the maroon-and-grey warriors +went into the field for the second half and +the results proved him right.</p> + +<p>It was the home team's kick-off, and after Captain +Edwards, in the absence of Hall, had sped the +ball down to Thacher's twenty yards and a +Thacher player had sped it back to the thirty, +Brimfield settled down to business. Probably Coach +Robey's remarks in the interim had been sufficiently +caustic to get under the skin. At all events +Brimfield forced Thacher to punt on third down +and then almost blocked the kick. As it was, the +ball hurtled out of bounds near the middle of the +field and became Brimfield's on her forty-eight. +Two plunges netted five yards, and then St. Clair, +returning to form, ripped his way past tackle on +the left and fought over two white lines before +he was halted. Gordon and Martin made it first +down in three tries and Carmine worked the left +end for four more. Thacher stiffened then, however, +and after two ineffectual plunges St. Clair +punted and Brimfield caught on her goal line and +ran back a dozen yards, Lee, right end, missing +his tackle badly and Steve Edwards being neatly +blocked off. But Thacher found the going even +harder than her opponent had and in a moment +she, too, was forced to punt.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>This time it was St. Clair who caught and who, +eluding both Thacher ends, ran straight along the +side line until he was upset near the enemy's +thirty-five yards. As he went down he managed +to get one foot over the line and the referee +paced in fifteen yards, set the ball to earth and +waved toward the Thacher goal.</p> + +<p>Martin faked a forward pass and the ball went +to Gordon for a try at right tackle. Thayer and +Gafferty opened a fine hole there and Gordon +romped through and made eight before the +Thacher secondary defence brought him down. +Martin completed the distance through centre. +From the twenty-four yards to the ten the ball +went, progress, however, becoming slower as the +attack neared the goal. On a shift that brought +Thayer to the right side of the line, St. Clair got +around the short end for three and Martin added +two more, leaving the pigskin on the five-yard line. +It was third down and Martin went back to kick. +But after a moment's hesitation Carmine changed +his signals and the ends stole out toward the side +lines. Thacher proceeded to arrange her forces +to intercept a forward pass and again Carmine +switched. The ends crept back and Martin retired +to the fifteen-yard line and patted the turf. +Carmine knelt in front of him and eyed the goal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +Then the signals came again, and with them the +ball, and it was Martin who caught it and not Carmine. +Two steps to the right, a quick heave, a +frenzied shouting from the defenders of the goal, +a confused jostling, and Captain Edwards, one +foot over the line, reached his arms into the air, +pulled down the hurtling pigskin, tore away from +one of the enemy, lunged forward and went down +under a mass of bodies, but well over the goal line.</p> + +<p>Brimfield found her enthusiasm then, and her +voice, and cheered loudly and long, only ceasing +when Carmine walked out with the ball under his +arm and flung himself to the turf opposite the +right hand goal post. Thursby, hustled in by Coach +Robey, measured distance and direction, stepped +forward and, as the line of Thacher warriors +swept forward with upstretched hands, swung +his toe against the ball and sent it neatly across +the bar.</p> + +<p>With the score seven to nothing against her, +Thacher returned to the fray with a fine determination, +but, when the teams had changed places +after the kick-off and the last period had begun, she +speedily found that victory was not to be her portion. +Mr. Robey sent in nearly a new team during +that last ten minutes and the substitutes, fresh +and eager, went at it hammer-and-tongs. Thacher<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +enlisted fresh material, too, but it couldn't stop +the onslaught that soon took the ball down the +field to within close scoring distance of her goal. +That Brimfield did not add another touchdown was +only because her line, overanxious, was twice +found off-side and penalised. Even then the ball +went at last to within six inches of the goal line +and it was only after the nimble referee had dug +into the pile-up like a terrier scratching for a bone +in an ash-heap that the fact was determined that +Thacher had saved her bacon by the width of the +ball. She kicked out of danger from behind her +goal and after two plays the final whistle blew.</p> + +<p>It was a very hot and very weary crowd of fellows +who thronged the dressing room in the gymnasium +five minutes later and, above the swish of +water in the showers, shouted back and forth and +discussed the game from as many angles as there +had been participants. Possibly Brimfield had +no very good reason for feeling proud of her +afternoon's work, for last year she had defeated +Thacher 26 to 3. That game, however, had taken +place two weeks later in the season, when the +Maroon-and-Grey was better off in the matter of +experience, and so perhaps was not a fair comparison. +At all events, Brimfield liked the way +she had "come back" in that third period and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +liked the way in which the substitutes had behaved, +and displayed a very evident inclination to +pat herself on the back.</p> + +<p>Tim, who had haled Don into the gymnasium +on the way back to hall, tried his best to convince +all those who would listen to him that they had +played a perfectly punk game and that nothing +but the veriest fluke had accounted for that score. +But they called him a "sore-head" and laughed +at him, and even drove him away with flicking +towels, and he finally gave it up and consented to +accompany Don back to Billings, limping a trifle +whenever he thought no one was looking.</p> + +<p>Don missed Tim at supper, for the training +tables started that evening and Tim went off to +one of them with his napkin ring and his own particular +bottle of tomato catsup, leaving his chum +feeling forlornly "out of it."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>DON GOES TO THE SECOND</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Life</span> at Brimfield Academy settled down for Don +into the accustomed routine. The loss of one day +made no difference in the matter of lessons, for +with Tim's assistance—they were both in the Fifth +Form—he easily made up what had been missed. +They were taking up German that year for the +first time and Don found it hard going, but he managed +to satisfy Mr. Daley after a fashion. Don +was a fellow who studied hard because he had to. +Tim could skim his lessons, make a good showing +in class and remember enough of what he had gone +over to appear quite erudite. Don had to get right +down and grapple with things. He once said enviously, +and with as near an approach to an +epigram as he was capable of, that whereas Tim +got his lessons by inhaling them, he, Don, had to +chew them up and swallow them! But when examination +time came Don's method of assimilation +showed better results.</div> + +<p>The injured hand healed with incredible slowness,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +but heal it did, and at last the day came when +the doctor consented to let his impatient pupil put +on the padded arrangement that the ingenious +Danny Moore had fashioned of a discarded +fielder's glove and some curled hair, and Don triumphantly +reported for practice. His triumph +was, however, short-lived, for Coach Robey viewed +him dubiously and relegated him to the second +squad, from which Mr. Boutelle was then forming +his second team. "Boots" was a graduate +who turned up every Fall and took charge of the +second or scrub team. It was an open secret that +he received no remuneration. Patriotism and +sheer love of the game were the inducements that +caused Mr. Boutelle to donate some two months +of time and labour to the cause of turning out a +second team strong enough to give the first the +practice it needed. And he always succeeded. +"Boutelle's Babies," as someone had facetiously +termed them, could invariably be depended on to +give the school eleven as hard a tussle as it wanted—and +sometimes a deal harder. Boots was a bit +of a driver and believed in strenuous work, but his +charges liked him immensely and performed miracles +of labour at his command. His greeting of +Don was almost as dubious as had been Coach +Robey's.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course I'm glad to have you, Gilbert, but +the trouble is that as soon as we've got you nicely +working Mr. Robey will take you away. That's a +great trick of his. He seems to think the purpose +of the second team is to train players for the first. +It isn't, though. He gives me what he doesn't +want every year and I do my best to make a team +from it, and I ought to be allowed to keep what I +make. Well, never mind. You do the best you can +while you're with us, Gilbert."</p> + +<p>"Maybe he won't have me this year," +said Don dejectedly. "He seems to think that +being out for a couple of weeks has queered +me."</p> + +<p>"Well, you don't feel that way about it, do +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I'm perfectly all right. I've watched +practice every afternoon and I've been doing a +quarter to a half on the track."</p> + +<p>"Hm. Well, you've got a little flesh that will +have to come off, but it won't take long to lose it +this weather. Sit down a minute." They were +in front of the stand and Mr. Boutelle seated himself +on the lower tier and Don followed his example. +"Let me see, Gilbert. Last year you +played left guard, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And if I remember aright your chief difficulty +was in the matter of weight."</p> + +<p>"I'm twelve pounds heavier this fall, air."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but some of that'll come off, I guess. +However, that doesn't matter. You were getting +along pretty well at the last of the season, +I remember. Who's ahead of you on the +first?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Gafferty's got the first choice, I guess. +And then there's Harry Walton."</p> + +<p>"You can beat Walton," said Boots decisively. +"Walton lacks head. He can't think things out for +himself. You can. What you'll have to do this +year, my boy, is speed up a little. It took you +until about the middle of the season to find your +pace. Remember?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I know."</p> + +<p>"Well, you won't stay with us long, as I've said, +and so I'm not going to build you into the line, +Gilbert. I've got some good-looking guard material +and I can't afford to work over you and get +dependent on you and then have Robey snatch you +away about the middle of the fall. That won't do. +But I'll tell you what we will do, Gilbert. We'll +use you enough to bring you around in form +slowly. You'll play left guard for awhile every +day. But what I want you to really do is to help<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +with the others. You've been at it two years now +and you know how the position ought to be played +and you've got hard common-sense. I'll put the +guard candidates in your hands. See what you +can do with them. There's a couple of likely chaps +in Kirkwell and Merton, and there are two or three +more after positions. You take them in charge, +Gilbert, and show me what you know about coaching. +What do you say?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Mr. Boutelle, I—I don't know that I can +show anyone else what to do. I can play the position +myself after a fashion, but—well, I guess it's +another thing to teach, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know. It is if you go into it with +the idea that it is, but don't do that. Play the +position as it ought to be played, tell the others +why, call them down when they make mistakes, +pat them on the back when they do right. Just +forget that you're trying to teach. If a fellow +came to you and said: 'Gilbert, I want to play +guard but I don't know how, and I wish you'd tell +me how you do it,' why, you wouldn't have any +trouble, would you?"</p> + +<p>"N-no, sir, I guess not," replied Don a trifle +doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Well, there you are. Try it, anyway. You'll +get on all right. I'll be right on hand to dig the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +spurs in when your courage fails." Mr. Boutelle +smiled. "We're going to have a dandy second +team this fall, my boy. We've got nothing to +build on, only a lot of green material, and that's +the best part of it. I don't care how inexperienced +the material is if it's willing to learn and has the +usual number of arms and legs and such things +and a few ounces of grey matter in the cranium. +Well, here we go. Nothing today but passing +and punting, I guess. Sure your hand's all +right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, thanks. I don't really need this contrivance; +it's awfully clumsy; but Doc said I'd +better wear it for a few days."</p> + +<p>"Best to be on the safe side. I'll have you take +one squad of these chaps, I guess, and I'll give the +other to Lewis. You know the usual stuff, Gilbert. +Rest 'em up now and then; they're soft and +the weather's warm. But work 'em when they're +working. Any fellow who soldiers gets bounced. +All out, second squad!"</p> + +<p>There wasn't anything that afternoon but the +sort of drudgery that tries the enthusiasm of the +tyro: passing the ball in circles, falling on it, +catching it on the bound and starting. Don was +surprised to discover how soft he was in spite of +his daily exercise on the cinders. When the hour's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +practice was over he was just about as thankful +as any of the puffing, perspiring youths around +him. Considering it afterward, Don was unable +to view the material with the enthusiasm Mr. Boutelle +had displayed. To him the thirty-odd boys +who had reported for the second team were a hopeless +lot, barring, of course, a few, not more than +four in all, who had had experience last season. +In another week Mr. Robey would make a cut in +the first squad and the second would find itself +augmented by some ten or twelve cast-offs. But +just now the second squad looked to Don to be a +most unlikely lot. When he confided all this to +Tim that evening the latter said:</p> + +<p>"Don't you worry, old man. Boots will make a +team out of them. Why, he could make a football +team out of eleven clothing store dummies! Sometimes +I think that Boots ought to be head coach +instead of Robey. I've got nothing against Robey, +either. He's a bit of a 'miracle man' himself, <i>but</i> +for building a team out of nothing Boutelle has +him both shoulders to the mat!"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe Boots would want to coach the +first," replied Don.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. He's sort of—well, he kind of +likes to—Oh, I don't know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Very clearly explained, Donald."</p> + +<p>"Well, Boots, if he was a soldier, would be the +sort that would want to lead a charge where the +odds were against him. See what I mean?"</p> + +<p>"You mean he has a hankering for the forlorn +chance business? Maybe so. That's not a bad +name for the second, is it? The Forlorn Chances! +I guess you've got him dead to rights, though. +Boots is for the under dog every time. I guess +coaching the first and having his pick of the players +wouldn't make any sort of a hit with Boots. It +would be too tame. Boots likes to take three discarded +veterans, two crips and a handful of green +youngsters and whittle them into a bunch that will +make us sweat and toil to score on. And, what's +more, he does it! Bet you anything, Don, this +year's second will be every bit as good as last +year's."</p> + +<p>"I won't take it, because I think so myself," +laughed Don. "I can't see how he's going to do +it, Tim, but something tells me he will!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, with you to coach the guards it will be no +trick at all," said Tim, grinning.</p> + +<p>Don smiled thinly. "I'll make an awful mess +of it, I guess," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Not you, boy!" and Tim slapped him encouragingly +on the back. "You'll blunder right ahead<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +to glory, same as you always do. You'll make +hard work of it and all that, but you'll get there. +Don, you're exactly like the porpoise—no, the tortoise +in the fable. You don't look fast, old man, +but you keep on moving ahead and saying nothing +and when the hares arrive you're curled up on the +finish line fast asleep. Tortoises can't curl up, +though, can they? And, say, what the dickens <i>is</i> +a tortoise, anyway? I always get tortoises and +porpoises mixed."</p> + +<p>"A porpoise is a fish," replied Don gravely. +"And a tortoise is a land turtle. But they're both +anthropoids."</p> + +<p>"Are they?" asked Tim vaguely. "All right. +Here, what are you grinning at? Anthropoids +nothing! An anthropoid is a monkey or—or something."</p> + +<p>"You're an anthropoid yourself, Timmy."</p> + +<p>"Meaning I'm a monkey?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. Here, look it up." And Don +shoved a dictionary across the table. Tim accepted +it suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said, "but if it's what I think +it is you'll have to fight. Anthesis, anthropocosmic—— +Say, I'm glad you didn't call me that! +Here it is. Now let's see. 'Anthropoid, somewhat +like a human being in form or other characteristics'!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +Something like—— You wait till I get you +in the tank again! 'Something like a human +being'! For two cents I'd lay you on the bed and +spank you with that tennis racket!"</p> + +<p>"I've got two cents that say you can't do it," +replied Don.</p> + +<p>"Well, I could if there wasn't so much of you," +grumbled Tim. "Now shut up and let me stuff +awhile. Horace has been eyeing me in a way I +don't like lately. How's your German going?"</p> + +<p>"Not very well. It's a silly language, I think. +But I guess I'll get the hang of it after awhile. +What I want to know is why they can't make their +letters the way we do."</p> + +<p>"Because they're afraid someone might be able +to read the plaguy stuff. Tell you what we'll do, +Don."</p> + +<p>"What'll we do?"</p> + +<p>"We'll go for a swim in the tank after study. +Will you?"</p> + +<p>Don winked slowly. "Not after that threat, +thanks."</p> + +<p>"I won't touch you, honest to goodness, Don! +Did you learn to swim any better this Summer?"</p> + +<p>"Where would I learn?" asked the other. +"There's no place to swim out my way, unless it's +the river."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, don't the rivers in Kansas contain +water?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sometimes! Winter, usually. If you'll +promise not to grab me when I'm not looking I'll +go. I hate the taste of that tank water, Tim."</p> + +<p>"You ought to know how to swim, old man. +Never mind, Mr. Conklin will get hold of you this +Winter and beat it into you."</p> + +<p>"I can swim now," replied Don indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you can swim like a hunk of lead! +The last time I saw you try it you did five strokes +and then got so elated that you nearly drowned +yourself trying to cheer! I could teach you in +three lessons if you'd let me."</p> + +<p>"Much obliged, but nothing doing, Timmy. I'd +as lief drown by myself as have you hold my head +under water."</p> + +<p>"That was just a joke, Don. I won't ever do it +again. I wanted you to get used to the water, you +see."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind getting used to it outside, but I +hate to fill up with it, Tim. It tastes very nasty. +You may be a good teacher, but I don't like your +methods."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll go and have a dip, anyway," +laughed Tim. "It'll set us up and refresh us +after our arduous stuffing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you don't cut out the chatter there won't be +any stuffing," warned Don. "It's almost half-past +now. And I've got three solid pages of this +rot to do. Dry up, like a good pal."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE SEARCH OF ADVENTURE</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">By</span> that time Brimfield had played her second +game and lost it, 6 to 14, to Canterbury High +School. Canterbury was not considered very +formidable and Brimfield usually had little trouble +with her. But this year things had gone wrong +from the start of the game to the finish, wrong, +that is, from Brimfield's point of view. Fumbling +had been much in evidence and poor judgment +even more. Carmine had worked like a Trojan at +quarter-back for two periods, but had somehow +failed to display his usually good generalship, +and McPhee, who had taken his place at the beginning +of the second half, while he ran the team +well, twice dropped punts in the backfield, one of +which accounted for Canterbury's second touchdown +and goal. Oddly enough, it was the veterans +who failed most signally to live up to expectations, +and of all the veterans Tom Hall was the worst +offender. Possibly Tom's shoulder still bothered +him, but even that couldn't have accounted for all +his shortcomings. Crewe, who played tackle beside<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +Tom, was not a very steady man, and Tom's +errors threw him off his game badly, with the +result that, until Coach Robey put Pryme in for +Tom in the third period, Canterbury made a +lamentable number of gains at the right of the +Brimfield line. Even Tim Otis, usually undisturbed +by anything short of an earthquake, was +affected by the playing of the others and finally +had what he called a "brain-storm" in the third +period, getting the signals twisted and being +thrown back for an eight-yard loss. That misadventure +bothered him so that he was heartily glad +when Gordon was rushed in a few minutes later.</div> + +<p>The team took the beating to heart and the +school at large was disposed to indulge in sarcasm +and bitterness. Only Coach Robey seemed undisturbed. +He lavished no praise, you may be sure, +but, on the other hand, neither did he utter any +criticism after the contest was over. Instead, he +laid off more than half the line-up on Monday and +Tuesday, and, since the weather continued almost +unseasonably warm, the rest was just what the +fellows needed. Wednesday's practice went with +a new snap and vim and those who broiled in the +afternoon sun and watched it found grounds for +hope.</p> + +<p>It was on Wednesday that Don began his connection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +with the second team, and by then the injured +hand was so well along that he was able to +discard the glove. Three days of kindergarten +work followed, with, on Saturday, a short signal +drill. The first team journeyed away that afternoon +to play Miter Hill School, and Don would +have liked very much to have gone along. But +Boots put his charges through a good, hard hour +and a half of work, and Don had all he could +attend to at home. Just before supper he did, +however, walk down to the station and meet Tim +when the team arrived home. Tim, who seemed +remarkably fresh for a youth who had played +through the most of four ten-minute periods, +scorned the coach and he and Don footed it back.</p> + +<p>"Twenty to nothing, my boy," said Tim exultantly. +"They never had a look-in. It was +some game, believe me, dearie! And I want to +tell you, too, that Miter Hill is fifty per cent better +than Canterbury ever thought of being!"</p> + +<p>"That's fine," said Don. "What sort of a game +did you play?"</p> + +<p>"Me? Oh, I was the life of the party. Got off +two nice little runs, one for thirty and the other +for forty-five yards. Got a touchdown the second +time. I wouldn't have, though, if Steve hadn't +paced me most the way down and put the quarter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +out. Old Steve played like a whirlwind today. +We all did, I guess. There was only one fumble, +and that wasn't anyone's fault. Holt got a forward +pass and a Miter Hill chap plunged into him +and just about knocked the breath out of him and +he let go of the ball."</p> + +<p>"Twenty to nothing? Three touchdowns, +then."</p> + +<p>"Yep, and Rollins only missed one goal. Rollins +scored once, I scored once and Steve took over +the last one."</p> + +<p>"Forward pass?"</p> + +<p>"No, end-around. It went off great, too. We +were way back on the eighteen yards, I think it +was, and we worked the fake forward pass play, +with Steve taking the ball from Carmine. We +fooled them finely. They never got onto it at all +until Steve was over the line. Some of the fellows +who were doing so much grousing last week +ought to have come along today and seen some +real football. Robey was as pleased as anything. +You could tell that because he looked sort of cross +and told us how bad we were!"</p> + +<p>"Wish I'd seen it," mourned Don.</p> + +<p>"It was some game, all right, all right! We're +going to have a modest celebration this evening; +just Tom Hall and Clint Thayer and Hap Crewe,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +maybe, and yours truly. Better come along. Will +you?"</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just down to the village. We'll leave the +window open."</p> + +<p>"You'll get nabbed if you try that," demurred +Don. "Better not, Tim."</p> + +<p>"Well, we may be back by ten. No harm in +having a way open in case something delays us, +though. We'll have a little feed at the Inn, you +know, and——"</p> + +<p>"Don't be a chump," growled Don. "You're +in training and you know mighty well Robey won't +stand for any funny-business."</p> + +<p>"What Robey doesn't know isn't going to hurt +him," replied Tim untroubledly. "And he won't +know anything about this because he's off for +home on the seven o'clock train. Tom heard him +tell Steve he wouldn't be back until Monday +noon."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but someone will see you and Robey'll +hear of it. And then you'll get the dickens from +him and be hauled up to the office. Better not +risk it, Timmy."</p> + +<p>"Gee, you're worse than Mr. Poe's crow! Or +was it a raven? What's the difference, anyhow? +Now don't tell me they're both anthropeds or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +pods, or whatever it is, because I'm onto you as +a disseminator of knowledge! I never got even +with you yet for calling me 'something like a +human being'."</p> + +<p>"I'll take it back, then; you aren't. But, just +the same, Tim, I wish you'd cut out the celebration."</p> + +<p>"You're all the time interfering with my innocent +pleasures," protested Tim. "Why, bless +you, dearie, we aren't going to cut-up. We're +merely going to stroll quietly to the village, trolling +a song, mayhap, and look in the windows."</p> + +<p>"That'll take you a long time," Don laughed. +"There are only half a dozen."</p> + +<p>"Wrong. A fellow opened a watchmaker's +emporium next door to the post office t'other day +and has a most fascinating window. It has four +alarm clocks, three pairs of cuff-links and a +chronometer in it! Oh, it's swell! Do you realise, +Don, that slowly but surely our little village is +taking on the—the semblance of a metropolis? +All we want is a movie palace!"</p> + +<p>"Let's start one. They say there's a lot of +money in them."</p> + +<p>"Bet there is! We've got three or four at +home, and they're peaches. Full every minute, +too. I went a lot last Summer; had filmitis, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +guess. But how about the party? Will you come +along?"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come on, Don! Have a heart! Be one of +our merry gang."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather not, thank you. I like Josh well +enough, but I don't like to stand on the carpet +and hear him say 'Until further notice, Gilbert.' +Nothing doing, Tim!"</p> + +<p>And Don remained adamant the rest of the way +to school and while they made a hurried toilet and +rushed to dining hall in an effort to reach it before +the food gave out.</p> + +<p>The team members received an ovation that +evening when they entered the dining hall. It +seemed as if the school wanted to make up for its +unkindness of a week before. Some few of the +fellows, recalling sarcastic comments overheard, +were inclined to be haughty and unforgiving, but +eventually they melted. Don, now at the second +training-table, presided over by Mr. Boutelle, saw +that Coach Robey's chair was vacant, which fact +bore out Tim's statement that the coach had gone +home over Sunday. But, even granting that, Don +didn't approve of Tim's celebration, for, as he +very well knew, after a football victory fellows +were very likely to be carried away by their enthusiasm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +and to forget such trifling things as +rules and regulations. He determined to try +again to dissuade Tim after supper.</p> + +<p>But Tim, who was in a very cheerful and expansive +mood, refused to be dissuaded. Instead, he +turned the tables and begged so hard for Don to +come with him that Don finally relented. After +all, there was no harm in the excursion if they got +permission and were back in hall by ten o'clock. +And it was a wonderfully pleasant, warm evening, +much too fine an evening to spend indoors, and—well, +secretly, Don wanted some fun as much as +any of them, perhaps!</p> + +<p>Permission was easily obtained and at seven +they met Tom Hall and Clint Thayer in front of +Torrence. Crewe failed them, but Tim said it +didn't matter; that there were only four "Three +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Muskateers'">Musketeers</ins>" anyhow! So they set off for the +village in high spirits, through a warm, fragrant, +star-lighted evening, with no settled plan of action +in mind save to do about as they liked for the succeeding +three hours. Clint Thayer had a strip of +plaster across the saddle of his nose, which gave +him a strangely benign expression. Tom walked +a bit stiffly and confessed to "a peach of a shin," +which probably meant something quite different +from what it suggested. Only Tim, of the three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +first team fellows, had emerged unscathed, and he +referred to the fact in an unpleasantly superior +manner which brought from Tom Hall the remark +that it was easy enough to get through a game +without any knocks if you didn't do anything! +Whereupon Tim flicked him across the cheek with +an imaginary glove, the challenge was issued and +accepted and the two fought an exciting duel with +rapiers—as imaginary as the glove—on the sidewalk, +feinting, thrusting, parrying, until Clint +cried "The guard! The guard!" and they all +raced down the road to the nearest lamp-post, +where Tim insisted on looking to his wounds. To +hear him tell it, he was as full of holes as a sieve, +while, on the same authority, Tom was a dead man. +Tom denied being dead, but Tim insisted and refused +to pay any heed to him all the rest of the way +to the village on the ground that, being dead, Tom +had no business to talk.</p> + +<p>But when they reached what Tim called "the +heart of the city" Tom was allowed to come to life +again. The heart of the city consisted of the +junction of two village streets whereon were +located the diminutive town hall, the post office, +a fire house and five stores. They began with the +druggist's, ranging themselves in front of one of +the two windows and pretending to be overwhelmed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +with the beauty and magnificence of the +goods displayed.</p> + +<p>"What beautiful soap," exclaimed Tom. "I +never saw such beautiful soap, fellows. Pink and +green and white! Looks almost good enough to +wash with, doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>"And get on to the lovely toilet set in the green +velvet box," begged Tim awedly. "Scissors and +brushes and little do-funnies and——"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to buy a bottle of that hair-grower," +announced Don. "I want to raise a beard."</p> + +<p>"Let's get a bottle and present it to Uncle Sim," +suggested Clint. Uncle Sim was Mr. Simkins, the +Greek and Latin instructor, and was noticeably +bald. The others chuckled and thought very well +of the suggestion until Tom discovered that the +price, as stated on the label, was one whole dollar. +They had, they decided, better uses for what little +money they carried. Eventually they went inside, +and sat on stools in front of the small soda fountain +and drank gaily-coloured concoctions which, +according to Tim, later, sounded better than they +tasted. Having exhausted the amusement to be +derived from the drug store, they went to the fire +house next door and, pressing their noses against +the glass, debated what would happen if an alarm +was rung in. There was a box beside the doors, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +most tempting red box and Tim eyed it longingly +until Don led him gently but firmly away from +temptation.</p> + +<p>In the small store across the street they examined +all the books and magazines displayed on the +counters, which didn't take long, as literature was +not a large part of the stock. Tim spent ten +cents for a football guide, explaining that he had +always wanted to know some of the rules of that +game! Don bought some candy and Clint a bag of +peanuts, although the others protested that if they +ate truck they'd spoil their appetites for real food. +The force of the protest was somewhat marred by +the actions of the protestants, who helped themselves +liberally to the contents of the two bags.</p> + +<p>There was a convenient fence a few steps along +the street and they perched themselves on the top +rail and consumed the peanuts and candy and +watched the "rush of the great city," to again +quote the poetic Tim. During the next twenty +minutes exactly eight carriages and four automobiles +entered their range of vision; and at that +Clint insisted that they had counted one automobile +twice. He accused it of going around the block +in order to add to the confusion. Possibly some +three dozen people passed within sight, although +that may have been a too liberal estimate. Tom at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +last declared that he couldn't stand the excitement +any longer; that his brain reeled and his eyes +ached; and that he was going to find a quiet spot +far from the dizzy whirl. So they adjourned to the +grocery and butcher shop and talked learnedly of +loins and shoulders and ribs. And Clint dragged +what he alluded to as a "brisket" into the conversation +to the confusion of the others, who had +never heard of it and didn't believe in it anyway. +Tom said Clint meant "biscuit" and that this +wasn't a bakery. Then he caught sight of some +rather pathetic and unseasonable radishes and, +having a passion for radishes, went in and purchased +four bunches. That outlay led to an expenditure +for salt, and as a large, round pasteboard +carton of it was the least they could buy, +they retreated down the street to the Inn porch, +trickled the salt along the top of the railing, drew +up chairs and consumed the radishes at their +leisure. All, that is, save Tim. Tim didn't like +radishes, called them "fire-crackers" and pretended +to be deeply disgusted with his companions +for eating them.</p> + +<p>When the radishes were consumed they invaded +the Inn and assaulted the water tank in force. +Then, as there were practically no sights left to be +viewed, they went back to their chairs and, as Tom<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +had it, waited for inspiration. Don was for trolleying +over to the shore, having a dip in the ocean +and returning to school in good time. But Tim +pointed out that the trolley line was a good half-mile +distant, that he had not filled himself with +radishes and was consequently quite famished for +food and favoured remaining within easy distance +of the Inn so that, in case he grew faint, he could +reach sustenance. Don's motion was defeated. In +view of what eventually occurred, that was, perhaps, +unfortunate.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>FIGHTING FIRE</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">This</span>," said Tim presently, "is a bit dull, if you +ask me. I came out for some excitement. Let's +do something."</div> + +<p>"What?" asked Clint, yawning loudly.</p> + +<p>"Let's eat."</p> + +<p>The others groaned.</p> + +<p>"That's all right for you chaps, but I'm getting +hungry," Tim asserted. "I thought we were +going to have a feed. They'll be closing this place +up the first thing we know. How about a rarebit, +fellows?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, let's wait awhile," said Don. "Let's take +a walk and get up an appetite."</p> + +<p>"Walk!" jeered Tim. "Gee, I've walked +enough. And there's nothing the matter with my +appetite right now. Tell you what——" Tim +paused. An automobile was stopping in front of +the Inn. The headlights suddenly dimmed and the +single occupant, a tall man in a light overcoat, got +out, walked up the path, ascended the steps and +passed into the house. "Now, who's he?" asked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +Tim. "Say, I wish he'd loan us his car for +awhile."</p> + +<p>"Run in and ask him," suggested Tom. "He +looked kind."</p> + +<p>"Maybe he'd give us a ride if we asked him," +pursued Tim. "It's a peach of a car; foreign, I +guess."</p> + +<p>"It's a Mercy Dear," said Tom.</p> + +<p>"Or a Fierce Sorrow," hazarded Clint.</p> + +<p>"Bet you it's a Cheerless," said Don, "or a +Backhard."</p> + +<p>"Don't care what it is," persisted Tim. "I +want a ride in it."</p> + +<p>"Let's go down and stand around it with our +fingers in our mouths," said Tom, with a chuckle. +"Perhaps he will take pity on us and ask us in."</p> + +<p>"Or we might open the door for him," offered +Don.</p> + +<p>At that moment Clint, who had left his chair to +lean across the railing and gaze past the end of +the porch, interrupted with an exclamation. "Say, +fellows, what's that light over there?" he asked +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Fire, by jingo!" cried Tim.</p> + +<p>"That's what!" agreed Tom. "Say, you don't +suppose it's the school, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course not! The school's over that way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> +Besides, that fire's away off; maybe two miles. +Come on!" And Clint started for the steps.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" called Tim. "I want to see the engine +come out. Bet you it's a fine sight! Anyway, we +can't foot it two miles."</p> + +<p>"Maybe it isn't that far," said Don. "Fires +look further than they are sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and nearer, too," replied Tim. "Think +we ought to run over and tell them about it?"</p> + +<p>But that question was speedily answered by +the sudden clanging of a gong inside the fire +house, followed by the sound of running footsteps +and, an instant later, the wild alarm of the shrill-tongued +bell in the little belfry.</p> + +<p>"My word!" exclaimed Tom. "I didn't know +there were so many folks in the town!" Already +a small-sized crowd had gathered in front of the +fire house, some fifty yards up the street. The +doors rolled open and a figure pushed through the +throng and loped across the street and disappeared. +The bell clanged on and on. Don and +Clint and Tom made a dash for the steps. Tim +slid over the railing. But before any of them had +more than reached the sidewalk the tall owner of +the automobile catapulted himself down the steps, +hailing them as he came.</p> + +<p>"Where is it, boys?" he shouted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Over there," answered Clint, pointing. But +the glow in the sky was scarcely visible from the +sidewalk and they all swarmed back to the porch +again.</p> + +<p>"I see," said the man. "Some farm house, I +guess. They'll know at the fire house." He +sprang down the steps again, the boys streaming +after him. He was already in the car when Tim +asked breathlessly: "You going, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Sure! Want to come? Pile in, then. There +are some packages in there. Look out for +them."</p> + +<p>Clint had already put his foot down hard on +something that, whatever it might be, was never +meant to be walked on, but he made no mention of +the fact. The car leaped forward, swung to the +right, stopped with a jerk six inches from a lamp-post, +backed, straightened out and careened along +to the fire house. All was excitement there. Men +were rushing into the building and rushing out +again, agitatedly donning rubber coats and hats. +Speculation was rife. A score of voices argued as +to the location of the fire. The throng swayed +back and forth. The man in the car demanded information +as he drew up at the curb and a dozen +answers were flung at him. Then a small, fat man +ran up and leaned excitedly across the front of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +auto. "Hello, Mr. Brady!" he panted. "You +going out there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I've got a load, Johnson. Where +is it?"</p> + +<p>"Don't no one seem to know. Jim Cogswell +knows, but he's gone for the horses."</p> + +<p>"Look out! Here they come!" "Get that auto +out of the way there!" "Stand aside, everyone!" +"Get a move on, Jim!" A lean little man in his +shirt sleeves suddenly appeared leading two jogging +horses, while a third horse trotted along behind. +The crowd scampered aside and the horses +beat a tattoo on the floor as they wheeled to their +places. Mr. Brady jumped from his seat, pushed +his way through the crowd as it closed in again +about the doorway and disappeared. Tim +whooped with delight.</p> + +<p>"What did I tell you?" he demanded. "Didn't +I say it would be a great sight? Gee, I haven't +had such a good time since I had the measles!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brady reappeared, scrambled back to his +seat and slammed the door behind him. "Jim says +it's Corrigan's barn," he said. "Sit tight, boys!" +The car leaped forward once more, took the first +corner at twenty miles an hour, took the next at +thirty and then, in the middle of a firm, hard road, +simply roared away into the starlit darkness, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +headlights throwing a great white radiance ahead. +Tim, on the front seat, whipped off his cap and +stuffed it into his pocket. Behind, the three boys +huddled themselves low in the wide seat while the +wind tore past them.</p> + +<p>"Must be going ninety miles an hour!" gasped +Clint.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we bust something!" said Tom +awedly.</p> + +<p>Don braced his feet against the foot-rail. "Let +it bust!" he answered exultantly.</p> + +<p>That was a memorable ride. Tim owned afterward +that he thought he had ridden fast once or +twice before, but that he was mistaken. "I +watched that speedometer from the time we turned +the second corner," he declared, "and it never +showed less than fifty-three and was generally +around sixty! If I hadn't been so excited I'd been +scared to death!"</p> + +<p>Now and then one of the boys behind looked +back along the road, but if anyone was following +them the fact wasn't apparent. Almost before +they were conscious of having travelled any distance +the car topped a slight hill at a dizzy speed +and the conflagration was in sight. A quarter of +a mile distant a big barn was burning merrily. +The car slowed down at the foot of the descent,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +swung into a lane and pitched and careened toward +the burning structure. Other buildings were clustered +about the barn and a good-sized white dwelling +house stood in dangerous proximity. Between +house and barn, standing out black against the +orange glow of the fire, was a group of women and +children, while a few men, not more than a half-dozen +it seemed, were wandering hither and +thither in the radiance. A horse with trailing +halter snorted and dashed to safety as the automobile +turned from the lane and came to a stop under +an apple tree.</p> + +<p>"Far as we go!" shouted Mr. Brady. "Come +on, boys, and lend a hand!"</p> + +<p>The lights dimmed, the engine stopped and the +occupants of the car scrambled out and ran up +the lane. "They can't save that barn," panted +Mr. Brady, "but they'd ought to save the rest of +them."</p> + +<p>A man attired principally in a pair of overalls +and a flannel shirt and carrying an empty bucket +advanced to meet them.</p> + +<p>"Is the engine coming?" he asked listlessly.</p> + +<p>"They hadn't started when I left," answered +Mr. Brady, "and I guess you needn't look for them +for fifteen or twenty minutes. Got any water +handy when it does come?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've got a tank full up there, and there's a +pond behind the house. But I don't know's they +can do anything. Looks to me like everything's +bound to go. Well, I got insurance."</p> + +<p>"Got plenty of buckets?" asked Mr. Brady, +peeling off his coat. "How many men are here?"</p> + +<p>"About six or seven, I guess. Yes, there's buckets +enough, but the heat's so fierce——"</p> + +<p>"Animals all out?"</p> + +<p>"There's some pigs down there. We tried to +chase 'em out, but the plaguy things wouldn't go. +We got the horses and cows out and a couple o' +wagons. All my hay's done for, though. And +there's a heap o' machinery in there——"</p> + +<p>"Well, we can save the other buildings, can't +we?" asked Mr. Brady impatiently. "Get your +buckets and your men together, Corrigan. Here +are five of us, and we can make a line and keep the +roofs wet down until the engine comes, I guess. +Send the women for all the pails and things you've +got. Get a hustle on, man!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Corrigan hesitated a moment and then trotted +away. The water supply was contained in a +wooden tank set some ten feet above ground, and +high beyond that, dimly discernible through the +cloud of smoke, the spectral arms of a wind-mill +revolved imperturbably. Mr. Brady, followed by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +the boys, went on around to the further side of the +burning building. It was a huge hip-roofed structure. +One end, that nearest the house, was already +falling, and the tons of crackling hay in the mows +glowed like a furnace. The heat, even at the foot +of the wind-mill, a hundred feet or more away, was +almost intolerable. A row of one-story buildings +ran along one side of the barn, so near that the +flying sparks blew over rather than on to them. +Several other detached structures stood at greater +distances. Mr. Brady, surveying the scene, shook +his head doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Guess he's right," he said. "There's not +much use trying to save those nearer buildings. +We couldn't stay on those roofs a minute. I guess +the chief danger will be from sparks lighting on +the house and that creamery there. Things are +mighty dry."</p> + +<p>Four or five men dangling empty buckets, one of +them Mr. Corrigan's son and the others neighbours, +came up and asked about the fire department +and Mr. Brady repeated what he had told +the older man. "What we've got to do," he continued, +"is to keep the roof on the house and the +dairy wet. Those sparks are flying all over them. +What's that small building over there?"</p> + +<p>"That's the ice-house, Mr. Brady."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, we won't bother about that. How many +are there of us?"</p> + +<p>"Six, I guess," said one of the men, but another +corrected him.</p> + +<p>"Old Man Meredith and Tom Young just drove +in," he announced. "That makes eight of us, and +there's five of you——"</p> + +<p>"Well, come on, then," Mr. Brady interrupted +briskly. "You fellows get your pails full and look +after the dairy. Get on the roof, a couple of you, +and keep it wet down. The rest can lug water. +Got a ladder handy? All right. Somebody fetch +it in a hurry. Hold on! Isn't there water in the +dairy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, plenty of it."</p> + +<p>"Then fill your buckets inside and hand them up +to the men on the roof. I'll take my gang and go +over to the house."</p> + +<p>The following half-hour was a busy time for the +four boys. Mr. Brady and Don stood precariously +athwart the ridge of the house roof while Tim and +Clint and Tom, later assisted by others, filled buckets +in the kitchen, raced up two flights of stairs +and a short ladder—often losing half of their burden +on the way—and passed them through a skylight +to those outside. A dozen times the dry +shingles caught fire under the rain of sparks, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +Mr. Brady, climbing along the ridge like a cat, +tossing buckets of water with unerring precision, +kept the fire at bay. It was warm work for all. +On the roof the heat of the fire was unpleasantly +apparent, while in the house it was stiflingly close +and the work of carrying the pails up and down +stairs soon had the three boys in a fine perspiration +and badly off for breath!</p> + +<p>When the engines arrived, heralded by loud acclaim +from the onlookers, who had by then multiplied +remarkably, the barn was merely a huge +pyre of glowing hay and burning timbers, only one +far corner remaining erect. The piggery and adjoining +buildings were ablaze in several places. +The creamery roof had caught once or twice, but +each time the flames had been subdued. If the +engine and hose-cart and two carriages bearing +members of the volunteer fire department had been +slow in arriving, at least the fire-fighters got to +work expeditiously and with surprisingly little +confusion. Don, pausing for a moment in his +labour of passing buckets to look down, decided +that Brimfield had no cause to be ashamed of its +department. In a jiffy the hose-cart was rattling +across the yard—and, incidentally, some flower +beds—in the direction of the pond behind the house, +and a moment or two later the engine was pumping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +vigorously and a fine stream of water was wetting +down the roofs of the threatened structures. +Axes bit into charring timbers, sparks flew, enthusiastic, +rubber-clad firemen dashed here and there, +shouting loudly, the audience cheered and the +worst was over!</p> + +<p>With the collapse of the remaining section of +barn wall the danger from sparks was past, and, +emptying one final bucket, Mr. Brady, followed by +a very wet, very tired and very warm Don, crept +back through the skylight and joined the others +below. Mr. Brady rescued his coat, led the way +to the kitchen pump and drank long and copiously, +setting an example enthusiastically emulated by +the boys. Tim declared that if he drank as much +as he wanted there wouldn't be enough water left +to put out the fire with!</p> + +<p>"Well, boys," said Mr. Brady, finally setting +down the dipper and drawing a long breath, "I +guess we did pretty well for amateurs, eh? I don't +know whether we get any thanks, for I've a suspicion +that Corrigan would have been just as +pleased if everything had gone. From the way he +talked when we got here I guess he wanted the +insurance more'n he did the buildings!" Mr. +Brady chuckled. "Well, we put one over on him +in that case, eh? Want to stick around much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +longer? I guess most of the fun's over; unless +they're going to serve some of that roast pig!"</p> + +<p>"They got the pigs out," chuckled Tim. "They +were running around here awhile ago like crazy. +About twenty of them, big and little, squealing +and getting between people's feet. Those pigs had +the time of their lives!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, suppose we start along home?" +said Mr. Brady. "You fellows ready?"</p> + +<p>They agreed that they were. The remains of the +barn were already blackening, and, while the firemen, +evidently determined to make the most of the +occasion, were still swinging axes and pouring +water on the already extinguished and well-soaked +buildings, there was no danger of further trouble. +Mr. Corrigan, surrounded by a group of sympathetic +neighbours, was cataloguing his losses and +Mr. Brady called to him as they passed.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Corrigan! Sorry for you, but +you've saved your house anyway!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, Mr. Brady. I'm greatly obliged to +you, sir, and them young fellers, too. It's a bit of +a loss, sir, but there's pretty good insurance."</p> + +<p>"That's fortunate. Good-night!" Mr. Brady +chuckled as they went on into the darkness of the +orchard. "Bet you he's downright peeved with +us, boys, for wetting that roof down! I happen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +to know that he's been losing money on this place +for five years and been trying to sell it for a +twelvemonth."</p> + +<p>"You don't suppose," began Tom, "that he—er—that +he——"</p> + +<p>"Set the fire? Well, I'd rather not suppose +about that. As there's no evidence against him +we'd better give him the benefit of the doubt, I +guess."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>COACHING THE TACKLES</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> ride back was far less exciting. Mr. Brady +drove the big car leisurely and conversed with +Clint, who had succeeded to the seat of honour in +front. Mr. Brady, it appeared, had a poultry +farm some distance on the other side of Brimfield. +He seemed a trifle surprised and pained when he +discovered that Clint had never heard of the Cedar +Ridge Poultry Farm, and at once issued an invitation +to visit it.</div> + +<p>"You come over some time and I'll show you +some stock that'll open your eyes. Bring your +friends along. Tell the conductor on the trolley +where you want to go and he'll set you down right +at my gate. You can't miss it, though, anyhow, +for I've got nearly a quarter of a mile of houses +there. Silver Campines are my specialty. Raise +a few White Wyandottes, too. You wouldn't +think to look at me that the doctors came mighty +near giving me up ten or eleven years ago, eh? +Did, though. That was just after I finished college. +They said the only thing would save me was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +hiking out to Colorado or Arizona or New Mexico. +Some said one place and some said another. Seeing +that they couldn't decide, I settled the question +myself. Came out here, bought ten acres of +land—I've got nearly forty now—and lived in a +tent one Summer while my house was building. +Doctors said it wouldn't do, but I fooled them. +Slept out of doors every night, worked like a slave +fourteen hours a day and put on flesh right from +the start. I'm not what you'd call fat now, I guess, +but you ought to have seen me then! An old chap +I had putting up my first chicken house told me he +could work me in nicely for a roosting pole! Went +back to one of the doctors three years ago and had +him look me over. He had to admit that I was a +pretty healthy specimen. You could see that he +was downright peeved about it, though!" Mr. +Brady chuckled. "Then I settled the matter to +my own satisfaction by taking out some life insurance. +When I got my policy I stopped worrying +about my health. You drop over some afternoon +and let me show you how to live like a white man +and make a little money, too. There's no life like +it, and I wouldn't go back to the city if they gave +me the Ritz-Carlton to live in!"</p> + + +<p>Clint responded that he and the others would +like very much to visit Cedar Ridge some day, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +that just now they were all pretty busy in the +afternoons with football. That struck a responsive +chord and Mr. Brady harked back to his school +and college days when he, too, had fondled the pigskin. +"I wasn't much of a player, though," he +acknowledged. "I was sort of tall and puny-looking +and not very strong. Still, I did get into my +school team in my senior year and played on my +freshman team in college. The next year I had +to give it up, though. I'd like to come over some +day and see you fellows play. I've always been +intending to. I haven't seen a real smashing football +game for years. That's funny, too, for I can +remember the time when I used to think that if I +could get on my 'varsity eleven I'd die happy." +He laughed as he swept the searchlights around a +corner. "A man's ambitions change, don't they? +Now what I want to do is to raise the champion +egg producer. I'm going to do it, too, before +long."</p> + +<p>And Clint quite believed it. Any man, he told +himself, who could take command of a situation +as Mr. Brady had that evening, and who could +make enough money in the poultry business to own +a three-thousand dollar automobile was capable +of anything!</p> + +<p>When they approached the town Mr. Brady<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +swung off to the left, explaining that he would take +the boys up to the school. There was a moment +of silence and then Clint protested weakly. +"Shucks," was the reply, "it won't take five minutes +longer, and after the way you fellows have +worked tonight you don't deserve to have to walk +home!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then—then I guess you'd better let us +out at the corner," said Tim. "We'd hate to wake +up the masters, Mr. Brady."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's it, eh?" Mr. Brady laughed loudly. +"Stayed out too late, have you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid we have, sir," said Clint. "We're +supposed to be in hall before ten and it's long +after that now. If you'll let us out at the corner +of the grounds we can sort of sneak around back +and maybe get in without being seen. Faculty's +beastly strict about outstaying leave."</p> + +<p>The car crossed the railroad track and presently +pulled up quietly in the gloom of the trees along +the road and the four boys noiselessly descended, +shook hands, promised to pay a visit some day to +Cedar Ridge and stole off to the right through the +darkness. A moment later the tiny red light of the +automobile vanished from sight. Tim called a halt +at the wall. "You'd better bunk out with us tonight, +Clint," he whispered. "We'll beat it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +around back of the gym and get in the shadows of +the buildings. Say, Don, you're sure we left that +window unlatched?"</p> + +<p>"Of course we did! It hasn't been closed for a +week."</p> + +<p>"Then forward, my brave comrades! If anyone +sees us we'd better scatter and hide out for +awhile."</p> + +<p>They climbed over a stone wall and made their +way through a grove adjoining the school grounds, +keeping close to the boundary fence. It was as +dark as pitch in the woods and every now and then +one or another would walk into a tree or fall over +a root. Don's teeth were chattering like <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'castenets'">castanets</ins>, +for the night had grown cooler and a little breeze +was blowing from the west, and his clothing +was still far from dry. They crept past the +back of the Cottage very cautiously, for there +were lights upstairs and down, and breathed +easier when the black bulk of the gymnasium +loomed before them and they could crawl over the +fence and drop back into school ground. From +the corner of the gymnasium to Billings was a long +distance, and looked just now longer than it ever +had before. Also, in spite of the fact that there +was no moon, the night was surprisingly light and +Tim scowled disapprovingly at the stars as they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +paused for an instant at the corner of the building +to get their breaths.</p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 255px;"> +<img src="images/gs02.jpg" width="255" height="400" alt="Finally, Don was unceremoniously yanked up and through" title="Finally, Don was unceremoniously yanked up and through" /> +<span class="caption">Finally, Don was unceremoniously yanked up and through</span> +</div> + +<p>"Keep low," advised Tim, "and make for Torrence. +Then we'll stay close to the walls of the +buildings. You want to see if there's a window +open in Torrence, Clint?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'll stay with you fellows. I'd probably +walk into a chair or a table and someone would +take me for a burglar."</p> + +<p>"Come on, then. Haste to yon enfolding darkness!"</p> + +<p>They "hasted," and a second or two after were +creeping, doubled up lest their heads show above +the darkened windows and arouse unwelcome curiosity, +along the rear of Torrence. Then they raced +across the space dividing Torrence from Main +Hall and repeated the proceedings until, finally, +they were under the windows of Number 6 Billings. +Both were open at the bottom and their +doubts and tribulations were at an end. Clint +was assisted in first, Tom followed and then Tim +and, finally, Don was unceremoniously yanked up +and through.</p> + +<p>"Eureka!" breathed Tim. "Can you make it +to your room, Tom? If you don't want to risk it +you can bunk out here on the window-seat or +somewhere."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You may have half of my bed," offered Don. +But Tom was already removing his shoes.</p> + +<p>"If Horace hears me," he whispered, "he's got +better ears than I think he has. Good-night, fellows. +We had a bully time, even if we didn't get +that rarebit!"</p> + +<p>Tim groaned hollowly. "There! Now you've +gone and reminded me that I'm starved to +death!"</p> + +<p>"Shut up," warned Don. "Don't forget that +Horace's bedroom is right there." He nodded +toward the wall. "Beat it, Tom, and don't fall +over your feet!"</p> + +<p>The door opened soundlessly, closed again and +Tom was gone. They listened, and, although the +transom was slightly open, not a creak or a shuffle +reached them. "He's all right," whispered Tim. +"Me for bed, fellows. Want to come in with +me, Clint, or will you luxuriate on the window-seat?"</p> + +<p>"Window-seat, thanks. Got a coat or something?"</p> + +<p>Tim pulled a comforter from the closet shelf +and tossed it to him, and quietly and quickly they +got out of their clothes and sought their couches. +Ten minutes later three very healthy snores alone +disturbed the silence of Number 6.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next morning Clint joined the others and +walked unobtrusively along the Row with them in +the direction of Wendell and breakfast, but when +he reached Torrence he quite as unobtrusively +slipped through the doorway and sought his room +to repair his appearance and relieve the anxiety +of Amory Byrd. And that seemed to conclude the +adventure for all hands, and Don, for one, was +extremely thankful that they had escaped detection +and the punishment which would have certainly +followed. But that Sunday afternoon, +while on his way to Torrence to recover a book +which Leroy Draper had borrowed in the Spring +and neglected to return, he fell in with Harry +Walton and made the disconcerting discovery that +he had congratulated himself too soon. Don had +no particular liking for Walton, although he by +no means held him in the disdain that Amy Byrd +and some others did, and he was a little surprised +when Harry fell into step beside him.</p> + +<p>"Have a good time last night?" asked Harry +with an ingratiating leer.</p> + +<p>"Last night?" echoed Don vacantly. He remembered +then that Lawton roomed in Number +20 Billings, directly above Number 6. "What +about last night?"</p> + +<p>Harry winked meaningly and chuckled. "Well,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +I guess there was a party, wasn't there? I noticed +you got home sort of late."</p> + +<p>"Did I? What makes you think that?"</p> + +<p>"I happened to be looking out my window, Don. +It was sort of hot and I wasn't sleepy. Who were +the other fellows?"</p> + +<p>"Other fellows? I guess you didn't see any +others, Walton."</p> + +<p>Harry's saturnine countenance again wreathed +itself with a growing grin. "Didn't, eh? All +right. I probably imagined them."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you were asleep and dreamed it," said +Don gravely. "Guess you must have, Walton."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not going to talk, Don. You needn't +be afraid of that."</p> + +<p>"I'm not," responded the other drily. "Well, +I'm going in here. So long, Walton."</p> + +<p>"Bye, Don. I'm mum."</p> + +<p>Don nodded and entered Torrence, but on the +way upstairs he frowned disgustedly. He didn't +believe for an instant that Walton would deliberately +get them into trouble, but he might talk so +much that the facts would eventually work around +to one of the masters. Don wished that almost +any fellow he knew save Walton had witnessed +that entry by the window of Number 6. Later, +when he returned from his visit to Roy Draper,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +without the book, by the way, since it had mysteriously +disappeared, he recounted his conversation +with Walton to Tim. Tim didn't let it bother him +any, however.</p> + +<p>"Harry won't give us away. Why should he? +Besides, if he did he would know mighty well that +I'd spoil his brunette beauty!"</p> + +<p>"Well, he may tell it around and Horace or +somebody'll hear it. That's all I'm worrying +about."</p> + +<p>"Don't worry, Donald. Keep a clear conscience +and you'll never know what worry is. That's my +philosophy."</p> + +<p>Don smiled and dismissed the matter from consideration.</p> + +<p>On Monday he had his first try at coaching the +second team tackles and found that, after all, he got +on fairly well. There were four candidates for +the positions and two of them, Kirkwell and Merton, +promised well. Kirkwell, in fact, had already +had a full season of experience on the second. +Merton was a graduate from his last year's hall +team. The other two, Brace and Goodhugh, were +novices and had everything to learn, and it was +with them that Don laboured the hardest. Monday's +practice ended with a ten-minute scrimmage +between two hastily selected teams, and Don,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +for the first time that fall, played in his old position +of left guard. Merton, who opposed him, +found that he still had much to learn.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday, after a long and grilling tackling +practice at the dummy, Coach Boutelle announced +his line-up for the scrimmage against the first +team, and Don was disappointed to find that Kirkwell +and not he was down for left guard. The right +guard position went to Merton. Don, with Mr. +Boutelle and a half-dozen of the more promising +substitutes, followed their team about the field, +Boots criticising and driving and Don breaking +in with hurried instructions to the guards. The +first team had no trouble in piling up four touchdowns +that afternoon, even though three regulars +were still out of the line-up. Between the short +periods Don coached Kirkwell and Merton again, +and Kirkwell, who was a decent chap but fancied +himself a bit, was inclined to resent it.</p> + +<p>"Chop it off, Gilbert," he said finally. "Give a +fellow a chance to use his own brains a little. I'm +no greenhorn, you know. I played guard all last +year on this team."</p> + +<p>"I know you did," answered Don. "And I +don't say you can't play your position all right. +But the best of us make mistakes, and Boots has +told me to look out for them and try and correct<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +them. I'd a lot rather be playing than doing this, +Kirkwell, but while I am doing it I'm going to do +it the best I know how. A fellow who isn't in the +game sees a lot the player doesn't, and when——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right. Only don't tell me stuff I know +as well as I know my name, Gilbert. Don't +nag."</p> + +<p>"Sorry. I'll try not to. But you see what I +mean about that stiff-arm business, don't you? +Don't get out of position when you're not sure +where the play's coming, Kirkwell. Stiff-arm +your man and hold him off until you see what's +doing. Then you can play him right or left or +shove him back. Once or twice you waited too +long to find out where the play was coming and +you didn't hold your man off. Get me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but we don't all play the position the +same way, you know. What's the good of sparring +with your man when you've got to find where +the play's coming? You can't watch the ball and +your opponent too, can you?"</p> + +<p>"It doesn't sound reasonable," said Don, "but +you can! You watch Hall do it, if you don't believe +me. Maybe you don't actually look two ways +at once, Kirkwell, but you can watch your man and +locate the play at the same time. I suppose it +comes with practice."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'd like to see you do it," replied Kirkwell +aggrievedly.</p> + +<p>"Watch Hall do it. He's the best guard around +here. I'm not setting up as an example."</p> + +<p>"You talk like it," muttered Kirkwell. But +Merton, who had been a silent audience, stepped +in to Don's support.</p> + +<p>"Gilbert's only trying to help us, Ned. Quit +grousing. Come on; time's up."</p> + +<p>In spite of mutinous objections Kirkwell +profited by Don's advice and instruction and soon +showed an improvement in his defensive playing. +It didn't appear that day, for Kirkwell was replaced +by Don before the second period was more +than a few minutes old, while Merton gave way to +Goodhugh. Don's advent considerably strengthened +the left of the second team's line and more +than once during his brief presence there he had +the satisfaction of outwitting Tom Hall and once +got clear through and smeared a play well behind +the first team's line.</p> + +<p>Boots cut his squad from day to day and on +Friday only some eighteen candidates remained. +Brace went with the discard. Between parting +with Brace and Goodhugh, Don, when consulted, +chose to sacrifice the former. Possibly young +Brace suspected Don's part in his release, for,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +for some time after that, he viewed Don with +scowls.</p> + +<p>Don's hand was now entirely healed, although +the scars still showed, and, according to the doctor, +would continue to show for a long time. Mr. +Boutelle used Don at right guard during some +portion of every scrimmage game against the +first, a fact which caused Kirkwell a deal of +anxiety. Kirkwell had from the first, and not unreasonably, +resented Don's appearance with the +second team squad. Don had been, as every fellow +knew, slated for the first team, and Kirkwell +thought it was unfair of him to drop back to the +second and "try to do him out of his place." +Feeling as he did, it isn't surprising that he took +more and more unkindly to Don's teaching. It +took all of Don's good nature at times to prevent +an open break with Kirkwell. Once the latter accused +Don of trying to "ball him up" so that he +would play poorly and Don would get the position. +The next day, though, he made an awkward apology +for that accusation and was quite receptive to +Don's criticisms and instructions. But Don's task +was no easy one and it grew harder as the season +progressed and the second team, especially as to +its linemen, failed to develop the ability Mr. +Boutelle looked for. Don more than once was on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +the point of resigning his somewhat thankless +task, but Tim refused to sanction it, and what Tim +said had a good deal of influence with Don.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," he said moodily, "I hope Kirkwell +will break something and get out of it."</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut," remonstrated Tim. "Them's no +Christian sentiments."</p> + +<p>"I do, though. Or, anyway, I hope something +will happen to let me out of it. Boots said he was +afraid Robey would take me on the first, but I +don't see any chance of it."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why he doesn't, though," mused +Tim. "Your hand's all right now and you're +playing a corking good game. You can work all +around any guard he's got except, maybe, Tom. +Tom's rather a bit above the average, if you ask +me. Neither Walton nor Pryme amounts to a +whole lot."</p> + +<p>"Robey's been playing Walton a good deal +lately," said Don. "I wouldn't be surprised if he +put him in ahead of Gafferty before long."</p> + +<p>"There isn't a lot to choose between them, I +guess," answered Tim. "Gafferty's no earthly +good on offence. Wait till we run up against Benton +tomorrow. Those huskies will show Gafferty +up finely. And maybe some more of us," Tim +added with a chuckle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, well——" began Don, vaguely, after a +minute.</p> + +<p>But Tim interrupted. "Know what I think? I +think Robey means to take you on the first later +and is letting you stay with Boots just so you'll +get fined down and speeded up a bit. You know +you're still a little slow, Donald."</p> + +<p>"I am?" Don asked in genuine surprise. "I +didn't know it. How do you mean, slow, +Tim?"</p> + +<p>Tim leaned back in his chair and laced his +fingers together behind his head. "Every way, +Donald. I'm telling you this for your own good, +dearie. I thought you realised it, though, or I'd +have said it before. You start slow and you don't +get up steam until the play's about over. If it +wasn't that you're an indecently strong chap we'd +get the jump on you every time. We do, as it is, +only it doesn't do us much good, because you're a +tough chap to move. Now you think it over, Don. +See if you can't ginger up a bit. Bet you anything +that when you do Robey'll have you yanked +off that second team in no time at all!"</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you told me," said Don, after a moment's +consideration. "I thought I was doing +pretty well this fall. I know well enough it was +being all-fired slow that kept me off the first last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +fall, but I surely thought I'd picked up a whole +lot of speed. I'll have to go back to practising +starts, I guess."</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind the kindergarten stuff, old +man. Just put more jump into it. You'll find you +can do it all right, now that you know about it. +Why, I'll bet you'll be performing like a Jack +rabbit before the season's over!"</p> + +<p>"Like a jackass, more likely," responded Don +ruefully.</p> + +<p>"No, for a jackass, dearie, doesn't take a hint."</p> + +<p>"Well, but I don't believe I <i>can</i> play any faster, +Tim. If I could I'd be doing it, wouldn't I? Just +naturally, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Never mind the conundrums, Don. You try +it. If you do I'll be willing to guarantee you a +place on the first."</p> + +<p>"I guess your guarantee wouldn't cut much +ice," objected Don, with a laugh. Then he sobered +and added: "Funny game, though, me coaching +Kirkwell and Merton and Goodhugh. Looks as if +I was the one needed the coaching."</p> + +<p>"Sure. We all need it. No one's perfect, Don, +although, without boasting, I will say that I come +pretty near it."</p> + +<p>"You come pretty near being a perfect chump, +if that's what you mean."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tim shook his head. "It isn't at all what I +mean. Now cut out the artless prattle and let me +find some sense in this history stuff—if there is +any!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THE WIDTH OF A FINGER</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">At</span> chapel the next morning Mr. Fernald, the principal, +after the usual announcements had been +made, lifted a newspaper from the table at his +side and ran his eyes over an item there. "I have +here," he said, "a copy of this week's Brimfield +<i>Times</i>, which tells of an incident of which I +had not learned. In telling of a fire on Saturday +night last which destroyed a barn and +damaged other buildings on the farm of Mr. William +Corrigan, some three miles from the village, +the <i>Times</i> makes mention of the valuable assistance +of a Mr. Grover Brady and four boys of this +school. According to the <i>Times</i>, Mr. Brady and +four boys dashed to the scene in a high-powered +automobile, organised a bucket brigade and +saved"—Mr. Fernald consulted his authority +again—"saved the dwelling house from the devouring +element. The metaphor is that of the +paper. Possibly the <i>Times</i> is misinformed with +regard to the heroic young firemen, although I +hope not. I should be very pleased to discover<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +that they were really Brimfieldians. If they were, +if they are before me at this moment, I trust they +will signify the fact by standing up. I'm sure we'd +all like to know their identity and give them well-deserved +applause. Now then, will the modest +heroes kindly reveal themselves?"</div> + +<p>Silence ensued, a silence broken only by a few +whispers and some shuffling of feet. Every fellow's +eyes searched the room, or, at least, that is +true of almost every fellow. Tim smiled innocently +and expectantly at the principal, Clint +studied the back of the head in front of him most +interestedly, Don observed the scar in his hand +absorbedly and Tom grinned because Steve Edwards +was whispering from the side of his mouth: +"Why don't you get up, you bloomin' hero, why +don't you get up?" Harry Walton was smiling +that knowing smile of his and doing his best to +catch Don's eye. And Don somehow knew it and +didn't dare look toward him.</p> + +<p>"I'm disappointed," said Mr. Fernald after a +minute. "Either the paper is mistaken or the +fellows are over-modest. Well, if they won't +speak for themselves perhaps someone else will +volunteer to wrest them from the obscurity they +so evidently court. How about that, boys? Anyone +know who the heroes are?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>Again silence for an instant, and then, in various +parts of the room, the sudden moving of seats or +tramping of feet as though someone was about to +get up. But no one did, and some of the younger +boys in front began to titter nervously. Mr. Fernald +smiled and laid the Brimfield <i>Times</i> back on +the table.</p> + +<p>"No heroes amongst us, eh? Well, doubtless +if any of you had been there you'd have performed +quite as well as these unknown young gentlemen +did. I like to think so. Dismissed."</p> + +<p>"Do you think he suspects us?" asked Tom as +he ranged himself beside Tim on the way out. +"Gee, I thought once he was looking right at +me!"</p> + +<p>"That's what it is to have a guilty conscience," +replied Tim, in a virtuous tone. "Of course he +doesn't suspect. If he did he'd have named us, +sure as shooting. The funny part of it is that he +hasn't thought about what time the fire was! +Maybe the paper didn't say. If he knew that he'd +probably be a sight more anxious to find us!"</p> + +<p>"I was scared stiff that Harry Walton would +blab. I didn't dare look at him."</p> + +<p>"Harry doesn't know you were with us. He +recognised Don, or says he did, and he naturally +thinks I was along, but he doesn't know who the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +other two were. If he opens his mouth I'll brain +him."</p> + +<p>"I guess he won't. He's a sort of a pup, but +he isn't mean enough for that. Gee, but it almost +ruined my appetite for breakfast!"</p> + +<p>"Even if Josh did find out," said Tim as they +turned into Wendell, "he wouldn't do much to us, +I guess. It wasn't our fault the fire was late in +getting started, and the paper calls us +heroes——"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it does. That's some of Josh's +nonsense. I'm going to get a copy of the <i>Times</i> +and see what it does say."</p> + +<p>"Take my advice and let the <i>Times</i> alone," advised +Tim. "Why, I wouldn't be seen with a copy +of it in my possession! It would be circumstantial +evidence, or corroborative evidence or something +horrid, and I'd get pinched for sure. You +keep away from the <i>Times</i>, dearie."</p> + +<p>There was a good deal of interested speculation +as to the identity of the four youths who had participated +in the rescue of Farmer Corrigan's +dwelling, but the general opinion was to the effect +that the local paper had erred. One fellow made +the suggestion in Don's hearing that if faculty +would look it up and see who had leave of absence +Saturday night they might spot the chaps. Don<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +sincerely hoped the idea wouldn't occur to Mr. +Fernald!</p> + +<p>But interest in the matter soon waned, for +Brimfield was to play Benton Military Academy +that afternoon and what sort of a showing she +would make against that very worthy opponent +was a far more absorbing subject for speculation. +Benton had been defeated handily enough last +year, but reports from the military academy this +Fall led Brimfield to expect a hard contest. And +her expectations were fulfilled.</p> + +<p>Benton brought at least a hundred neatly uniformed +rooters along and the field took on a very +gallant appearance. The visitors seemed gaily +confident of victory and from the time they +marched into the field and took their places in the +stand until the kick-off there was no cessation of +the songs and cheers from the blue-clad cohorts. +Coach Robey started his best men in that game +and, as was quickly proved, needed to. The first +period was a bitterly contested punting duel in +which Rollins, and, later, St. Clair came off second +best. But the difference in the kicking of the rival +teams was not sufficient to allow of much advantage, +and the first ten-minute set-to ended without +a score. In fact, neither team had been at any +time within scoring distance of the other's goal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +line. When play began again Benton changed +her tactics and started a rushing game that for a +few minutes made headway. But a fumble cost her +the ball and a possible score on the Maroon-and-Grey's +twenty-yard line and the latter adopted +the enemy's plan and banged at the soldiers' line +for fair gains. A forward pass brought the spectators +to their feet and gained twenty-two yards +for Brimfield, Steve Edwards being on the receiving +end of a very pretty play. But Benton stiffened +presently and Brimfield was forced to kick.</p> + +<p>That kick spelled disaster for Brimfield. Rollins +dropped back to near his own thirty yards +and sent a remarkable corkscrew punt to Benton's +twenty. It was one of the prettiest punts +ever seen on the Brimfield gridiron, for it was so +long that it went over the quarter-back's head, so +high that it enabled the Maroon-and-Grey ends to +get well down under it and was nicely placed in +the left-hand corner of the field. The Benton +quarter made no effort to touch it while it was +bounding toward the goal line, for with both +Edwards and Holt hovering about him a fumble +might easily have resulted, and it was only when +the pigskin had settled down to a slow, toppling +roll and it was evident that it did not mean to go +over the line that the Benton quarter seized it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +What happened then was little short of a miracle. +Both Captain Edwards and Holt took it for +granted that the quarter-back meant to drop on +the ball and call it down, and, since there was no +necessity to smother the opponent, each waited for +the other to tackle and hold him. But the first +thing anyone knew the Benton quarter had the +ball in his hands, had squirmed somehow between +Edwards and Holt and was speeding up the middle +of the field!</p> + +<p>Between him and the fifty-yard line friend and +foe were mingled, and to win through seemed a +preposterous undertaking. And yet first one and +then another of the enemy was passed, team-mates +formed hasty interference for the runner and, +suddenly, to the consternation of the Brimfield +stand, the quarter, with the ball snuggled in the +crook of his left elbow, was out of the mêlée, with +a clear field before him and two Benton players +guarding his rear. Crewe made a desperate effort +to get him near the thirty-yard line, but the interference +was too much for him, and after that, +although Brimfield trailed the runner to the goal +line and over, there was no doubt as to the result. +And when the Benton quarter deposited the ball +squarely between the posts and laid himself down +beside it friend and foe alike arose from their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +seats and cheered him long and loudly. Never +had a more spectacular run been made there, for +not only had the quarter practically traversed the +length of the field, but had eluded the entire opposing +eleven.</p> + +<p>Benton deserved to secure the odd point by kicking +goal, but goal-kicking was the quarter-back's +business and he was far too tuckered to try, and +so the player who did make the attempt failed miserably, +and Benton had to be satisfied with those +six points. Probably she was, for she cheered +madly and incessantly while the period lasted and +then spent the half-time singing triumphant +paeans. And those military academy chaps could +sing, too! Brimfield, a bit chastened, listened and +applauded generously and only found her own +voice when the Maroon-and-Grey warriors trotted +back again.</p> + +<p>Carmine had given place to McPhee at quarter +and Holt to Cheep at right end. Otherwise Brimfield's +line was the same as in the first half. McPhee +opened his bag of tricks soon after play +began and double-passes and delayed-passes and +a certain fake plunge at guard with quarter running +wide outside the drawn-in end made good +gains and took the ball down the field with only +one halt to Benton's twenty-three yards. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +the military academy team solved a fake-kick and +St. Clair was laid low behind his line. Rollins +made up the lost distance and a little more besides, +and finally, with the ball on Benton's nineteen +yards on fourth down, Captain Edwards called +for a try-at-goal and Rollins dropped back to the +thirty. Fortunately the Maroon-and-Grey forwards +held back the plunging enemy in good style, +Rollins had all the time he wanted, the pigskin +dropped neatly over the bar, and the score-board +figures proclaimed 6 to 3.</p> + +<p>Benton kicked off and once more Brimfield +started up the field, St. Clair, Tim Otis and Rollins +banging the line from end to end and Edwards +varying the monotony by sweeping around behind +and launching himself off on wide runs. But the +advance slackened near the middle of the field +and an attempted forward pass was captured by +Benton. That play brought the ten-minute period +to an end.</p> + +<p>Benton tried the Brimfield centre and got +through for four yards, hit it again and made +three and placed the ball on the home team's forty-yard +line. Time was called for Brimfield and +Danny Moore trotted on to administer to Gafferty. +The left guard was soon on his feet again, although +a trifle unsteady, it seemed, and Benton, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +three yards to gain, swung into the other side and +pushed a half-back through for the distance. Carmine +replaced McPhee and Holt went back to end +position. Benton once more thrust at Gafferty +and, although the secondary defence plugged the +hole, went through for two yards. Time was +again called and this time the trainer led Joe Gafferty +off the field, the latter protesting bitterly, +and Harry Walton was hurried in. Benton tried +a forward pass and made it go for a small gain +and then, on third down, got past Thayer and +reached the eighteen before Carmine tipped up +the runner. Across the gridiron, Benton's supporters +yelled mightily and a second touchdown +looked imminent.</p> + +<p>Benton fumbled and recovered for a two-yard +loss and then sent that heroic quarter up the field +to try a drop kick. It looked easy enough, for the +ball was near the twenty-eight yards and in front +of the right hand goal post. Captain Edwards implored +his men to block the kick and comparative +quiet fell over the field. Back shot the ball and +the quarter's foot swung at it, but the left side of +the Benton line crumbled and Hall and Crewe +flung themselves into the path of the ball. Four +seconds later it was snuggled under Tim Otis's +chest near the thirty-five yards, for Tim had followed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +the forwards through and trailed the +bouncing pigskin up the field.</p> + +<p>That misadventure seemed to take the heart +out of the visitors, and when Brimfield, with new +courage and determination, smashed at her line +she fell back time and again. Substitutes were +sent in lavishly, but although the right side of the +Benton line stiffened for awhile, the left continued +weak. Coach Robey sent in Compton to replace +Steve Edwards and, later, Howard for St. Clair. +With the best part of five minutes left, Brimfield +hoped to put over a winning touchdown, and the +backs responded gallantly to Carmine's demands. +Near the enemy's forty-yard line Rollins threw a +neat forward to Holt and the latter raced along +the side of the field for a dozen yards before he +was forced over the line. That took the ball to +Benton's twenty-one. Two tries at the line netted +but six yards and Compton took the pigskin on +an end-around play and just made the distance.</p> + +<p>Brimfield hammered the enemy's left wing and +reached her five-yard line in three downs, but +Benton, fiercely determined, her feet on the last +line mark, was putting up a strong defence. Tom +Hall, captain pro tem., and Carmine consulted. A +forward pass might succeed, and if it did would +win the game, but Benton would be watching for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +it and neither Holt nor Compton was a brilliant +catcher of thrown balls. A goal from the field +would only tie the score, but it seemed the wisest +play. So Rollins dropped back to the twenty and +stretched his arms. But Benton was sure a forward +was to result and when the ball went back +her attempts to block the kick were not very enthusiastic. +That was fortunate for Brimfield, for +Thursby's pass had been short and Rollins had to +pick the ball from the turf before he could swing +at it. That delay was almost his undoing, since +the Benton forwards were now trickling through, +and it was only by the veriest good fortune that +the ball shot between them from Rollins's toe and, +after showing an inclination to pass to the left of +the goal and changing its mind in mid-air, dropped +over the bar barely inside the post. Brimfield +cheered and the 3 on the board changed to 6. +Coach Robey called Rollins and Tim Otis out, replacing +them with Martin and Gordon. Brimfield +kicked off once more and, with a scant minute and +a half to play, the Maroon-and-Grey tried valiantly +to add another score.</p> + +<p>Carmine caught on his twenty and took the ball +to the thirty-six before he was stopped, and Brimfield +cheered wildly and danced about in the stand. +Plugging the line would never cover that distance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +to the farther goal line and so Carmine sent Gordon +off around the left end. But Gordon couldn't +find the hole and was run down for no gain. A +forward pass, Carmine to Compton, laid the ball +on the forty-eight yards. Howard slid off right +tackle for six and, on a fake-kick play, Martin ran +around left end for seven more. Brimfield +shouted imploringly from the stand and, across +the field, Benton cheered incessantly, doggedly, +longing for the whistle.</p> + +<p>The Benton team used all allowable methods to +waste time. The timekeeper hovered nearby, his +eyes darting <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'rom'">from</ins> the galloping hand of his watch +to the players. "Twenty-nine seconds," he responded +to Tom Hall's question. Carmine clapped +his hands impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Signals now! Make this good! Left tackle +over! 27—57—88—16! Hep! 27—57—88——"</p> + +<p>The backs swung obliquely to the right, Carmine +dropped from sight, his back to the line, Benton's +left side was borne slowly away, fighting hard, and +confusion reigned. Then Carmine whirled +around, sprang, doubled over, through the scattered +right side of the enemy's line, challenged +only by the end, who made a desperate attempt at +a tackle but failed, and, with only the opposing +quarter between him and the goal line, raced like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +the wind. About him was a roaring babel of +sound, voices urging him on, shouts of dismay, +imploring shrieks from behind. Then the quarter +was before him, crouching with out-reached hands, +a strained, anxious look on his dirt-streaked face.</p> + +<p>They met near the twenty-yard line. The Benton +quarter launched himself forward. Carmine +swung to the left and leaped. A hand groped at +his ankle, caught, and Carmine fell sprawling to +the turf. But he found his feet like a cat, +wrenched the imprisoned ankle free and went +staggering, stumbling on. Again he fell, on the +five-yard line, and again the Benton quarter dived +for him. But Carmine was not to be stopped with +the line only five short yards away. He wrested +himself to his feet again, the arms of the Benton +quarter squirming about his knees, plunged on a +stride, dragging the enemy with him, found his +legs locked firmly now, struggled desperately and +then flung himself sidewise toward the last white +streak. And as he fell his hands, clasping the ball, +reached forward and a whistle blew.</p> + +<p>It was said afterward that a half-inch decided +that touchdown. And the half-inch was on the +wrong side of the line! Carmine wept frankly +when he heard the decision and Tom Hall had to +be held away from the referee, but facts were facts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +and Carmine had lost his touchdown and Brimfield +the victory by the width of a finger!</p> + +<p>Benton departed joyously, cheering and singing, +and Brimfield tried hard to be satisfied with a +drawn game. But she wasn't very successful, and +for the next few days the referee's decision was +discussed and derided and regretted.</p> + +<p>What sorrow Don felt was largely mitigated +when, after supper that evening, Steve Edwards +found him in front of Billings. "You come to us +Monday, Don," said the captain. "Robey told me +to tell you. Joe Gafferty's got a rib caved in and +is out of it for a fortnight at least. Get Tim to +coach you up on the signals. Don't forget."</p> + +<p>As though he was likely to!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>TIM EXULTS AND EXPLAINS</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">When</span> Don told Tim the latter insisted on performing +a triumphal dance about the room to the +tune of "Boola." When Don squirmed himself +loose Tim continued alone until the droplight was +knocked to the floor at the cost of one green shade. +Then he threw himself, panting but jubilant, on his +bed and hilariously kicked his feet in air. Don +observed him with a faint smile.</div> + +<p>"You wooden Indian, you!" exclaimed Tim, +sitting up and dropping his feet to the floor with +a crash. "There you stand like a—a graven image, +looking as though you'd just received an invitation +to a funeral! Cheer, you idiot! Make a +noise! Aren't you tickled to death?"</p> + +<p>"You bet I am!" replied Don.</p> + +<p>"Well, do something, then! You ought to have +a little of my Latin temperament, Don. You'd be +a heap easier to live with. If it was I who had +just been waited on humbly by the first team captain +and invited to join the eleven I'd—I'd make +a—a noise!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you think you've been doing?" +laughed Don. "You'll have Horace in here in a +minute. Steve says you're to coach me on the +signals."</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow!" Tim waved his hand. "Time +enough for that, Don. Just now it behooves us to +celebrate."</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Don.</p> + +<p>Tim thought long and earnestly. Finally, +"Let's borrow Larry Jones's accordion and serenade +Josh!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Let's not. And let's not go to a fire, either! +Think of something better, Timmy."</p> + +<p>"Then we'll go out and bay at the moon. +I've got to do something! By the time +Joe's got his busted rib mended you'll have +that left guard position nailed to the planks, +Don."</p> + +<p>"How about Walton?" asked Don dubiously.</p> + +<p>"A fig for Walton! Two figs for him! A whole +box of figs! All you've got to do is speed up a bit +and——"</p> + +<p>"Suppose I can't?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose nothing! You've <i>got</i> to! If you +don't you'll have me to fight, Donald. If you don't +cinch that position in just one week I—I'll take +you over my knee and spank you with a belt!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +Come on over to Clint's room. Let us disseminate +the glorious tidings. Let us——"</p> + +<p>"I'd rather learn the signals," said Don. +"There's only tonight and tomorrow, you know."</p> + +<p>Tim appealed despairingly to the ceiling with +wide-spread hands. "There's no poetry in his +soul," he mourned, "no blood in his veins!" He +faced Don scornfully. "Donald P. Gilbert is your +name, my son, and the P stands for Practical. All +right, then, draw up a chair and let's have it over. +To think, though, that I should have to sit indoors +a night like this and teach signals to a wooden-head! +I wooden do it for anyone else. Ha! +How's that! Get a pad and a pencil and try to +look intelligent."</p> + +<p>"All right? Mark 'em down, then. Starting at +the left, number your holes 1, 3, 5, 7, 8, 6, 4, 2. Got +that? Number your left end 1, the next man 3, +the next 5. Omit centre. Right guard 6, right +tackle 4, right end 2. Now, your backfield. Quarter +0, left half 7, right half 8, full-back 9."</p> + +<p>"Gee, that's hard to remember," murmured +Don.</p> + +<p>"And hard to guess," answered Tim. "Now, +your first number, unless it's under thirty, is a +fake. If it's under thirty it means that the next +number is the number of a play. Over thirty, it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +means nothing. Your second digit of your second +number is your runner. The second digit of the +third number is the hole. The fourth number, as +you doubtless surmise, is also a fake. Now, then, +sir! 65—47—23—98! What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Left half between end and tackle."</p> + +<p>"On the left. Correct. 19—87—77—29?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Nineteen calls for a numbered +play."</p> + +<p>"Right again, Mr. Gilbert, your performance is +startling! The pity of it is, though, that about +the time you get these signals pat Robey'll change +them for the Claflin game. So far we've only got +eight numbered plays, and they aren't complicated. +Want to go into them tonight?"</p> + +<p>"No, I guess not. I'd rather get these holes +and players sort of fixed in my mind first. We'll +go over the plays tomorrow, if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>"It will break my heart, but I'll do it for you. +Now will you come over to Clint's?"</p> + +<p>"I'd rather not, Tim. You go. I want to mull +over these signals."</p> + +<p>Presently, having exhausted his vocabulary on +his room-mate, Tim went. Don settled his head +in his hands and studied the numbered diagram +for the better part of an hour. Don was slow at +memorising, but what was once forced into his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +mind stayed there. A little before ten o'clock he +slipped the diagram under a box in a bureau +drawer and went to bed with a calm mind, and +when Tim returned riotously a few minutes later +Don was sleeping peacefully.</p> + +<p>On Monday, in chapel, Don and the "heroes" of +Farmer Corrigan's conflagration had another +shock, and Don, for one, wondered when he was +to hear the last of that affair. "Since last week," +said Mr. Fernald drily, "when I requested the +four boys who helped to put out a fire at the Corrigan +farm to make themselves known to an admiring +public, I have gained an understanding of +their evident desire to conceal their identities. I +am forced to the conclusion that it was not altogether +modesty that kept them silent. The fire, it +appears, did not break out until nearly half-past +nine. Consequently the young gentlemen were +engaged in their heroic endeavours at a time when +they should have been in their dormitories. I have +not yet found out who they were, but I am making +earnest efforts to do so. Meanwhile, if they wish +to lighten the consequences of their breach of +school regulations, I'd earnestly advise them to +call and see me. I may add that, in view of the +unusual circumstances, had they made a clean +breast of the affair I should have dealt very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +leniently with them. That is all, I think. Dismissed."</p> + +<p>None of the culprits dared to so much as glance +at the others on the way out of the hall, but afterward, +when breakfast was over, they gathered +anxiously together in Number 6 Billings and discussed +the latest development with lowered voices, +like a quartette of anarchists arranging a bomb +party.</p> + +<p>"He's right up on his ear," said Clint gloomily. +"If he gets us now he will send us all packing, +and don't you doubt it!"</p> + +<p>"Piffle!" This from Tim, the least impressed +of the four. "Probation is all we'd get. Didn't +the paper say we were heroes?"</p> + +<p>"No, it didn't," answered Tom shortly. "And +I wish that paper was in Halifax!"</p> + +<p>"Might as well be fired as put on pro," said +Clint. "It would mean no more football this year +for any of us. My word, wouldn't Robey be +mad!"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't I be!" growled Tom. "Look here, +do you really suppose he's trying to find out who +we were, or was that just a bluff to scare us into +'fessing up!"</p> + +<p>"Josh isn't much of a bluffer," observed Don +judiciously. "What he says he means. What I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +don't savvy is why he hasn't found out already. +Every hall master has a record of leaves."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it was Saturday night and I'll bet +half the school had leave," said Tim. "I dare +say, though, that if any fellows are suspected +we're amongst 'em, Don. Being on the first floor, +Josh knows we could sneak in easily. Still, he +can't prove it on us."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure," replied Don thoughtfully. +"Suppose he asked Mr. Brady?"</p> + +<p>A dismayed silence ensued until Tom laughed +mirthlessly.</p> + +<p>"That's one on us," he said. "We never +thought of that. Maybe he has asked Brady +already."</p> + +<p>"Brady doesn't know our names," said Tim. +"You didn't tell him, did you, Don?"</p> + +<p>"No, he didn't ask. But he could easily describe +us so that Josh would recognise us, I +guess."</p> + +<p>"That's the trouble with being so plaguy distinguished +looking," mourned Tim. "Seems to +me, fellows, that there's just one thing to be did, +and did sudden."</p> + +<p>"You mean warn Mr. Brady?" asked Clint.</p> + +<p>"Exactly, my discerning young friend. Maybe +the horse is stolen——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What horse?" asked Tom perplexedly.</p> + +<p>"Merely a figure of speech, Tom. I was about +to observe when so rudely interrupted——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, cut out the verbiage," growled Tom.</p> + +<p>"That possibly it was too late to lock the stable +door," continued Tim, "but we'd better do it, +just the same. Let's see if he has a telephone."</p> + +<p>"Of course he has," said Clint, "but I don't +think it would be safe to call him up. We'd better +see him. Or write him a letter."</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't get a letter until tomorrow, +maybe," objected Don. "One of us had better +beat it over to his place as soon as possible and +ask him to keep mum."</p> + +<p>"I can't go," said Tom. "I've got four recits +this morning and Robey would never let me off +practice."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe any of us will do much work +this afternoon," said Tim. "I'll go if Robey'll +let me cut. I wish someone would come along, +though. It's a dickens of a trip to make alone. +You come, Clint."</p> + +<p>"I will if I can. We'll ask Robey at dinner. +What shall we say to this Brady man?"</p> + +<p>"Just tell him what's doing and ask him to forget +what we looked like if Josh writes to him or +calls him up or anything. Brady's a good old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +scout, I'll bet," added Tim with conviction. +"Maybe we'd better buy a setting of eggs to get +on the good side of him."</p> + +<p>"Don't be a chump," begged Tim. "I don't +call this a comedy situation, if you do, Tim. I'd +certainly hate to get on pro and have to drop +football!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be a chump," begged Tom. "I don't +say it's a comedy, but there's no use weeping, is +there? What's done is done, and we've got to +make the best of it, and a laugh never hurt anyone +yet."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, let's make the best of it," answered +Tom peevishly. "Talking doesn't do any +good."</p> + +<p>"Neither does grouching," said Tim sweetly. +"You leave it all to Clint and me, Tom. We're a +swell pair of fixers. If we can get to Brady before +Josh does we're all right. And it's a safe wager +Josh hasn't asked Brady yet, for if he had he'd +be on to us. There's the nine o'clock bell, fellows, +and I've got a recit. See you later. Hope for +the best, Tom, and fear the worst!"</p> + +<p>Tim seized his books and dashed out, followed +more leisurely by Clint. Tom remained a few minutes +longer and then he, too, took his departure, +still filled with forebodings. Don, left to himself,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +drew a chair to the table and began to study. +Truth, however, compels me to state that what he +studied was not his German, although he had a +recitation coming in forty minutes, but two sheets +of buff paper torn from a scratch-pad and filled +with writing interspersed with numerals and +adorned with strange diagrams, in short, Tim's +elucidation of the eight numbered plays which up +to the present comprised Brimfield's budget of +tricks. It can't be said that Don covered himself +with glory in Mr. Daley's German class that morning +or that the instructor was at all satisfied, but +Don had the secret satisfaction of knowing that +stored away in the back of his brain was a very +thorough knowledge of the Brimfield football signal +code and of Mr. Robey's special plays.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>MR. BRADY FORGETS</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">That</span> afternoon Don's knowledge stood him in +good stead, for with more than half the first-string +players excused from practice, his services were +called on at the start, and, with McPhee and Cotter +running the squad, the signal drill was long +and thorough. Harry Walton viewed Don's advent +with disfavour. That was apparent to Don +and anyone else who thought of the matter, +although he pretended a good-natured indifference +that wasn't at all deceiving. Don more than +once caught his rival observing him with resentment +and dislike, and, remembering that Harry +Walton had been a witness of his unconventional +return to hall that night, he experienced misgivings. +Of course, Harry wouldn't "peach," but—well, +Don again wished anyone rather than Harry +had stumbled on the secret.</div> + +<p>But he didn't have much time for worrying +about that matter, for Coach Robey went after +them hard that day. In the practice game with +the second team Don started at left guard and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +played the position until within a few minutes of +the whistle. Then Harry Walton, who had been <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'disgruntedly'">disgruntledly</ins> +adorning the bench, took his place. He +didn't look at Don as he accepted the latter's +head-guard, but Don was well aware that Harry +felt anything but good-will for him. Naturally +enough, Harry had, Don reflected, expected to step +into Gafferty's place without opposition when +news of the extent of the latter's injury had become +known, and it was undoubtedly a big disappointment +to him to discover that he had to fight +a new opponent. Don could sympathise with +Harry, for he had endured disappointments himself +during his brief football career, but it is difficult +to sympathise very enthusiastically when the +subject of your sympathy shows his dislike for +you, and Don metaphorically shrugged his shoulders +as he trotted up to the gymnasium.</p> + +<p>"It isn't my fault," he said to himself. "I +didn't bust Joe Gafferty's rib and I'm not responsible +for Robey's taking me on the first team. +Walton will just have to make the best of it."</p> + +<p>Don couldn't flatter himself that he had played +that afternoon with especial brilliancy, although +he had managed to hold his end up fairly well. +The fact was that he had been so intent on getting +speeded into his performance that he had rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +skimped the niceties of line-play. And he wasn't +at all certain that he had shown any more speed +than usual, either. He awaited Mr. Robey's appearance +in the locker-room with some apprehension, +certain that if he had erred badly he would +soon learn of it. When the coach did arrive at the +tail of the procession of panting players and said +his say without once singling out Don for special +attention, the latter was relieved. He couldn't, he +told himself, have done so very badly, after all!</p> + +<p>Tom walked back to Billings with Don to learn +the result of Tim's and Clint's embassy to the +Cedar Ridge Poultry Farm, for the two had obtained +leave of absence from Mr. Robey and had +set forth on their journey the minute a three +o'clock recitation was finished. Tim wasn't in +Number 6 when they reached it, but he and Clint +tramped in soon after, dusty and weary but evidently +triumphant. Tim narrated their experiences.</p> + +<p>"Missed the three-fifty car, just as I told Clint +we would if he didn't hustle——"</p> + +<p>"I had to find a cap to wear, didn't I?" interpolated +Clint.</p> + +<p>"Well, we found the place all right, fellows, and, +say, it's some poultry farm, believe me, dearies! +Isn't it corking, Clint?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<p>Clint grunted assent, stretching tired legs across +the floor.</p> + +<p>"There's about a thousand acres of it, I guess, +and a mile of red chicken houses and runs, or +whatever you call 'em. How many hens and +things did he tell us he had, Clint?"</p> + +<p>"Eighteen hundred, I think. Maybe it was +eighteen thousand. I don't remember. All I +know is there were chickens as far as you could +see, and then some."</p> + +<p>"Never mind the descriptive matter," urged +Tom. "What did he say? Had Josh been at him? +Did he promise——"</p> + +<p>"I'm coming to that, dearie. When we found +him he was doing something to that car of his in +a cute little garage. And, say, it's an eight-cylinder +Lothrop, and a regular jim-dandy! Well, he +took us into his house first——"</p> + +<p>Tom groaned in despair.</p> + +<p>"——And fed us on crackers and cake and ginger +ale. Say, he's got a peach of a bungalow there; +small but entire; and a cute little Jap who cooks +and looks after things for him. Well, then he +took us out and showed us around the place. +Chickens! Gee, I didn't know there were so many +in the world! And we saw the incubators and the—what +you call them—brooders, and——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For the love of mud!" exclaimed Tom. +"Can't you get down to dots? <i>Is it all right or +isn't it?</i>"</p> + +<p>Tim smiled exasperatingly. "Then he showed +us——"</p> + +<p>Tom arose to his feet and took a step toward +him.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," said Tim hurriedly. "Everything, +Thomas! We told him what was up and +how we didn't want Josh to find out it was us +who attended Mr. Corrigan's fire party and +asked him if he would please not remember +what we looked like if Josh asked him. And he +said——"</p> + +<p>"He laughed," interrupted Clint, and chuckled +himself.</p> + +<p>"That's right! He laughed a lot. 'You're a +little bit late,' he said. 'Mr. Fernald called me up +by telephone nearly a week ago, fellows, and +wanted to know all about it.' 'You didn't tell +him?' I yelped. 'No, I couldn't,' he said. 'You +see, you hadn't told me your names, and it was +pretty dark that night and somehow or other I just +couldn't seem to recall what you looked like! Mr. +Fernald sounded considerably disappointed and +like he didn't quite believe me, but that can't be +helped.' Say, fellows, I wanted to hug him! Or—or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +buy an egg or something! Honest, I did! +He's all right, what?"</p> + +<p>"He's a corker!" said Tom, sighing with relief. +"You don't suppose Corrigan or any of the others +there that night would remember us, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Not likely. Mr. Brady didn't think so, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Then it's all to the merry!" cried Tom. "Gee, +but that's a load off my mind!"</p> + +<p>"Off your what?" asked Tim curiously.</p> + +<p>"It's all right if Harry Walton keeps quiet," +said Don. "If he gets to talking——"</p> + +<p>"If he does I'll beat him up," said Tim earnestly. +"But he won't. He wouldn't be such a +snip, in the first place, and he wouldn't dare to in +the second."</p> + +<p>"N-no, I guess not," agreed Don. But his tone +didn't hold much conviction. "Only, if——"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you fellows one thing," announced +Tom vehemently.</p> + +<p>"Don't strain yourself," advised Tim.</p> + +<p>"And that," continued the other, scowling at +the interruption, "is that no one gets me into any +more scrapes until after the Claflin game!"</p> + +<p>"Gee, to hear you talk," exclaimed Tim indignantly, +"anyone would think we'd tied you up +with a rope and forcibly abducted you! Who's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +idea was it, anyway, to go to the village that +night?"</p> + +<p>"Yours, if you want to know! I don't say I +didn't go along willingly enough, Tim. What I +do say is—<i>never again!</i> Anyway," he added, +"not until football's over!"</p> + +<p>Morgan's School, which had defeated Brimfield +the year before, 6 to 3, came and departed. Brimfield +took the visitor's measure this time, and, +although she only scored one touchdown and failed +to kick goal, the contest was far less close and interesting +than the score would suggest. Brimfield +played the opponents to a standstill in the +first half and scored just before the end of it. In +the third quarter Coach Robey began substituting +and when the last ten minutes started the Maroon-and-Grey +had only three first-string fellows in her +line-up. The substitutes played good football and, +while not able to push the pigskin across Morgan's +line, twice reached her fifteen yards and twice +tried and narrowly missed a goal from the field.</p> + +<p>On the whole it could not be said that Brimfield's +performance that blustery Saturday afternoon +was impressive, for she was frequently +caught napping on the defensive, showed periods +of apathy and did more fumbling, none of which +resulted disastrously, than she should have. Tim<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +Otis had a remarkably good day and was undeniably +the best man in the backfield for the home +team. Carmine played a heady, snappy game, and +Don, who played the most of three quarters at left +guard, conducted himself very well. Don's work +was never of the spectacular sort, but at his best +he was a steady and thoroughly reliable lineman +and very effective on defence. He was still slow +in getting into plays, a fact which made him of less +value than Joe Gafferty on attack. Even Harry +Walton showed up better than Don when Brimfield +had the ball. But neither Gafferty nor Walton +was as strong on defence as Don.</p> + +<p>Walton had been very earnestly striving all the +week to capture the guard position, but the fact +that Don had been played through most of +the Morgan's game indicated that the latter +was as yet a slight favourite in Coach Robey's +estimation. During the week succeeding the +Morgan's game the two rivals kept at it +nip and tuck, and their team-mates looked on +with interest. At practice Mr. Robey showed no +favour to either, and each came in for his full +share of criticism, but when, the next Saturday, +the team journeyed away from home and played +Cherry Valley, it was again Don who started the +game between Thayer and Thursby and who remained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +in the line-up until the fourth period, by +which time Brimfield had piled up the very satisfactory +score of twenty-six points. In the final +five minutes Cherry Valley managed to fool the +visitors and get a forward pass off for a gain +that placed the ball on Brimfield's fourteen +yards, and from there her drop-kicker put the +pigskin over the cross-bar and tallied three points. +The game was uninteresting unless one was a partisan, +and even then there were few thrills. Brimfield +played considerably better than in the Morgan's +game and emerged with no more important +damages than a wrenched ankle, which fell to the +share of Martin, who had taken Rollins's place in +the last period.</p> + +<p>Joe Gafferty came back to practice the following +Monday, but was missing again a day or two +later, and the school heard with some dismay +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'that's'">that</ins> Joe's parents had written to Mr. Fernald +and forbidden Joe to play any more football that +year. Joe was inconsolable and went around for +the next week or so looking like a lost soul. After +that he accepted the situation and helped Mr. +Boutelle coach the second. That second had by +that time been shaken together into a very capable +and smooth-running team, a team which was giving +the first more and more trouble every day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +Coach Robey had again levied on it for a player, +taking Merton to the first when Gafferty was lost +to him, and again Mr. Boutelle growled and protested +and, finally, philosophically shrugged his +shoulders. A week later Merton was released to +the second once more and Pryme, who had been +playing at right guard as a substitute for Tom +Hall, was tried out on the other side of centre with +good results. Pryme's advent as a contender for +the left guard position complicated the battle between +Don and Harry Walton, and until after the +Southby game the trio of candidates indulged in +a three-cornered struggle that was quite pretty to +watch.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately for Don, that struggle for +supremacy threatened to affect his class standing, +for it occupied so much of his thought that there +was little left for study. When, however, the +office dropped a hint and Mr. Daley presented an +ultimatum, Don realised that he was taking football +far too seriously, and, being a rather level-headed +youth, he mended his ways. He expected, +as a result, to find himself left behind in the race +with Walton and Pryme, but, oddly enough, his +game was in no degree affected so far as he could +determine. In fact, within a few days the situation +was simplified by the practical elimination of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +Pryme as a contender. This happened when, just +before the Southby game, Tom Hall, together with +eight other members of Mr. Moller's physics class +went on probation, and Pryme was needed at right +guard.</p> + +<p>I have mentioned Tom's probation very casually, +quite as if it was a matter of slight importance, +but you may be sure that the school viewed +it in no such way. Coming as it did little more +than a fortnight before the big game, it was looked +on as a dire catastrophe, no more and no less; and +the school, which had laughed and chuckled over +the incident which had caused the catastrophe, +and applauded the participants in it, promptly +turned their thumbs down when the effect became +known and indignantly dubbed the affair "silly +kid's play" and blamed Tom very heartily. How +much of the blame he really deserved you shall +judge for yourself, but the affair merits a chapter +of its own.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE JOKE ON MR. MOLLER</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Amy Byrd</span> started it.</div> + +<p>Or, perhaps, in the last analysis, Mr. Moller +began it himself. Mr. Moller's first name was +Caleb, a fact which the school was quick to seize +on. At first he was just "Caleb," then "Caleb the +Conqueror," and, finally, "The Conqueror." +The "Conqueror" part of it was added in recognition +of Mr. Moller's habit of attiring himself for +the class room as for an afternoon tea. He was a +new member of the faculty that fall and Brimfield +required more than the few weeks which had +elapsed since his advent to grow accustomed to his +grandeur of apparel. Mr. Caleb Moller was a +good-looking, in fact quite a handsome young man +of twenty-five or six, well-built, tall and the proud +possessor of a carefully trimmed moustache and +Vandyke beard, the latter probably cultivated in +the endeavour to add to his apparent age. He +affected light grey trousers, fancy waistcoats of +inoffensive shades, a frock coat, grey gaiters and +patent leather shoes. His scarf was always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +pierced with a small black pearl pin. There's no +denying that Mr. Moller knew how to dress or +that the effect was pleasing. But Brimfield wasn't +educated to such magnificence and Brimfield +gasped loudly the first time Mr. Moller burst on +its sight. Afterward it laughed until the novelty +began to wear off. Mr. Moller was a capable +instructor and a likeable man, although it took +Brimfield all of the first term to discover the latter +fact owing to the master's dignified aloofness. +Being but a scant eight years the senior of some +of his pupils, he perhaps felt it necessary to emphasise +his dignity a little. By the last of October, +however, the school had accepted Mr. Moller and +was, possibly, secretly a little proud to have for a +member of its faculty one who possessed such +excellent taste in the matter of attire. He was +universally voted "a swell dresser," and not a +few of the older fellows set themselves to a modest +emulation of his style. There remained, however, +many unregenerate youths who continued to +poke fun at "The Conqueror," and of these was +Amy Byrd.</p> + +<p>It isn't beyond the bounds of reason that jealousy +may have had something to do with Amy's +attitude, for Amy was "a swell dresser" himself +and had a fine eye for effects of colour. Amy's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +combinations of lavender or dull rose or pearl-grey +shirts, socks and ties were recognised masterpieces +of sartorial achievement. The trouble with +Amy was that when the tennis season was over +he had nothing to interest himself in aside from +maintaining a fairly satisfactory standing in class, +and I'm sorry to say that Amy didn't find the +latter undertaking wildly exciting. He was, therefore, +an excellent subject for the mischief microbe, +and the mischief microbe had long since discovered +the fact. Usually Amy's escapades were +harmless enough; for that matter, the present one +was never intended to lead to any such unfortunate +results as actually attended it; and in justice +to Amy it should be distinctly stated that he +would never have gone into the affair had he foreseen +the end of it. But he couldn't see any further +into the future than you or I, and so—yes, on the +whole, I think it may be fairly said that Amy +Byrd started it.</p> + +<p>It was on a Tuesday, what time Amy should +have been deep in study, that Clint Thayer, across +the table, had his attention wrested from his book +by the sound of deep, mirthful chuckles. He +glanced over questioningly. Amy continued to +chuckle until, being bidden to share the joke or +shut up, he took Clint into his confidence. Clint<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +was forced to chuckle some himself when he had +heard Amy through, but the chuckles were followed +by earnest efforts to dissuade his friend +from his proposed scheme.</p> + +<p>"He won't stand for it, Amy," Clint protested. +"He will report the lot of you to Josh and you'll +be in a peck of trouble. It would be terribly funny, +all right, but you'd better not try it."</p> + +<p>"Funny! My friend, it would be excruciating! +And I certainly am going to have a stab at it. +Let's see who will go into it. Steve Edwards—no, +Steve wouldn't, of course. Tom Hall will, I'll +bet. And Roy Draper and Harry Wescott, probably. +We ought to get as many of the fellows as +we can. I wish you were in that class, Clint."</p> + +<p>"I don't. You're a chump to try such a trick, +Amy. You'll get pro for sure. Maybe worse. I +don't believe Moller can take a joke; he's too +haughty."</p> + +<p>"Oh, rot! He will take it all right. Anyway, +what kick can he have? We fellows have just as +much right to——"</p> + +<p>"You'll wish you hadn't," said Clint. "See if +you don't!"</p> + +<p>Clint's prophecy proved true, and Amy did wish +he hadn't, but that was some days later, and just +now he was far too absorbed in planning his little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +joke to trouble himself about what might happen +as a result. As soon as study hour was over he +departed precipitately from Number 14. Torrence +and Clint saw no more of him until bedtime. Then +his questions met only with more chuckles and +evasion.</p> + +<p>The result did not appear until two days later, +which brings our tale to the forenoon of that unlucky +Thursday preceeding the Southby contest. +Mr. Moller's class in Physics 2 met at eleven +o'clock that morning. Physics was an elective +course with the Fifth Form and a popular one, +many of the fellows taking it only to fill out their +necessary eighteen hours a week. Mr. Moller, attired +as usual with artistic nicety, sat in his swivel +chair, facing the windows, and drummed softly on +the top of the desk with immaculate finger-tips +and waited for the class to assemble.</p> + +<p>Had he been observing the arriving students instead +of the tree-tops outside he might have +noticed the peculiar fact that this morning, as +though by common consent, the students were +avoiding the first two rows of seats nearest the +platform. But he didn't notice it. In fact, he +didn't turn his head until the gong in the lower +hall struck and, simultaneously, there sounded in +the room the carefully-timed tread of many feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +Then "The Conqueror" swung around in his +chair, felt for the black ribbon which held his tortoise +shell glasses and, in the act of lifting the +glasses to his well-shaped nose, paused and stared.</p> + +<p>Down the side aisle of the room, keeping step, +grave of mien, walked nine boys led by the sober-countenanced +Amy Byrd. Each was attired in as +near an approach to Mr. Moller's style as had been +possible with the wardrobes at command. Not all—in +fact, only two—wore frock coats, and not all +had been able to supply themselves with light grey +trousers, but the substitutions were very effective, +and in no case was a fancy waistcoat wanting. +Wing collars encircled every throat, grey silk +scarves were tied with careful precision, stick-pins +were at the proper careless tilt, spats, some +grey, some tan, some black, covered each ankle, a +handkerchief protruded a virgin corner from +every right sleeve and over every vest dangled a +black silk ribbon. That only a few of them ended +in glasses was merely because the supply of those +aids to vision had proved inadequate to the demand. +Soberly and amidst an appalling silence +the nine exquisites paced to the front of the room +and disposed themselves in the first two rows.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moller, his face extremely red, watched +without word or motion. The rest of the class,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +their countenances too showing an unnatural ruddiness, +likewise maintained silence and immobility +until the last of the nine had shuffled his feet into +place. Then there burst upon the stillness a snigger +which, faint as it was, sounded <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'startingly'">startlingly</ins> loud. +Whereupon pent up emotions broke loose and +a burst of laughter went up that shook the +windows.</p> + +<p>It seemed for a minute that that laughter would +never stop. Fellows rolled in their seats and beat +futilely on the arms of their chairs, gasping for +breath and sobriety. And through it all Mr. +Moller stared in a sort of dazed amazement. And +then, when the laughter had somewhat abated, he +arose, one hand on the desk and the other agitatedly +fingering his black ribbon, and the colour +poured out of his cheeks, leaving them strangely +pallid. And Amy, furtively studying him, knew +that Clint had been right, that Mr. Moller couldn't +take a joke, or, in any event, had no intention of +taking this one. Amy wasn't frightened for himself, +in fact he wasn't frightened at all, but he did +experience a twinge of regret for the others whom +he had led into the affair. Then Mr. Moller was +speaking and Amy forgot regrets and listened.</p> + +<p>"I am going to give you young gentlemen"—was +it imagination on Amy's part or had the instructor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +placed the least bit of emphasis on the +last word—"two minutes more in which to recover +from your merriment. At the end of that time I +shall expect you to be quiet and orderly and ready +to begin this recitation." He drew his watch from +his pocket and laid it on the desk. "So that you +may enjoy this—this brilliant jest to the full, I'll +ask the nine young gentleman in the front rows +to stand up and face you. If you please, Hall, +Stearns, Draper, Fanning, Byrd——"</p> + +<p>It was several seconds before this request was +responded to. Then Amy arose and, one by one, +the others followed and faced the room. Amy +managed to retain his expression of calm innocence, +but the others were ill at ease and many +faces looked very sheepish.</p> + +<p>"Now, then," announced Mr. Moller quietly. +"Begin, please. You have two minutes."</p> + +<p>A dismal silence ensued, a silence broken at intervals +by a nervous cough or the embarrassed +shuffling of feet. Mr. Moller calmly divided his +attention between the class and the watch. Surely +never had one hundred and twenty seconds ticked +themselves away so slowly. There was a noticeable +disinclination on the part of the students to +meet the gaze of the instructor, nor did they seem +any more eager to view the various and generally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +painful emotions expressed on the countenances +of the nine. At last Mr. Moller took up his watch +and returned it with its dangling fob to his pocket, +and as he did so some thirty sighs of relief +sounded in the stillness.</p> + +<p>"Time's up," announced the instructor. "Be +seated, young gentlemen. Thank you very much." +The nine sank gratefully into their chairs. "I am +sure that we have all enjoyed your joke vastly. +You must pardon me if, just at first, I seemed to +miss the humour of it. I can assure you that I +am now quite—quite <i>sympathique</i>. We are told +that imitation is the sincerest flattery, and I accept +the compliment in the spirit in which you have +tendered it. Again I thank you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Moller bowed gravely and sat down.</p> + +<p>Glances, furtive and incredulous, passed from +boy to boy. Amy heaved a sigh of relief. After +all, then, Mr. Moller could take a joke! And for +the first time since the inception of the brilliant +idea Amy felt an emotion very much like regret! +And then the recitation began.</p> + +<p>That would have ended the episode had not +Chance taken a hand in affairs. Mr. Fernald very +seldom visited a class room during recitations. +One could count such occurrences on one hand and +the result would have sufficed for the school year.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +And yet today, for some reason never apparent +to the boys, Mr. Fernald happened in.</p> + +<p>Harry Westcott was holding forth when the +principal's tread caught his attention. Westcott +turned his head, saw and instantly stopped.</p> + +<p>"Proceed, Westcott," said Mr. Fernald.</p> + +<p>Westcott continued, stammeringly and much at +random. Mr. Fernald quietly walked up the aisle +to the platform. Mr. Moller arose and for a moment +the two spoke in low tones. Then the principal +nodded, smiled and turned to retrace his +steps. As he did so his smiling regard fell upon +the occupants of the two front rows. A look of +puzzlement banished the smile. Bewilderment +followed that. Westcott faltered and stopped +altogether. A horrible silence ensued. Then Mr. +Fernald turned an inquiring look upon the instructor.</p> + +<p>"May I ask," he said coldly, "what this—this +quaint exhibition is intended to convey?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Moller hesitated an instant. Then: "I +think I can explain it better, sir, later on," he +replied.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fernald bowed, again swept the offenders +with a glance of withering contempt and took his +departure. Mr. Moller looked troubledly after +him before he turned to Westcott and said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +kindly: "Now, Westcott, we will go on, if you +please."</p> + +<p>What passed between principal and instructor +later that day was not known, but the result of the +interview appeared the next morning when Mr. +Fernald announced in chapel that because they +had seen fit to publicly insult a member of the +faculty he considered it only just to publicly inform +the following students that they were placed +on probation until further notice. Then followed +the names of Hall, Westcott, Byrd, Draper and +five others. Mr. Fernald added that but for the +intercession of the faculty member whom they had +so vilely affronted the punishment would have +been far heavier.</p> + +<p>Nine very depressed youths took their departure +from chapel that morning. To Tom Hall, since +the edict meant that he could not play any more +football that season, unless, which was scarcely +probable, faculty relented within a week or so, the +blow was far heavier than to any of the others. +Being on probation was never a state to be sought +for, but when one was in his last year at school +and had looked forward to ending his football +career in a blaze of glory, probation was just +about as bad as being expelled. In fact, for a day +or two Tom almost wished that Mr. Fernald had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +selected the latter punishment. What made things +harder to bear was the attitude of coaches and +players and the school at large. After the first +shock of surprise and dismay, they had agreed +with remarkable unanimity that Tom had not only +played the fool, but had proved himself a traitor, +and they didn't fail to let Tom know their verdict. +For several days he was as nearly ostracised as it +was possible to be, and those days were very unhappy +ones for him.</p> + +<p>Of course Tom was not utterly deserted. Steve +Edwards stood by him firmly, fought public opinion, +narrowly escaped a pitched battle with the +president of the Sixth Form, worried Coach +Robey to death with his demands that that gentler +man intercede for Tom at the office and tried his +best all the time to keep Tom's spirits up. Clint +and Don and Tim and a few others remained +steadfast, as did Amy, who, blaming himself bitterly +for Tom's fix, had done everything he could +do to atone. Following that edict in chapel, Amy +had sought audience with Mr. Fernald and begged +clemency for the others.</p> + +<p>"You see, sir," Amy had pleaded earnestly, "I +was the one who started it. The others would +never have gone into it if I hadn't just simply +made them. Why——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Fernald smiled faintly. "You're trying to +convince me, Byrd, that boys like Draper and Hall +and Stearns and Westcott are so weak-willed that +they allowed you to drag them into this thing +against their better judgment and inclinations?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir! At least—perhaps not exactly that, +Mr. Fernald, but I—I nagged them and dared +them, you see, sir, and they didn't like to be dared +and they just did it to shut me up."</p> + +<p>"It's decent of you, Byrd, to try to assume all +the blame, but your story doesn't carry conviction. +Even if it did, I should be sorely tempted to +let the verdict stand, for I should consider boys +who were so easily dragged into mischief badly in +need of discipline. I do wish you'd tell me one +thing, Byrd. How could a fellow, a manly, decent +fellow like you, think up such a caddish trick? +Wounding another man's feelings, Byrd, isn't +really funny, if you stop to consider it."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to hurt Mr. Moller's feelings, +sir," replied Amy earnestly. "We—I thought it +would just be a—a sort of a good joke to dress like +him, sir, and—and get a laugh from the class. +I'm sorry. I guess it was a pretty rotten thing to +do, sir. Only I didn't think about it that way."</p> + +<p>"I believe that. Since you've been here, Byrd, +you've been into more or less mischief, but I've<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +never known you to be guilty before of anything +in such utterly bad taste. Unfortunately, however, +I can't excuse you because you didn't think. +You should have thought."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," agreed Amy eagerly, "and I don't +expect to be excused, sir. I only thought that +maybe you'd let up on the others if you knew how +it all happened. I thought maybe it would do just +as well if you expelled me, sir, and let the other +fellows off easy. Tom Hall——"</p> + +<p>"I see. It's Hall who's worrying you, is it? +You're afraid Hall's absence from the team may +result disastrously! Possibly it will. If it does +I shall be sorry, but Hall will have to take his +medicine just like the rest of you. Perhaps this +will teach you all to think a little before you act. +No, Byrd, I shall have to refuse your offer. Expelling +you would not be disciplining the rest, nor +would it be an equitable division of punishment. +The verdict must stand, my boy."</p> + +<p>Amy went sorrowfully forth and announced the +result to Clint. "I think he might have done what +I wanted," he complained a trifle resentfully.</p> + +<p>"You're an utter ass," said Clint with unflattering +conviction. "What good would it do you +to get fired in your last year?"</p> + +<p>"None, but if he'd have let the others off——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you suppose that the others would have +agreed to any such bargain? They're not kids, +even if you try to make them out so. They went +into the thing with their eyes open and are just as +much to blame as you are. They wouldn't let you +be the goat, you idiot!"</p> + +<p>"They needn't have known anything about it, +Clint. Oh, well, I suppose there's no use fussing. +I don't care about the others. It's Tom I'm sorry +for. And the team, too. Pryme can't fill Tom's +shoes, and we'll get everlastingly walloped, and +it'll be my fault, and——"</p> + +<p>"Piffle! Tom's a good player, one of the best, +but he isn't the whole team. Pryme will play the +position nearly as well. I'm sorry for Tom, too, +but he's the one who will have to do the worrying, +I guess. Now you buck up and quit looking like a +kicked cur."</p> + +<p>"If only the fellows didn't have it in for him +the way they have," mourned Amy. "Everyone's +down on him and he knows it and he's worried to +death about it. They're a lot of rotters! After +the way Tom's worked on that team ever since he +got on it! Why, he's done enough for the school +if he never played another lick at anything! And +I'll tell you another thing. Someone's going to +get licked if I hear any more of this knocking!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You'll have to lick most of the school then," +replied Clint calmly. "Try not to be a bigger +chump than nature made you, Amy. You can't +blame the fellows for being a bit sore at Tom. I +am myself. Only I realise that he didn't mean to +get into trouble with the office, and the rest of them +don't, I reckon. It'll all blow over in a few days. +Cheer up. A month from now you won't care a +whoop."</p> + +<p>"If we're beaten by Claflin I'll get out of +school," answered Amy dolefully.</p> + +<p>"All right, son, but don't begin to pack your +trunk yet. We won't be."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>SOUTHBY YIELDS</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> game with Southby Academy that week was +played away from home. As a general thing +Southby was not a formidable opponent and last +year's contest had resulted in a 17 to 3 win for +Brimfield. But this Fall Southby had been piling +up larger scores against her opponents and her +stock had risen. Consequently Brimfield, being deprived +of Tom Hall's services at right guard and +of Rollins's at full-back, journeyed off that morning +more than a little doubtful of the result of the +coming conflict. Most of the school went along, +since Southby was easily reached by trolley and +at a small outlay for fares, and Brimfield was +pretty well deserted by one o'clock. Out of some +one hundred and eighty students a scant forty +remained behind, and of that two-score we can +guess who nine were!</div> + +<p>The game started with Edwards at left end for +Brimfield, Thayer at left tackle, Gilbert at left +guard, Peters at centre, Pryme at right guard, +Sturges at right tackle, Holt at right end, Carmine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +at quarter, St. Clair at left half, Otis at right half +and Martin at full-back. Later on, toward the +end of the second quarter, Thursby went in at +centre, and in the fourth period several substitutes +had their chances, amongst them Harry Walton.</p> + +<p>Walton had begun to realise that he was playing +a losing game. Since Pryme had been shifted +back to the right side of the line Don Gilbert had +come more than ever to the fore and Harry had +spent a deal more time with the substitute squad +in practice and on the bench during scrimmage +than he approved of. Harry had a very special +reason for wanting to win that left guard position +and to play in it during the Claflin game, and this +afternoon, sitting on the side line with a dozen +other blanketed substitutes and enviously watching +Don in the coveted place, his brain evolved a +plan that promised so well that by the time the +second period had started he was looking almost +cheerful. And that is saying a good deal, since +Harry Walton's countenance very seldom expressed +cheer.</p> + +<p>Southby showed her mettle within five minutes +of the kick-off, when, getting the ball on a fumble +on her forty-five yard line, she tore off thirty-three +yards on a complicated double-pass play and then, +ripped another down from the astonished adversary.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +On the Maroon-and-Grey's nine yards, however, +her advance was halted, and after two downs +had resulted in a loss, she sent her kicker back and +placed a neat drop over the cross-bars, scoring +three points before the stop-watch had ticked off +six minutes of playing time.</p> + +<p>That score was apparently just what Brimfield +needed to bring her to her senses, for the rest of +the period was marked by brilliant defensive work +on her part, followed toward the end of the twelve +minutes by some equally good attacks. When the +teams changed places Brimfield had the pigskin +on Southby's thirty-eight yards with four to go +on third down. A forward pass, Carmine to St. +Clair, produced three of the required four and +Martin slipped through between left guard and +tackle for the rest. After that ten well-selected +plays took the ball to the sixteen yards. But there +Southby rallied, and Steve Edwards, dropping +back as if to kick, tore off five more around the +left end. A touchdown seemed imminent now, +and the hundred or so Brimfield rooters shouted +and cheered madly enough. But two plunges at +the right of the Southby line were stopped for +scant gain and, with Martin back, a forward pass +to Holt missed that youth and fell plump into the +hands of a Southby end, and it was Southby's ball<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +on her eight yards when the dust of battle had +cleared away.</p> + +<p>That was Brimfield's last chance to score in +that half and when the whistle sounded Southby +had the pigskin once more in her adversary's territory.</p> + +<p>So far the teams had proved evenly matched in +all departments, with a possible slight superiority +in punting belonging to the visitors. St. Clair +and Martin divided the punting between them and +together they managed to outmatch the efforts of +the Southby kicker. In the line both teams were +excellent on defence, and both showed similar +weakness in attack. In Tom Hall's place Pryme +had worked hard and had, on the whole, done all +that was expected of him. But he wasn't Tom +Hall, and no amount of coaching would make him +Tom's equal that Fall. Pryme lacked two factors: +weight and, more especially, experience. Southby +had made some good gains through him in the +first half and would have made more had not +Peters and Sturges helped him valiantly. As to +the backfields, a disinterested spectator would have +liked the Brimfield players a bit the better, less +perhaps for what they actually accomplished that +day than for what they promised. Even with Rollins +out, the Maroon-and-Grey backs showed a fine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +and consistent solidarity that was lacking in the +opponents. Coach Robey was a believer in team-play +as opposed to the exploitation of stars, while +Southby, with a remarkable half-back in the person +of a blonde-haired youth named Elliston, had +built her backfield about one man. As a consequence, +when Elliston was smothered, as was frequently +the case, since Southby's opponents naturally +played for him all the time, the play was +stopped. Today Captain Edwards had displayed +an almost uncanny ability to "get" Elliston when +the play was in his direction, and so far the +blonde-haired star had failed to distinguish himself +save in that one thirty-three-yard gambol at +the beginning of the contest. What might happen +later was problematical, but so far Brimfield had +solved Elliston fairly well.</p> + +<p>A guard seldom has an opportunity to pose in +the limelight, and so you are not to hear that Don +pulled off any brilliant feats that afternoon. What +he did do was to very thoroughly vindicate Mr. +Robey's selection of him for Gafferty's position +by giving an excellent impersonation of a concrete +block on defence and by doing rather better than +he had ever done before when his side had the ball. +Don had actually speeded up considerably, much +as Tim had assured him he could, and while he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +still by no means the snappiest man in the line, nor +was ever likely to be, he was seldom far behind +his fellows. For that matter the whole line of forwards +was still much slower than Mr. Robey +wanted them at that time of year, and Don showed +up not badly in comparison. After all, what is +needed in a guard is, first and foremost, fighting +spirit, and Don had that. If he was a bit slower to +sense a play, a little later in getting into it, at +least when he did start he started hard and tackled +hard and always played it safe. In the old days +when a guard had only his small territory between +centre and tackle to cover, Don would have been +an ideal player for the position, but now, when a +guard's duties are to free-lance, so to speak, from +one end of the line to the other and to get into +the play no matter where it comes, Don's qualifications +were more limited. A guard in these amazing +times is "soldier and sailor too," and Don, +who liked to deal with one idea at a time, found it +a bit confusing to have to grapple with a half-dozen!</p> + +<p>Brimfield returned to the battle at the beginning +of the second half highly resolved to take no more +fooling from her opponent. Fortune ordered it +that the south goal should fall to her portion and +that a faint but dependable breeze should spring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +up between the halves. That breeze changed +Coach Robey's plans, and the team went on with +instructions to kick its way to within scoring distance +and then batter through the line at any cost. +And so the spectators were treated to a very +pretty punting exhibition by both teams, for, +wisely or unwisely, Southby accepted the challenge +and punted almost as often as her adversary. +That third period supplied many thrills but no +scoring, for although Brimfield did manage to get +the ball on Southby's twenty-five-yard line when a +back fumbled, the advantage ended there. Two +rushes failed, a forward pass grounded and when +St. Clair tried to skirt his own left end he was +pulled down just short of his distance and Southby +soon punted out of danger.</p> + +<p>When time was called both teams made several +substitutions. Don yielded his place to Harry +Walton, Crewe went in at right tackle and McPhee +took Carmine's position at quarter. With the +advantage of the wind no longer hers, Brimfield +abandoned the kicking game and used her backfield +for all it was worth. From the middle of the +field to Southby's thirty yards she went without +much difficulty, St. Clair, Martin and Tim Otis +carrying the ball for short but consistent gains. +But at the thirty Southby braced and captured the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +pigskin on downs by a matter of inches. It was +then that Elliston repeated. Following two attempts +at Pryme's position, which yielded a scant +four yards, Elliston got away around Steve Edwards's +end and, with some good interference for +the first ten or twelve yards, passed the whole +field except McPhee and was only brought down +by that player after he had run to Brimfield's +twenty-six yards.</p> + +<p>Southby's adherents cheered wildly and demanded +a touchdown, and it looked for awhile as +though their team was to give them what they +asked for. Southby twice poked a back through +the centre of the maroon-and-grey line and then +tore off ten yards around Clint Thayer, Steve +Edwards being put wholly out of the play. Then, +however, Brimfield dug her cleats and held the +enemy, giving a very heartening exhibition of +stubborn defence, and again Southby decided that +half a loaf was better than none and tried a field-goal. +She ought never to have got it, for the left +side of her line was torn to ribbons by the desperate +defenders. But she did, nevertheless, the ball +in some miraculous manner slipping through the +upstretched hands and leaping bodies and just topping +the bar.</p> + +<p>Those three added points seemed to spell defeat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +for Brimfield, and many of her supporters in the +stand conceded the victory to Southby then and +there. But the team refused to view the matter +in that light and came back fighting hard. With +only some seven minutes of the twelve left, McPhee +opened the line when Southby had finally +been forced to punt from her twelve yards and St. +Clair had caught on his forty-five, and started a +series of direct-pass plays that, coming as they did +on the heels of an afternoon of close-formation +plays, confused the enemy until the ball had been +planted near her thirty-five yards. Brimfield +fought desperately then, closing her line again and +sending Edwards off on an end-around run that +took the pigskin eight yards nearer the last white +mark.</p> + +<p>It was then that St. Clair really showed what +was in him. Four times he took the ball and four +times he plunged, squirming, fighting, through +the Southby centre and, with the Brimfield shouts +cheering him on, put the leather down at last on +Southby's eighteen. Otis got three off left tackle +and McPhee tried the same end for no gain. Martin +went back and, faking a kick, threw forward to +Edwards, who romped to the nine yards before he +was smothered. It was fourth down then, with +less than a yard to go, and St. Clair was called on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +A delayed-pass did the business and Southby was +digging her toes into her seven yards. Martin +slid off right tackle for two, bringing the ball +nearly in front of goal, and the defenders again +fell back.</p> + +<p>Carmine was sent in again for McPhee and +Lawton took Pryme's place. Carmine evidently +brought instructions, for Captain Edwards fell +back to kicking position after the conference, and +the ball was passed to him. But with only five to +go and three downs to do it in a drop-kick was not +likely, especially as three points would still leave +Brimfield beaten, and so Southby disregarded the +bluff. But if a kick was out of the question a forward +pass was not, and it was a forward pass that +Southby set herself for. And so, with her ends +drawn out and her backs spread, the touchdown +came easily. For Steve faked a throw to the right, +where Holt apparently waited, and then dashed +straight ahead, the ball against his ribs, his head +down and his feet flying, struck the hastily-formed +massing of Southby's centre like a battering ram +and literally tore his way through until, when he +was at last pulled down, he was five yards over +the line!</p> + +<p>Since Brimfield needed that goal badly, Rollins, +in spite of bandages, was sent in for Martin, and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +when Carmine had canted the ball to his liking, +very calmly put it squarely between the uprights +above the bar.</p> + +<p>The remaining minute and a half of play +brought no results and Brimfield trotted off victor +by the narrow margin of one point, while her adherents +flowed across the field cheering and flaunting +their banners in triumph.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>WALTON WRITES A NOTE</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">The</span> Southby game was played on the sixth of +November, a fortnight before the final contest with +Claflin School, and practically marked the end of +the preparatory season. Brimfield would meet +her blue-legged rival with what plays she had +already learned and the time for instruction was +passed. The remaining two weeks, which held but +ten playing days, would be devoted to perfecting +plays already known, to polishing off the rough +angles of attack and defence and to learning a +new set of signals as a matter of precaution. +Those ten days were expected to work a big improvement +in the team. Whether they would or +not remained to be seen.</div> + +<p>On the whole, Brimfield had passed through a +successful season. She had played seven games, +of which she had lost one, won five and tied one. +Next week's adversary, Chambers, would in all +likelihood supply a sixth victory, in which case +the Maroon-and-Grey would face Claflin with a +nearly clean slate. Claflin, on her part, had hung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +up a rather peculiar record that Fall. She had +played one more game than Brimfield, had won +four, lost one and tied three. She had started out +strongly, had had a slump in mid-season and was +now, from all evidence at hand, recovering finely. +On comparative scores there was little to choose +between the rivals. If any perceptible advantage +belonged to Brimfield it was only because she had +maintained a steadier pace.</p> + +<p>There was a lay-off for most of the first-string +players on Monday, a fact which gave Harry Walton +a chance to conduct himself very capably at +left guard during the four ten-minute periods of +scrimmage with the second. Don didn't go near +the field that afternoon and so was saved any of +the uneasiness which the sight of Walton's performance +might have caused him. Rollins got back +for a short workout and showed few signs of his +injury. The second team, profiting by some scouting +done by Coach Boutelle and Joe Gafferty on +Saturday, tried out the Claflin formation and such +Claflin plays as had been fathomed against the +first team and made some good gains thereby until +the second-string players solved them. On Tuesday +Harry Walton <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'disgruntedly'">disgruntledly</ins> found himself +again relegated to the bench during most of the +practice game and saw Don open holes in the second<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +team's line in a style that more than once +brought commendation from Coach Robey. Walton +glowered from the bench until Cotter disgustedly +asked if he felt sick. Whereupon Walton +grinned and Cotter, with a sigh, begged him to +scowl again!</p> + +<p>The first team presented its full strength that +afternoon, and Mr. Boutelle's Claflin plays made +little headway. With Rollins back in place, the +first team scored almost at will during three +periods, and even after an entirely new backfield +was put in it continued to smash the second up +very effectually. Mr. Boutelle scolded and raved +and threatened, but all to scant purpose. The first +got its plays off very smoothly, played low and +hard and, for once, played together. The final +score that day was the biggest ever piled up in a +practice contest, 30 to 3. Had Mr. Robey allowed +Rollins to try goals from touchdowns it would +have been several points larger.</p> + +<p>Tom Hall had so far carefully avoided the field, +but today he appeared there and sat in the stand +with Roy Draper and tried his best to be cheerful. +But his best wasn't very good. Already the feeling +against him had largely subsided, and the +school, realising, perhaps, that Tom's loss to the +team did not necessarily spell defeat for it, was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +inclined to be sorry for him. But Tom didn't +realise that, since he still kept to himself and was +suspicious of advances. He hadn't quarrelled with +the school's verdict, but it had hurt him and, as he +didn't like being hurt any more than most of us, +he avoided the chance of it. In those days he stuck +pretty close to his room, partly because the office +required it and partly because he had no heart for +mingling with his fellows. Roy Draper had to +plead long and earnestly that afternoon to get him +to the gridiron. As badly as he felt about losing +his place on the team, however, Tom didn't begrudge +Pryme his good fortune, and he was honestly +pleased to see that the latter, in spite of his +deficiencies, would doubtless fill the right guard +position very capably in the Claflin game. He +studied Pryme's work attentively that afternoon, +criticised it and praised it and showed no trace of +animosity.</p> + +<p>"He will do all right," he confided to Roy. +"Crewe will help him a lot, and so will Thursby. +If he could use his hands a bit better he'd be fine. +He holds himself nicely, doesn't he? On his toes +all the time. I hate to see a lineman play flat-footed. +That's one trouble with Don Gilbert. +Don's doing a heap better than he did last year, +though. I guess he's every bit as good as Joe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +Gafferty. He's a regular whale on defence, isn't +he? He's a queer chap, Don, but a mighty nice +one."</p> + +<p>"Don," replied Roy in his somewhat didactic +manner, "is the sort of fellow I'd pick out to be +cast away on a desert island with. He isn't so +scintillant, you know, but he'd wear forever."</p> + +<p>"That's him to a T." Tom chuckled. "They +tell me Harry Walton is as mad as a hatter because +Don butted in and grabbed that position +away from him. Can't say I altogether blame +him, either. That is, there's no use getting mad +about it, but it is tough luck. Harry isn't a half-bad +guard, either."</p> + +<p>"If he can play good football," answered Roy, +"I'm glad to know it. I've always wondered what +Walton was for."</p> + +<p>Tom laughed. "Oh, he isn't so bad, I guess. +His manner's against him."</p> + +<p>"I've noticed it," said Roy drily. "Also his +looks and his remarks and a number of other +things. Larry Jones says he comes from the best +sort of family."</p> + +<p>"A fellow's family doesn't prove anything, I +guess."</p> + +<p>"Evidently not. There's the whistle. Let's go +back." Presently Roy added, as they headed for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +Torrence: "I can quite understand why Walton's +family sent him to school."</p> + +<p>"Why they sent him to school?" repeated Tom +questioningly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was to get rid of him."</p> + +<p>"You've certainly got your little hammer with +you," said Tom, with a smile. "What's Harry +done to you?"</p> + +<p>"Not a thing. I wouldn't advise him to, either. +I just don't like him, Tom. Can't stand being in +the same room with him. Well, see you later, old +chap. And, say, think over what I said about—you +know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," replied Tom, with a +shrug of his broad shoulders. "Fellows can think +what they like about me. I don't blame them. +But you can't expect me to like it!"</p> + +<p>"I know, Tom, but they don't feel that way +now. It was just for a day or two. I've heard a +lot of fellows say lately that it's nonsense blaming +you, Tom. So come out of your shell, like a +sensible chap, and show that you don't feel any—any +ill-will."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't, I suppose. As for coming out +of my shell, I'll be crawling out pretty soon. Don't +bother about me, Roy. I'm feeling fine. So +long."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>Perhaps what Tom really meant was that he was +feeling a whole lot better than he had a few days +before, for he certainly had not become quite +reconciled to the loss of his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'positon'">position</ins> with the team. +He was getting used to the idea, but he wasn't +happy over it. When he squarely faced the fact +that when Claflin came trotting onto the field on +the twentieth he would be sitting in the grand +stand instead of being out there in togs, his heart +sank miserably and he hardly knew whether he +wanted to kick something or get off in a corner +and cry. At such moments the question of +whether his school fellows liked him or detested +him bothered little. If he could only play against +Claflin, he assured himself, the school might hate +him to its heart's content!</p> + +<p>Going on to Billings and his room, he considered +what Roy had told him of the altered sentiment +toward him, but somehow he didn't seem to care +so much today. Watching practice had brought +back the smart, and being liked or disliked seemed +a little thing beside the bigger trouble. Still, he +thought, if Roy was right perhaps he had better +meet fellows half-way. There was no use in being +a grouch. As a starter and in order to test the +accuracy of Roy's statement, he decided that he +would drop in on Carl Bennett, who roomed in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +Number 3. Bennett was a chap he rather respected +and, while they had never been very close +friends, Tom had seen a good deal of the other +during the Fall. But Bennett was not in and Tom +was making his way back to the stairs when the +door of Number 6 opened and Harry Walton came +out. Perhaps it was Roy's dressing-down of that +youth that prompted Tom to be more decent to +him than usual. At all events, Tom stopped and +hailed him and they conversed together on their +way up the stairs. It wasn't until later that Tom, +recalling Harry's grudge against Don, wondered +what had taken him to the latter's room. Then +he concluded that Harry had probably been calling +on Tim, and thought no more of it. Just now +he asked Harry how he was getting on with the +team and was a little puzzled when Harry replied: +"All right, I guess. Of course, Gilbert's got the +call right now, but I'm going to beat him out before +the big game. Did you see practice today?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You fellows put up a great game, +Harry."</p> + +<p>"I didn't get into it for more than ten minutes. +Robey's playing Don Gilbert for all he knows." +Harry laughed disagreeably. "Robey's a bit of a +fox."</p> + +<p>"How's that!" Tom inquired.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, he's sort of keeping me guessing, you see. +Thinks I'll get worried and dig harder."</p> + +<p>"Huh. I see. You seem mighty certain of that +place, Harry."</p> + +<p>"Sure, I'm certain. You just wait and see, old +top." Harry nodded and entered his room across +the hall, leaving Tom a trifle more sympathetic +toward Roy's estimation of him. Walton certainly +did have a disagreeable manner, he reflected.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, Harry hadn't been calling +on anyone in Number 6 for the simple reason that +he had found no one at home. Moreover, he had +expected to find no one, for he had left Tim at the +gymnasium and seen Don and Harry Westcott sitting +in the window of the latter's room in Torrence +as he passed. What he had done was leave +a hastily scrawled note for Don on the table in +there, a note which Don discovered an hour later +and which at once puzzled and disturbed him.</p> + +<p>"Come up and see me after supper will you," +the note read, with a superb disdain of punctuation, +"I want to see you. Important. H. Walton."</p> + +<p>"What's he want to see you about?" asked Tim +when Don tossed the note to him to read.</p> + +<p>"I don't know." Don frowned thoughtfully.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I hope he isn't going to make trouble about that +old business."</p> + +<p>"What old business?" asked Tim carelessly, +more interested in a set of bruised knuckles than +anything else just then.</p> + +<p>"Why, you know Harry saw us climbing in the +window that night."</p> + +<p>"Saw us climb—Well, what of it? That was +years ago. Why should he want to make trouble +about that? And how could he do it? I'd like to +see him start anything with me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I just happened to think of that."</p> + +<p>"More likely he's going to ask you to break a +leg or something so he can get your place," +chuckled Tim. "Don't you do it, Don, if he does. +It doesn't pay to be too obliging. Ready for +eats?"</p> + +<p>"In a minute." Don dropped the note and began +his toilet, but he didn't speak again until they +were on their way down the stairs. Then: "If +it should be that," he remarked, "I wouldn't +know whether to punch his head or laugh at +him."</p> + +<p>"Don't take any chances," advised Tim grimly. +"Punch his head. Better still, bring the glad +tidings to me and let me do it. Why, if that idiot +threatened to open his face about us I'd give him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +such a walloping that his own folks wouldn't +recognise the remnants! Gee, but I'm hungry tonight! +Toddle along faster and let's get there +before Rollins and Holt and the rest swipe all the +grub."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>A PROPOSITION</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Don</span> sought Harry Walton's room soon after supper +was over and found neither Harry nor his +room-mate, Jim Rose, at home. He lighted the +droplight, found a magazine several months old +and sat down to wait. He had, however, scarcely +got into a story before Harry appeared.</div> + +<p>"Hello," greeted the latter. "Sorry I was late. +Had to stop at the library for a book." In proof +of it he tossed a volume to the table. "I asked +you to come up here, Gilbert, because I have a +proposition to make and I thought you wouldn't +want anyone around." Harry seated himself, +took one knee into his clasped hands and smiled +at the visitor. It was a peculiarly unattractive +smile, Don decided.</p> + +<p>"Proposition?" Don frowned perplexedly. +"What sort of a proposition, Walton?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you. It's like this, Gilbert. You +see, old man, you and I are fighting like the mischief +for the left guard position and so far it's +about nip-and-tuck, isn't it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>Don viewed the speaker with some surprise. +"Is it?" he asked. "I thought I had rather the +best of it, Walton."</p> + +<p>Harry smiled and shrugged. "That's only +Robey's foxiness. I'm not saying he might not +pick you for the place in the end, of course, but +I stand just as good a show. Robey doesn't like +to show his hand. He likes to keep you guessing. +I'm willing to bet that if nothing happened he'd +drop you next week and stick me in there. Of +course you might get in for awhile in the Claflin +game, if I got hurt, but I wouldn't advise you to +bank much on that because I'm rather lucky about +not getting hurt. Honestly, Gilbert, I don't really +think you've got much of a chance of final selection."</p> + +<p>Don observed his host's countenance with some +bewilderment. "Well," he said at last, "that may +be so or not. What is it you want me to do?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you." Harry tried hard to look ingenuous, +but only succeeded in grinning like a catfish. +"It's this way. My folks are coming up for +the Claflin game; father and mother and kid +brother, you know. Well, naturally, I'd like to +have them see me play. They think I'm going to, +of course, because I've mentioned it once or twice +in my letters. I'd feel pretty cheap if they came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +up here and watched me sitting on the bench all +through the game. See what I mean, old man?"</p> + +<p>Don nodded and waited.</p> + +<p>"Well, so I thought that as your chance is +pretty slim anyway maybe you wouldn't mind +dropping out. I wouldn't ask you to if I really +thought you had much chance, you know, Gilbert."</p> + +<p>"Oh! That's it? Well, I'm sorry if you're +folks are going to be disappointed, Walton, but I +don't feel quite like playing the goat on that account. +You might just write them and sort of +prepare them for the shock, mightn't you? Tell +them there's a bare chance that you won't get into +the fracas, you know. I would. It would soften +the blow for them, Walton."</p> + +<p>Walton scowled. "Don't be funny," he said +shortly. "I've given you the chance to drop out +gracefully, Gilbert, and you're a fool not to +take it."</p> + +<p>"But why should I drop out! Don't you suppose +I want to play in the Claflin game just as +much as you do?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you do, but you won't play in it any +way you figure it. If you don't quit willingly +you'll quit the other way. I'm giving you a fair +chance, that's all. You've only got to make believe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +you're sick or play sort of rottenly a couple +of times. That will do the trick for you and there +won't be any other trouble."</p> + +<p>"Say, what are you hinting at?" demanded Don +quietly. "What have you got up your sleeve?"</p> + +<p>"Plenty, Gilbert. I've got enough up my sleeve +to get you fired from school."</p> + +<p>There was a moment of silence. Then Don +nodded thoughtfully. "So that's it, is it?" he +murmured.</p> + +<p>"That's it, old man." Harry grinned. "Think +it over now."</p> + +<p>"What do you think you've got on me?" asked +Don.</p> + +<p>"I don't think. I know that you and three other +fellows helped put out that fire that night and that +you didn't get back to hall until long after ten-thirty." +Harry dropped his knee, thrust his +hands into his pockets, leaned back in his chair +and viewed Don triumphantly. "I don't want to +go to faculty with it, Gilbert, although it's really +my duty and I certainly shall if you force me."</p> + +<p>"Hm," mused Don. "But wouldn't faculty +wonder why you'd been so long about it?"</p> + +<p>"Probably. I'd have to tell the truth and——"</p> + +<p>"I guess that would hurt," interpolated the +other drily.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And explain that I'd tried to shield you fellows, +but that my conscience had finally prevailed." +And Harry grinned broadly. "Josh +wouldn't like it, but he wouldn't do anything to +me. What he'd do to you, though, would be a +plenty, Gilbert. It would be expulsion, and you +know that as well as I do."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do." Don dropped his gaze to his hands +and was silent a moment. Then: "Of course +you've thought of what it would mean to you, Walton? +I wouldn't be likely to keep you out of it, +you know."</p> + +<p>Harry shrugged. "Fellows might talk some, +but I'd only be doing my duty. As long as my +conscience was clear——"</p> + +<p>"You're a dirty pup, Walton," said Don, "and +if I wasn't afraid of getting the mange I'd give +you the beating you deserve."</p> + +<p>"Calling names won't get you anything, Gilbert. +I'm not afraid of anything you could do to +me, anyway. I may be a pup, but I'm where +I can make you sit up and beg, and I'm going +to do it."</p> + +<p>"You think you are," said Don contemptuously. +"Let me tell you now that I'd rather be fired a +dozen times than make any bargains with a common +skunk like you!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That means you want me to go ahead and tell +Josh, does it?"</p> + +<p>"It means that you can do anything you want +to, Walton." Don stood up. "But if you do go +to faculty with the story you'll get the worst licking +you ever had or heard of, and fellows will +make it so unpleasant here for you that you won't +stay much longer than I do. Now <i>you</i> think it +over!"</p> + +<p>"What fellows say or think won't hurt me a +mite, thank you, and I'm not afraid of you or any +of your friends, Gilbert. Wait a minute now. +We're not through yet."</p> + +<p>"I am, thanks," replied Don, moving toward +the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no you're not. You may feel heroic and +all that and too mad to give in just now, but you're +not considering what it will mean if you make me +squeal to faculty. Why, we wouldn't have a ghost +of a show with Claflin!"</p> + +<p>"I thought you considered yourself quite +as good a guard as me, Walton," answered +Don.</p> + +<p>"I do, old man. But I don't think I'm able to +take the places of all the other fellows who would +be missing from the team."</p> + +<p>Don turned, with his hand on the door-knob, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +stared startledly. "What do you mean by that?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"I thought that would fetch you," chuckled +Harry. "I mean that you're not the only one who +would quit the dear old school, Gilbert. You +haven't forgotten, I suppose, that there were three +other fellows mixed up in the business?"</p> + +<p>"No, but faculty would have to know more than +I'd tell them before they'd find out who the others +were."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you wouldn't have to tell them, old man."</p> + +<p>"Meaning you would? You don't know, Walton."</p> + +<p>"Don't I, though? You bet I do! I know every +last one of them!"</p> + +<p>"You told me——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I let you think I didn't, Gilbert. No use +telling everything you know."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it!" But, in spite of the statement, +Don did believe it and was trying to realise +what it meant. .</p> + +<p>"Don't be a fool! Why wouldn't I know? If I +could see you why couldn't I see Clint Thayer and +Tim Otis and Tom Hall? You were all as plain as +daylight. Of course, Tom's out of it, anyway, but +I guess losing a left tackle and a right half-back a +week before the game would put rather a dent in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +our chances, what? And that's just what will +happen if you make me go to Josh with the +story!"</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't!" challenged Don, but there was +scant conviction in his tone. Harry shrugged his +shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'd rather not. I don't want to play on a +losing team, and that's what I'd be doing, but you +see I've sort of set my heart on playing right +guard a week from Saturday, Gilbert, and I hate +to be disappointed. Hate to disappoint my folks, +too."</p> + +<p>"They must be proud of you!"</p> + +<p>"They are, take it from me." Harry's smile +vanished and he looked ugly as he went on. +"Don't be a fool, Gilbert! You'd do the same +thing yourself if you had the chance. You're +playing the hypocrite, and you know it. I've got +you dead to rights and I mean to make the most +of it. If you don't get off the team inside of two +days I'll go to Josh and tell him everything I +know. It isn't pretty, maybe, but it's playing +your hand for what there is in it, and that's my +way! Now you sit down again and just think it +all over, Gilbert. Take all the time you want. +And remember this, too. If I keep my mouth shut +you've got to keep yours shut. No blabbing to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +Tim Otis or Clint Thayer or anyone else. This is +just between you and me, old man. Now what do +you say?"</p> + +<p>"The thing's as crazy as it is rotten, Walton! +How am I to get off the team without having it +look funny?"</p> + +<p>"And how much do I care whether it looks +funny or not? That's up to you. You can play +sick or you can get out there and mix your signals +a few times or you can bite Robey in the leg. I +don't give a hang what you do so long as you do +it, and do it between now and Saturday. That's +right, sit down and look at it sensibly. Mull it +over awhile. There's no hurry."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>DON VISITS THE DOCTOR</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'>"<span class="smcap">What</span> did Walton want of you?" asked Tim a +half-hour later, when the occupants of Number 6 +were settled at opposite sides of the table for +study.</div> + +<p>"Walton?" repeated Don vaguely. "Oh, nothing +especial."</p> + +<p>"Nothing especial? Then why the mysterious +summons? Did he make any crack about that +little escapade of ours?"</p> + +<p>"He mentioned it. Shut up and let me get to +work, Tim."</p> + +<p>"Mentioned it how? What did he say? Any +chance of beating him up? I've always had a +longing, away down deep inside me, Donald, to +place my fist violently against some portion of +Walton's—er—facial contour. Say, that's good, +isn't it? Facial contour's decidedly good, Don."</p> + +<p>"Fine," responded the other listlessly.</p> + +<p>Tim peered across at him under the droplight. +"Say, you look as if you'd lost a dozen dear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +friends. Anything wrong? Look here, has Walton +been acting nasty?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be a chump, Tim. I'm all right. Or, +anyway, I'm only sort of—sort of tired. Dry up +and let me stuff."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well, but you needn't be so haughty +about it. I don't want to share your secrets with +dear Harry. Everyone to his taste, as the old lady +said when she kissed the cow."</p> + +<p>Tim's sarcasm, however, brought no response, +and presently, after growling a little while he +pawed his books over and dropped the subject, to +Don's relief, and silence fell. Don made a fine +pretence of studying, but most of the time he +couldn't have told what book lay before him. +When the hour was up Tim, who had by then +returned to his usual condition of cheerful good +nature, tried to induce Don to go over to Hensey +to call on Larry Jones, who, it seemed, had perfected +a most novel and marvellous trick with a +ruler and two glasses of water. But Don refused +to be enticed and Tim went off alone, gravely +cautioning his room-mate against melancholia.</p> + +<p>"Try to keep your mind off your troubles, Donald. +Think of bright and happy things, like me or +the pretty birds. Remember that nothing is ever +quite as bad as we think it is, that every line has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +a silver clouding and that—that it's always dawnest +before the dark. Farewell, you old grouch!"</p> + +<p>Don didn't have to pretend very hard the next +day that he was feeling ill, for an almost sleepless +night, spent in trying to find some way out of his +difficulties, had left him hollow-eyed and pale. +Breakfast had been a farce and dinner a mere +empty pretence, and between the two meals he +had fared illy in classes. It was scarcely more +than an exaggeration to tell Coach Robey that he +didn't feel well enough to play, and the coach +readily believed him and gave him over to the +mercies of Danny Moore.</p> + +<p>The trainer tried hard to get Don to enumerate +some tangible symptoms, but Don could only repeat +that he was dreadfully tired and out of sorts. +"Eat anything that didn't agree with you?" asked +Danny.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't eat much of anything. I didn't +have any appetite."</p> + +<p>"Sure, that was sensible, anyway. I'll be after +giving you a tonic, me boy. Take it like I tell you, +do ye mind, keep off your feet and get a good +sleep. After breakfast come to me in the gym +and I'll have a look at you."</p> + +<p>Don took the tonic—when he thought of it—ate +a fair supper and went early to bed, not so much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +in the hope of curing his ailment as because he +couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He slept +pretty well, but was dimly conscious of waking +frequently during the night, and when morning +came felt fully as tired as when he had retired. +Breakfast was beyond him, although Mr. Robey, +his attention drawn to Don by Harry Walton's +innocent "You're looking pretty bum, Gilbert," +counselled soft boiled eggs and hot milk. Don +dallied with the eggs and drank part of the milk +and was glad to escape as soon as he could.</p> + +<p>Danny gave him a very thorough inspection in +the rubbing room after breakfast, but could find +nothing wrong. "Sure, you're as sound as Colin +Meagher's fiddle, me boy. Where is it it +hurts ye?"</p> + +<p>"It doesn't hurt anywhere, Danny," responded +Don. "I'm all right, I suppose, only I don't feel—don't +feel very fit."</p> + +<p>"A bit fine, you are, and I'm thinking you'd better +lay off the work for today. Be outdoors as +much as you can, but don't be tiring yourself out. +Have you taken the tonic like I told ye?"</p> + +<p>"I've taken enough of the beastly stuff," answered +Don listlessly.</p> + +<p>Danny laughed. "Sure, it's the fine-tasting +medicine, lad. Keep at it. And listen to me, now.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +If you want to play agin Claflin, Donny, you do as +I'm tellin' you and don't be thinkin' you know +more about it than I do. Sure, Robey won't look +at ye at all, come a week from tomorrow, if you +don't brace up."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right, Danny, thanks. Maybe if I +rest off today I'll be fine tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"That's what I'm tellin' you. See that ye +do it."</p> + +<p>That afternoon he watched practice from the +bench without getting into togs and saw Harry +Walton play at left guard. He would much rather +have remained away from the field, but to have +done so might, he thought, have looked queer. +Coach Robey was solicitous about him, but apparently +did not take his indisposition very seriously. +"'Take it easy, Gilbert," he said, "and don't +worry. You'll be all right for tomorrow, I guess. +You've been working pretty hard, my boy. Better +pull a blanket over your shoulders. This +breeze is rather biting. Can't have you laid up +for long, you know."</p> + +<p>Harry Walton performed well that afternoon, +playing with a vim and dash that was something +of a revelation to his team-mates. Tim was evidently +troubled when he walked back to hall with +Don after practice. "For the love of mud, Don,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +he pleaded, "get over it and come back! Did you +see the way Walton played today? If he gets in +tomorrow and plays like that against Chambers +Robey'll be handing him the place! What the +dickens is wrong with you, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"I'm just tired," responded Don.</p> + +<p>"Tired!" Tim was puzzled. "What for? You +haven't worked since day before yesterday. What +you've got is malaria or something. Tell you +what we'll do, Don; we'll beat it over to the doctor's +after supper, eh?"</p> + +<p>But Don shook his head. "Danny's tonic is all +I need," he said. "I dare say I'll be feeling great +in the morning."</p> + +<p>"You dare say you will! Don't you feel sure +you will? Because I've got to tell you, Donald, +that this is a plaguy bad time to get laid +off, son. If you're not a regular little Bright +Eyes by Monday Robey'll can you as sure as +shooting!"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't much care if he did," muttered +Don.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't much—— Say, are you crazy?" +Tim stopped short on the walk and viewed his +chum in amazement. "Is it your brain that's gone +back on you? Don't you <i>want</i> to play against +Claflin?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose so. Yes, of course I do, but——"</p> + +<p>"Then don't talk like a piece of cheese! You'll +come with me to the doctor after supper if I have +to drag you there by one heel!"</p> + +<p>And so go he did, and the doctor looked at his +tongue and felt his pulse and "pawed him over," +as Don put it, and ended by patting him on the +back and accepting a nice bright half-dollar—half-price +to Academy students—in exchange for a +prescription.</p> + +<p>"You're a little nervous," said the doctor. +"Thinking too much about that football game, I +guess. Don't do it. Put it out of your mind. +Take that medicine every two hours according to +directions on the bottle and you'll be all right, my +boy."</p> + +<p>Don thanked him, slipped the prescription in a +pocket and headed for school. But Tim grabbed +him and faced him about. "You don't swallow +the prescription, Donald," he said. "You take it +to a druggist and he gives you something in a bottle. +That's what you swallow, the stuff in the +bottle. I'm not saying that it mightn't do you +just as much good to eat the paper, but we'd +better play by the rules. So come on, you lunk-head."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I forgot," murmured Don.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course you did," agreed the other sarcastically.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"And, look here, if anyone asks</span><br /> +you your name, it's Donald Croft Gilbert. +Think you can remember that? Donald +Croft——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dry up," said Don. "How much will this +fool medicine cost me?"</p> + +<p>"How much have you got?"</p> + +<p>"About eighty cents, I think."</p> + +<p>"It'll cost you eighty cents, then. Ask me +something easier. I don't pretend to know how +druggists do it, but they can always look right +through your clothes and count your money. +Never knew it to fail!"</p> + +<p>But it failed this time, or else the druggist +counted wrong, for the prescription was a dollar +and Tim had to make up the balance. He insisted +on Don taking the first dose then and there, +so that he could get in another before bedtime, +and Don meekly obeyed. After he had swallowed +it he begged a glass of soda water from the druggist +to take the taste out of his mouth, and the +druggist, doubtless realising the demands of the +occasion, stood treat to them both. On the way +back Tim figured it that if they had only insisted +on having ice-cream sodas they would have reduced +the price of the medicine to its rightful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +cost. Don, though, firmly insisted that it was +worth every cent of what he had paid for it.</p> + +<p>"No one," he said convincedly, "could get that +much nastiness into a small bottle for less than a +dollar!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>DROPPED FROM THE TEAM</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Whether</span> owing to Danny Moore's tonic, the doctor's +prescription or a good night's rest, Don +awoke the next morning feeling perfectly well +physically, and his first waking moments were +cheered by the knowledge. Then, however, recollection +of the fact that physical well-being was +exactly what wasn't required under the circumstances +brought quick reaction, and he jumped out +of bed to look at himself in the mirror above his +dresser in the hope of finding pale cheeks and +hollow eyes and similar evidences of impending +dissolution. But Fate had played a sorry trick on +him! His cheeks were not in the least pale, nor +were his eyes sunken. In short, he looked particularly +healthy, and if other evidence of the fact was +needed it was supplied by Tim. Tim, when Don +turned regretfully away from the glass, was sitting +up and observing him with pleased relief.</div> + +<p>"Ata boy!" exclaimed Tim. "Feeling fine and +dandy, aren't you? I guess that medicine was +cheap at the price, after all! You look about a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +hundred per cent better than you did yesterday, +Donald."</p> + +<p>Don started to smile, caught himself in time and +drew a long sigh. "You can't always tell by a fellow's +looks how he's really feeling," he replied +darkly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, run away and play! What's the matter +with you? You've got colour in your face and +look great."</p> + +<p>"Too much colour, I'm afraid," said Don, +shaking his head pessimistically. "I guess—I +guess I've got a little fever."</p> + +<p>Tim stared at him puzzledly. "Fever? What +for? I mean—— Say, are you fooling?"</p> + +<p>"No. My face is sort of hot, honest, Tim." +And so it was, possibly the consciousness of +fibbing and the difficulty of doing it successfully +was responsible for the flush. Tim pushed his +legs out of bed and viewed his friend disgustedly.</p> + +<p>"Don, you're getting to be one of those kleptomaniacs—no, +that isn't it! What's the word? +Hydrochondriacs, isn't it? Anyway, whatever it +is, you're it! You've got so you imagine you're +sick when you aren't. Forget it, Donald, and +cheer up!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll be all right, thanks," responded the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +other dolefully. "I guess I'm lots better than +I was."</p> + +<p>"Of course you are! Why, hang it, man, you've +simply got to be O. K. today! If you're not +Robey'll can you as sure as shooting! Smile for +the gentleman, Don, and then get a move on and +come to breakfast."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I want any breakfast, thanks."</p> + +<p>"You will when you smell it. Want me to start +the water for you?"</p> + +<p>"If I was a hydrochondriac I wouldn't want any +water, would I?"</p> + +<p>"Hypochondriac's what I meant, I guess. +Hurry up before the mob gets there."</p> + +<p>Tim struggled into his bath-robe and pattered +off down the corridor, leaving Don to follow at his +leisure. But, instead of following, Don seated +himself on the edge of his bed and viewed life +gloomily. If Tim refused to believe in his illness, +how was he to convince Coach Robey of it? He +might, he reflected, rub talcum on his face, but he +was afraid that wouldn't deceive anyone, the +coach least of all. And, according to his bargain +with Harry Walton, he must sever his connection +with the team today. If he didn't Walton would +go to the principal and tell what he had witnessed +from his window that Saturday night, and not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +only he, but Tim and Clint as well, would suffer. +And, still worse, the team would be beaten by +Claflin as surely as—as Tim was shouting to him +from the bathroom! He got up and donned his +bath-robe and set off down the corridor with lagging +feet, so wretched in mind by this time that it +required no great effort of imagination to believe +himself ailing in body.</p> + +<p>To his surprise—and rather to his disgust—he +found himself intensely hungry at breakfast +and it was all he could do to refuse the steak and +baked potato set before him. Under the appraising +eye of Mr. Robey, he drank a glass of milk and +nibbled at a piece of toast, his very soul longing +for that steak and a couple of soft eggs! Afterward, +when he reported to Danny, the trainer +produced fresh discouragement in him.</p> + +<p>"Fine, me boy!" declared the trainer. "You're +as good as ever, aren't you? Keep in the air all +you can and go light with the dinner."</p> + +<p>"I—I don't feel very fit," muttered Don.</p> + +<p>"Get along with you! You're the picture of +health! Don't be saying anything like that to Mr. +Robey, or he might believe it and bench you. Run +along now and mind what I tell you. Game's at +two-fifteen today."</p> + +<p>It was fortunate that Don had but two recitations<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +that morning, for he was in no condition for +such unimportant things. His mind was too full +of what was before him. At dinner it was easy +enough to obey Danny's command and eat lightly, +for he was far too worried to want food. The +noon meal was eaten early in order that the players +might have an hour for digestion before they +went to the field. Chambers came swinging up to +the school at half-past one, in all the carriages to +be found at the station, while her supporters +trailed after on foot. The stands filled early and, +by the time the Chambers warriors trotted on to +the gridiron for their practice, looked gay and +colourful with waving pennants.</p> + +<p>Don kept close to Tim from the time dinner was +over until they reached the locker-room in the +gymnasium. Tim was puzzled and disgusted over +his chum's behaviour and secretly began to think +that perhaps, after all, he was not in the condition +his appearance told him to be. Don listlessly +dragged his playing togs on and was dressed by +the time Coach Robey came in. He hoped that +the coach would give him his opportunity then to +declare his unfitness for work, but Mr. Robey paid +no attention to him. He said the usual few words +of admonition to the players, conferred with Manager +Morton and the trainer and disappeared<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +again. Captain Edwards led the way out of the +building at a few minutes before two and they +jogged down to the field and, heralded by a long +cheer from the stand, took their places on the +benches. It was a fine day for football, bright and +windless and with a true November nip in the +air.</p> + +<p>Chambers yielded half the gridiron and Coach +Robey approached the bench. "All right, first and +second squads," he said cheerfully. "Try your +signals out, but take it easy. Rollins, you'd better +try a half-dozen goals. Martin, too. How about +you, Gilbert? You feeling all right?"</p> + +<p>Don felt the colour seeping out of his cheeks as +the coach turned toward him, and there was an instant +of silence before he replied with lowered +eyes.</p> + +<p>"N-no, sir, I'm not feeling very—very fit. I'm +sorry."</p> + +<p>"You're not?" Mr. Robey's voice had an edge. +"Danny says you're perfectly fit. What's +wrong?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know, sir. I don't feel—well."</p> + +<p>A number of the players still within hearing +turned to listen. Mr. Robey viewed Don with a +puzzled frown. Then he shrugged impatiently.</p> + +<p>"You know best, of course," he said shortly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +"but if you don't work today, Gilbert, you're +plumb out of it. I can't keep your place open for +you forever, you know. What do you say? Want +to try it?"</p> + +<p>Don wished that the earth under his feet would +open up and swallow him. He tried to return the +coach's gaze, but his eyes wandered. The first +time he tried to speak he made no sound, and when +he did find his voice it was so low that the coach +impatiently bade him speak up.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it would be any good, sir," replied +Don huskily. "I—I'm not feeling very +well."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Then Mr. Robey's +voice came to him as cold as ice. "Very well, Gilbert, +clean your locker out and hand in your +things to the trainer. Walton!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Go in at left guard on the first squad." Mr. +Robey turned again to Don. "Gilbert," he said +very quietly, "I don't understand you. You are +perfectly able to play, and you know it. The only +explanation that occurs to me is that you're in a +funk. If that's so it is a fortunate thing for all +of us that we've discovered it now instead of later. +There's no place on this team, my boy, for a +quitter."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> + +<p>Coach and players turned away, leaving Don +standing alone there before the bench. Miserably +he groped his way to it and sat down with hanging +head. His eyes were wet and he was horribly +afraid that someone would see it. A hand fell on +his shoulder and he glanced up into Tim's troubled +face.</p> + +<p>"I heard, Don," said Tim. "I'm frightfully +sorry, old man. Are you sure you can't do it!"</p> + +<p>Don shook his head silently. Tim sighed.</p> + +<p>"Gee, it's rotten, ain't it? Maybe he didn't +mean what he said, though. Maybe, if you're all +right Monday, he'll give you another chance. +I'm—I'm beastly sorry, Don!"</p> + +<p>The hand on his shoulder pressed reassuringly +and drew away and Tim hurried out to his place. +Presently Don took a deep breath, got to his feet +and, trying his hardest to look unconcerned but +making sorry work of it, skirted the stand and +retraced his steps to the gymnasium. His one +desire was to get out of sight before any of the +fellows found him, and so he pulled off his togs +as quickly as he might, got into his other clothes, +made a bundle of his suit and stockings and shoes +and left them in the rubbing-room where Danny +could not fail to find them and then hurried out of +the building and through the deserted yard to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +Billings and the sunlit silence and emptiness of his +room.</p> + +<p>There was very little consolation in the knowledge +that he had done only what was right. Martyrdom +has its drawbacks. He had lost his position +with the team and had been publicly branded +a quitter. The fact that his conscience was not +only clear but even approving didn't help much. +Being thought a quitter, a coward, hurt badly. If +he could have got at Harry Walton any time during +the ensuing half-hour it would have gone hard +with that youth. After a time, though, he got command +of his feelings again and, since there was +nothing better to do, he seated himself at the +window and watched as much of the football game as +was visible from there. Once or twice he was able +to forget his trouble for a brief moment.</p> + +<p>Chambers put up a good game that day and it +was all the home team could do to finally win out +by the score of 3 to 0. For two periods Chambers +had Brimfield virtually on the run, and only a +fine fighting spirit that flashed into evidence under +the shadow of her goal saved the latter from defeat. +As it was, luck took a hand in matters when +a poor pass from centre killed Chambers's chance +of scoring by a field-goal in the second quarter.</p> + +<p>Brimfield showed better work in the second half<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +and twice got the ball inside the visitor's twenty-yard +line, once in the third period and again +shortly before the final whistle blew. The first +opportunity to score was lost when Carmine called +for line-plunges to get the pigskin across and +Howard, who was playing in St. Clair's position +because of a slight injury to the regular left half, +fumbled for a four-yard loss. Chambers rallied +and took the ball away a minute later. In the +fourth period dazzling runs outside of tackles by +Tim Otis and hard line-plugging by Rollins and +Howard took the ball from Brimfield's thirty-five +to the enemy's twenty-five. There a forward pass +grounded—Chambers had a remarkable defence +against that play—and, on third down, Rollins slid +off left tackle for enough to reach the twenty. +But with only one down remaining and time nearly +up, a try-at-goal was the only course left, and +Rollins, standing squarely on the thirty-yard line, +drop-kicked a scanty victory.</p> + +<p>In some ways that contest was disappointing, +in others encouraging. Team-play was more in +evidence than in any previous game and the +maroon-and-grey backfield had performed prodigiously. +And the plays had, as a general thing, +gone off like clock-work. But there were weak +places in the line still. Pryme, at right guard, had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +proved an easy victim for the enemy and the same +was true, in a lesser degree, of Harry Walton, +on the other side of centre. And Crewe, at right +tackle, had allowed himself to be boxed time after +time. It might be said for Crewe, however, that +today he was playing opposite an opponent who +was more than clever. But the way in which +Chambers had torn holes in Brimfield's first defence +promised poorly for next Saturday and the +spectators went away from the field feeling a bit +less sanguine than a week before. "No team that +is weak at both guard positions can hope to win," +was the general verdict, and it was fully realised +that Claflin's backs were better than Chambers's. +For a day or two there was much talk of a petition +to the faculty asking for the reinstatement of Tom +Hall, but it progressed no further than talk. Josh, +it was known, was not the kind to reverse his decision +for any reason they could present.</p> + +<p>And yet, although the weekly faculty conference +on Monday night had no written petition to consider, +the subject of Tom's reinstatement did come +before it and in a totally unprecedented manner.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>"GOOD-BYE, TIMMY!"</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Tim</span> found a dejected and most unsatisfactory +chum when he got back to the room after the +Chambers game that Saturday afternoon. All of +Tim's demands for an explanation of the whole +puzzling affair met only with evasion. Don was +not only uncommunicative, but a trifle short-tempered, +a condition quite unusual for him. All Tim +could get from him was that he "felt perfectly +punk" and wasn't going to try to change Mr. +Robey's decision.</div> + +<p>"I'm through," he said. "I don't blame Robey +a bit. I'm no use on the team as I am. He'd be +foolish to bother with me."</p> + +<p>"Well, all I can say," returned Tim, with a +sigh of exasperation, "is that the whole thing is +mighty funny. I guess there's more to it than +you're telling. You look like thirty cents, all right +enough, but I'll wager anything you like that you +could go out there and play just as good a game +as ever on Monday if Robey would let you and you +cared to try. Now couldn't you!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know. What does it matter, anyhow? +I tell you I'm all through, and so there's no use +chewing it over."</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right. Nuff said." Tim walked to the +window, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and, +after a minute's contemplation of the darkening +prospect without, observed haltingly: "Look +here, Don. If you hear things you don't like, +don't get up on your ear, eh?"</p> + +<p>"What sort of things?" demanded the other.</p> + +<p>Tim hesitated a long moment before he took +the plunge. Then: "Well, some of the fellows +don't understand, Don. You can't altogether +blame them, I suppose. I shut two or three of +them up, but there's bound to be some talk, you +know. Some fellows always manage to think of +the meanest things possible. But what fellows +like that say isn't worth bothering about. So +just you sit snug, old man. They've already found +that they can't say that sort of thing when I'm +around."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Don quietly. "What sort of +things do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, anything."</p> + +<p>"You mean that they're calling me a quitter?"</p> + +<p>"Well, some of them heard Robey get that off +and they're repeating it like a lot of silly parrots.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +I called Holt down good and hard. Told him I'd +punch his ugly face if he talked that way again."</p> + +<p>"Don't bother," said Don listlessly. "I guess +I do look like a quitter, all right."</p> + +<p>"Piffle! And, hang it all, Robey had no business +saying that, Don! He couldn't really believe +it."</p> + +<p>"Why couldn't he? On the face of it, Tim, I'd +say that I looked a whole lot like a quitter."</p> + +<p>"But that's nonsense! Why would you or any +fellow want to quit just before the Claflin game? +Why, all the hard work's done with, man! Only +a little signal practice to go through with now. +Why would you want to quit? It's poppycock!"</p> + +<p>"Well, some fellows do get cold feet just before +the big game. We've both known cases of it. +Look at——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know what you're going to say, but that +was different. He never had any spunk, anyway. +Nobody believed in him but Robey, and Robey was +wrong, just as he is about you. Anyway, all I'm +trying to say is that there's no use getting waxy +if some idiot shoots off his mouth. The fellows +who really count don't believe you a—a quitter. +And the whole business will blow over in a couple +of days. Look how they talked about Tom at +first!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They didn't call him a quitter, though. They +were just mad because he'd done a fool thing and +lost the team. I wouldn't blame anyone for thinking +me a—a coward, and I can't resent it if they +say it."</p> + +<p>"Can't, eh? Well, I can!"</p> + +<p>Don smile wanly. "Thought you were telling +me not to, Tim."</p> + +<p>Tim muttered. There was silence for a minute +in the twilit room. Then Tim switched on the +lights and rolled up his sleeves preparatory to +washing. "The whole thing's perfectly rotten," +he growled, "but we'll just have to make the best +of it. Ten years from now——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it isn't ten years from now that +troubles me," interrupted Don thoughtfully. "It—it's +right this minute. And tomorrow and the +next day. And the day after that. I've a good +mind to——"</p> + +<p>"To what?" demanded Tim from behind his +sponge.</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I was just—thinking."</p> + +<p>"Well, stop it, then. You weren't intended to +think. You always do something silly when you +get to thinking. Wash up and come on to supper."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going over tonight," answered Don.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +"I'm not hungry. And, anyway, I don't feel quite +like facing it yet."</p> + +<p>"Now, look here," began Tim severely, "if +you're going to take it like that——"</p> + +<p>"I'm not, I guess. Only I'd rather not go to +supper tonight. I am through at the training-table +and I funk going back to the other table just +now. Besides, I'm not the least bit hungry. You +run along."</p> + +<p>Tim observed him frowningly. "Well, all right. +Only if it was me I'd take the bull by the horns +and see it through. Fellows will talk more if you +let them see that you give a hang."</p> + +<p>"They'll talk enough anyway, I dare say. A +little more won't matter."</p> + +<p>"I just hope Holt gets gay again," said Tim +venomously, shying the towel in the general direction +of the rack and missing it by a foot. "Want +me to bring something over to you?"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks. I don't want a thing."</p> + +<p>"We-ell, I guess I'll beat it then." Tim loitered +uncertainly at the door. "I say, Donald, old +scout, buck up, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I'll be all right, Timmy. Don't you +worry about me. And—and thanks, you know, +for—for calling Holt down."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that!" Tim chuckled. "Holt wasn't the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +only one I called down either." Then, realising +that he had not helped the situation any by the +remark, he tried to squirm out of it. "Of course, +Holt was <i>the</i> one, you know. The others didn't +really <i>say</i> anything, or—or mean anything——"</p> + +<p>Don laughed. "That'll do, Tim. Beat it!"</p> + +<p>And Tim, red-faced and confused, "beat it."</p> + +<p>For the next five minutes doors in the corridor +opened and shut and footfalls sounded as the fellows +hurried off to Wendell. But I doubt if Don +heard the sounds, for he was sunk very low in +the chair and his eyes were fixed intently on space. +Presently he drew in his legs, sat up and pulled +his watch from his pocket. A moment of speculation +followed. Then he jumped from the chair as +one whose mind is at last made up and went to +his closet. From the recesses he dragged forth +his bag and laid it open on his bed. From the +closet hooks he took down a few garments and +tossed them beside the bag and then crossed to his +dresser and pulled open the drawers. Don had +decided to accept Coach Robey's title. He was +going to quit!</p> + +<p>There was a train at six-thirty-four and another +at seven-one for New York. With luck, he could +get the first. If he missed that he was certain of +the second. The dormitory was empty, it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +quite dark outside by now and there was scarcely +a chance of anyone's seeing him. If he hurried he +could be at the station before Tim could return +from supper. Or, even if he didn't get away until +the seven-one train, he would be clear of the hall +before Tim could discover his absence and surmise +the reason for it. To elude Tim was the all-important +thing, for Tim would never approve and +would put all sorts of obstacles in his way. In +fact, it would be a lot like Tim to hold him back +by main force! Don's heart sank for a moment. +It was going to be frightfully hard to leave old +Timmy. Perhaps they might meet again at college +in a couple of years, but they would not be +likely to see each other before that time, and even +that depended on so many things that it couldn't +be confidently counted on.</p> + +<p>Don paused in his hurried selection of articles +from the dresser drawers and dropped into a +chair at the table. But, with the pad before him +and pen in hand, he shook his head. A note would +put Tim wise to what was happening and perhaps +allow him to get to the station in time to make a +fuss. No, it would be better to write to him later; +perhaps from New York tonight, for Don was +pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to get a +through train before morning. So, with another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +glance at his watch, he began to pack again, throwing +things in every which-way in his feverish desire +to complete the task and leave the building +before Tim got back. He came across a scarf that +Tim had admired and laid it back in the top +drawer. It had never been worn and Tim should +have it. And as he hurried back and forth he +thought of other things he would like Tim to have. +There was his tennis racket, the one Tim always +borrowed when Don wasn't using it, and a scarf-pin +made of a queer, rough nugget of opal matrix. +He would tell Tim he was to have those and not +to pack them with the other things. The thought +of making the gifts almost cheered him for awhile, +and, together with the excitement of running +away, caused him to hum a little tune under his +breath as he jammed the last articles in the bag +and snapped it shut.</p> + +<p>It was sixteen minutes past now. He would, he +acknowledged, never be able to make the six-thirty-four, +with that burden to carry. But the +seven-one would do quite as well, and he wouldn't +have to hurry so. In that case, then, why not +leave just a few words of good-bye for Tim? He +could put the note somewhere where Tim wouldn't +find it until later; tuck it, for instance, under the +bed-clothes so that he would find it when he pulled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +them down. He hesitated a moment and then set +his bag down by the door, dropped his overcoat +and umbrella on the bed and seated himself again +at the table. Tim was never known to take less +than a half-hour for supper and he still had a +good ten minutes' leeway:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Dear Timmy [he wrote hurriedly], I'm off. +It's no use sticking around any longer. Fellows +aren't going to forget as soon as you said and I +can't stay on here and be thought a quitter. So +I'm taking the seven-one to New York and will be +home day after tomorrow. I wish you would pack +my things up for me when you get time. There +isn't any great hurry. I've got enough for awhile. +You're to keep the racket and the blue and white +tie and the opal matrix pin and anything else you +like to remember me by. Please do this, Tim. I'll +write from home and tell you about sending the +trunk. I'm awfully sorry, Tim, and I'm going to +miss you like anything, but I shan't ever come +back here. Maybe we will get together again at +college. I hope so. You try, will you? Good-bye, +Tim, old pal. We've had some dandy times +together, haven't we? And you've been an A1 +chum to me and I wish I wasn't going off without +saying good-bye to you decently. But I've got to. +So good-bye, Timmy, old man. Think of me now +and then like I will of you. Good-bye.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +"Your friend always,<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Don.</span>"<br /> +</div></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> + +<p>That note took longer to write than he had +counted on, and when he got up from the table +and looked at his watch he was alarmed to find +that it was almost half-past six. He folded the +paper and tucked it just under the clothes at the +head of Tim's bed, took a last glance about the +room, picked up coat and umbrella and turned out +the light. Then he strode toward the door, groping +for his bag.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>FRIENDS FALL OUT</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Tim</span> didn't enjoy supper very much that evening. +The game had left him pretty weary of body and +mind, and on top of that was Don and his trouble, +and try as he might he couldn't get them out of his +thoughts. Mr. Robey was not at table; someone +said he had gone to New York for over Sunday; +and so Tim didn't have to make a pretence of +eating more than he wanted. And he wanted very +little. A slice of cold roast beef, rather too rare +to please him, about an eighth of one of the inevitable +baked potatoes, a few sips of milk and a +corner of a slice of toast as hard as a shingle, and +Tim was more than satisfied. Tonight he was not +especially interested in the talk, which, as usual +after a game, was all football, and didn't see any +good reason for sitting there after he had finished +and listening to it. All during his brief meal he +was on the alert for any mention of Don's name, +and more than once he glared, almost encouragingly, +at Holt. But Holt had already learned his +lesson and was doing very little talking, and none<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +at all about Don. Nor was the absent player's +name mentioned by anyone at that table, although +what might be being said of him at the other Tim +had no way of knowing. He stayed on a few minutes +after he had finished, eyeing the apple-sauce +and graham crackers coldly, and then asked Steve +Edwards to excuse him.</div> + +<p>"Off his feed," remarked Carmine as Tim +passed down the dining hall on his way out. +"First time I ever saw old Tim have nerves."</p> + +<p>"It's Don Gilbert, probably," said Clint +Thayer. "They're great pals. Tim's worried +about him, I guess."</p> + +<p>"What do you make of it, Steve?" asked Crewe, +helping himself to a third slice of meat.</p> + +<p>"What is there to make of it?" asked Steve +carelessly. "The chap's all out of shape, I suppose. +I don't know what his trouble is, but I +guess he's a goner for this year."</p> + +<p>"It's awfully funny, isn't it?" asked Rollins. +"Gilbert always struck me as an awfully plucky +player."</p> + +<p>"Has anyone said he isn't?" inquired Clint +quietly.</p> + +<p>"N-no, no, of course not!" Rollins flushed. "I +didn't mean anything like that, Clint. Only I +don't see——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He hasn't been looking very fit lately," offered +Harry Walton. "I noticed it two or three days +ago. Too bad!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you're feeling perfectly wretched about +it, I guess," said big Thursby drily, causing a +smile around the table. Walton shrugged and +rewarded the speaker with one of his smiles that +were always unfortunately like leers.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can feel sorry for him," said Walton, +"even if I do get his place. Gilbert gave me an +awfully good fight for it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, was there a fight?" asked Thursby innocently. +"I didn't notice any."</p> + +<p>Thursby got a real laugh this time and Harry +Walton joined in to save his face, but with no very +good grace.</p> + +<p>"If anyone has an idea that Don Gilbert is +scared and quit for that reason," observed St. +Clair, "he'd better keep it to himself. Or, anyhow, +he'd better not air it when Tim is about. He +nearly bit my head off in the gym because I said +that Don was a chump to give up like this a week +before the Claflin game. Tim flared up like—like +a gasoline torch and wanted to fight! I didn't +mean a thing by my innocent remark, but I had the +dickens of a time trying to prove it to Tim! And +he almost jumped into you, too, didn't he, Holt?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, he did, the touchy beggar! You all heard +what Robey said, and——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't hear," interrupted Steve, "and——"</p> + +<p>"Why, he said——"</p> + +<p>"And, as I was about to remark, Holt, I don't +want to. And it will be just as decent for those +who did hear to forget. Robey says lots of things +he doesn't mean or believe. Perhaps that was one +of them. I'm for Don. If he says he's sick, he is +sick. You've all seen him play for two years and +you ought to know that there isn't a bit of yellow +anywhere in his make-up."</p> + +<p>"That's so," agreed several, and others nodded, +Holt amongst them.</p> + +<p>"I didn't say he was a quitter, Steve. I was +only repeating what Robey said, and Tim happened +to hear me. Gee, I like Don as well as any +of you. Gee, didn't I play a whole year with him +on the second?"</p> + +<p>"Gee, you did indeed!" replied Crewe, and, +laughing, the fellows pushed back their chairs and +left the table.</p> + +<p>Tim didn't hurry on his way along the walk to +Billings, for he was earnestly trying to think of +some scheme that would take Don's mind off his +trouble that evening. Perhaps he could get Don +to take a good, long walk. Walking always worked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +wonders in his own case when, as very infrequently +happened, he had a fit of the blues. Yes, +he would propose a walk, he told himself. And +then he groaned at the thought of it, for he was +very tired and he ached in a large number of +places!</p> + +<p>Only a few windows were lighted in Billings as +he approached it, for most of the fellows were +still in dining hall and the rule requiring the turning +out of lights during absence from rooms was +strictly enforced. Only the masters were exempted, +and Tim noticed as he passed Mr. Daley's +study that the droplight was turned low by one +of those cunning dimming attachments which Tim +had always envied the instructor the possession +of. Tim would have had one of those long ago +could he have put it to any practical use. He +passed through the doorway and down the dimly +lighted corridor, the rubber-soled shoes which he +affected in all seasons making little sound. He +was surprised to see that no light showed through +the transom of Number 6, and he paused outside +the door a moment. Perhaps Don was asleep. In +that case, it would be just as well to not disturb +him. But, on the other hand, he might be just +sitting there in the dark being miserable. Tim +turned the knob and pushed the door open.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + +<p>The light from the corridor and the fact that +Don had stopped startledly at the sound of the +turning knob prevented an actual collision between +them. Tim, pushing the door slowly shut +behind him, viewed Don questioningly. "Hello," +he said, "where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"For a walk," replied Don.</p> + +<p>"Why the coat and umbrella? And—oh, I +see!" Tim's glance took in the bag and comprehension +dawned. "So that's it, eh?"</p> + +<p>There was an instant of silence during which +Tim closed the door and leaned against it, hands +in pockets and a thoughtful scowl on his face. +Finally:</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's it," said Don defiantly. "I'm off +for home."</p> + +<p>"What's the big idea?"</p> + +<p>"You know well enough, Tim. I—I'm not going +to stay here and be—be pointed out as a quitter. +I'm——"</p> + +<p>"Wait a sec! What are you doing now but +quitting, you several sorts of a blind mule? Think +you're helping things any by—by running away? +Don't be a chump, Donald."</p> + +<p>"That's all well enough for you. It isn't your +funeral. I don't care what they say about me if +I don't have to hear it. I'm sorry, Tim, but—but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +I've just got to do it. I—there's a note for you +in your bed. I didn't expect you'd be back before +I left."</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you didn't, son!" said Tim grimly. +"Now let me tell you something, Don. You're +acting like a baby, that's what you're doing! It's +all fine enough to say that you don't care what +fellows say as long as you don't hear it, but you +don't mean it, Don. You would care. And so +would I. If you don't want them to think you a +quitter, for the love of mud don't run away like—like +one!"</p> + +<p>"I've thought of all that, Tim, but it's the only +thing to do."</p> + +<p>"The only thing to do, your grandmother! The +thing to do is to stick around and show folks that +you're <i>not</i> a quitter. Don't you see that getting +out is the one thing that'll make them believe +Robey was right?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say, but I've made up my mind, +Tim. I'm going to get that seven-one train, old +man, and I'll have to beat it. If you want to walk +along to the station with me——"</p> + +<p>"And carry your bag?" asked Tim sweetly. He +turned the key in the lock and then dropped it in +his pocket. Don took a stride forward, but was +met by Tim's challenging frown. "There's no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +seven-one train for you tonight, Donald," said +Tim quietly, "nor any other night. Put your bag +down, old dear, and hang your overcoat back in +the closet."</p> + + +<p>"Don't act like a silly ass," begged Don. "Put +that key back and let me out, Tim!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will—like fun! The only way you'll +get that key will be by taking it out of my pocket, +and by the time you do that the seven-one train +will be half-way to the city."</p> + +<p>"Please, Tim! You're not acting like a good +chum! Just you think——"</p> + +<p>"That's just what I am acting like," returned +Tim, stepping past the other and switching on the +lights. "And you'll acknowledge it tomorrow. +Just now you're sort of crazy in the head. +I'll humour you as much as possible, Donald, +but not to the extent of letting you make +a perfect chump of yourself. Sit down and +behave."</p> + +<p>"Tim, I want that key," said Don sternly.</p> + +<p>Tim shrugged. "Can't have it, Don, unless you +fight for it. And I'm not sure you'd get it then. +Now look here——"</p> + +<p>"You've no right to keep me here!"</p> +<div class="figright" style="width: 309px;"> +<img src="images/gs03.jpg" width="309" height="400" alt=""Will you unlock that door?" demanded Don angrily" title=""Will you unlock that door?" demanded Don angrily" /> +<span class="caption">"Will you unlock that door?" <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Demanded'">demanded</ins> Don angrily</span> +</div> + +<p>"I don't give a hang whether I've got the right +or not. You're going to stay here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There are other trains," said Don coldly. +"You can't keep that door locked forever."</p> + +<p>"I don't intend to try, but it'll stay locked until +the last train tonight has whistled for the crossing +back there. Make up your mind to that, son!"</p> + +<p>Don looked irresolutely from Tim to the door +and back again. He didn't want to fight Tim the +least bit in the world. He wasn't so sure now that +he wanted to get that train, either. But, having +stated his purpose, he felt it encumbent on him to +carry it out. Then his gaze fell on the windows +and he darted toward them.</p> + +<p>But Tim had already thought of that way of +escape and before Don had traversed half the distance +from door to windows Tim had planted himself +resolutely in the way. "No you don't, Donald," +he said calmly. "You'll have to lick me +first, boy, and I'm feeling quite some scrappy!"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to lick you," said Don irritably, +"but I mean to get that train. You'd better either +give up that key or stand out of my way, Tim."</p> + +<p>"Neither, thanks. And, look here, if we get to +scrapping Horace will hear us and then you won't +get away in any case. Be sensible, Don, and give +it up. It can't be done, old man."</p> + +<p>"Will you unlock that door?" demanded Don +angrily.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, confound you, I won't!"</p> + +<p>"Then I'm going out by the window!"</p> + +<p>"And I say you're not." Tim swiftly peeled +off his coat. "Anyway, not in time to get that +train."</p> + +<p>Don dropped his bag to the floor and tossed +overcoat and umbrella on his bed. "I've given +you fair warning, Tim," he said in a low voice. +"I don't want to hurt you, but you'd better stand +aside."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to get hurt, Don," replied the +other quietly, "but if you insist, all right. +I'm doing what I'd want you to do, Don, +if I went crazy in the head. You may not +like it now, but some day you'll tell me I did +right."</p> + +<p>"You're acting like a fool," answered Don +hotly. "It's no business of yours if I want to get +out of here. Now you let me pass, or it'll be the +worse for you!"</p> + +<p>"Don, will you listen to reason? Sit down +calmly for five minutes and let's talk this thing +over. Will you do that?"</p> + +<p>"No! And I won't be dictated to by you, Tim +Otis! Now get out of the way!"</p> + +<p>"You'll have to put me out," answered Tim +with set jaw. "And you're going to find that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +hard work, Donald. We're both going to get horribly +mussed up, and——"</p> + +<p>But Tim didn't finish his remark, for at that +instant Don rushed him. Tim met the onslaught +squarely and in a second they were struggling +silently. No blows were struck. Don was bent +only on getting the other out of the way and +making his escape through the open window there, +while Tim was equally resolved that he should do +nothing of the sort. In spite of Don's superior +weight, the two boys were fairly equally matched, +and for a minute or two they strained and +tussled without advantage to either. Then +Tim, his arms wrapped around Don's body +like iron bands, forced the latter back a step +and against a chair which went crashing +to the floor. Don tore at the encircling arms, +panting.</p> + +<p>"I don't—want to—hurt you," he muttered, +"but—I will—if you don't—let go!"</p> + +<p>There was no answer from Tim, but the grip +didn't relax. Don worked a hand under the +other's chin and tried to force his head back. Tim +gave a little and they collided with the window-seat, +stumbled and slid together to the floor, Don +on top. For a moment they writhed and thrashed +and then Don worked his right arm loose, slowly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +tore Tim's left hand away and held it down to +the floor.</p> + +<p>"Let go or I'll punch you, Tim," he panted.</p> + +<p>"Punch—ahead!"</p> + +<p>Don strained until he felt Tim's other hand +giving, and then, with a sudden fling of his body, +rolled clear and jumped to his feet. But Tim was +only an instant behind him and, panting and +dishevelled, the two boys confronted each other, +silent.</p> + +<p>"I'm going out there," said Don after a moment.</p> + +<p>Tim only shook his head and smiled crookedly.</p> + +<p>"I am, Tim, and—and you mustn't try to stop +me this time!"</p> + +<p>"I've—got to, Don!"</p> + +<p>"I'm giving you fair warning!"</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>Don took a deeper breath and stepped forward. +"Don't touch me!" he warned. But Tim was +once more in his path, hands stretched to clutch +and hold. "Out of my way, Tim! Fair warning!" +Don's face was white and his eyes blazing.</p> + +<p>"No!" whispered Tim, and crouched.</p> + +<p>Then Don went on again. Tim threw himself +in the way, a fist shot out and Tim, with a grunt,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +went back against the pillows and slipped heavily +to the floor.</p> + +<p>Don's hands fell to his sides and he stared bewilderedly. +Then, with a groan, he dropped to his +knees and raised Tim's head from the floor. "Gee, +but I'm sorry, Timmy!" he stammered. "I didn't +mean to do it, honest! I was crazy, I guess! +Timmy, are you all right!"</p> + +<p>Tim's eyes, half-closed, fluttered, he drew a +deep breath and his head rolled over against Don's +arm.</p> + +<p>"Timmy!" cried Don anxiously. "<i>Timmy!</i> +Don't you hear me! I didn't hit you awfully +hard, Timmy!"</p> + +<p>Tim sighed. "What—time is it?" he murmured.</p> + +<p>"Time? Never mind the time. Are you all +right, Tim?"</p> + +<p>Tim opened his eyes and grinned weakly. +"Hear the birdies sing, Don! It was a lovely +punch! Help me up, will you?"</p> + +<p>Don lifted him to the window-seat. "I'm horribly +sorry, Tim," he said abjectedly. "I—I +didn't know what I was doing, chum! I wish—I +wish you'd hand me one, Tim! Go on, will +you?"</p> + +<p>Tim laughed weakly. "It's all right, Donald.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +Just give me a minute to get my breath. Gee, +things certainly spun around there for a second!"</p> + +<p>"Where'd I hit you?"</p> + +<p>"Right on the point of the jaw." Tim felt of +the place gingerly. "No harm done, though. It +just sort of—jarred me a bit. What time is it?"</p> + +<p>Don glanced at the tin alarm clock on his +dresser. "Ten of seven," he answered. "What's +that got to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you can't make the seven-one now, Donald, +unless you fly all the way, can you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Don, rather blankly. "I—I'd forgotten!"</p> + +<p>"Good thing," muttered Tim. "Wish you'd +forgotten before! If anyone ever tells you you're +a nice good-natured, even-tempered chap, Don, +don't you believe him. You send 'em to me!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know I could lose my temper like +that," replied the other shamefacedly. "Timmy, +I'm most awfully sorry about it. You believe that, +don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" Tim laughed. "But I'll bet you're not +half as sorry as you would have been tomorrow +if I'd let you go! Don, you're an awful ass, now +aren't you?"</p> + +<p>Don nodded. "I guess I am, Timmy. And +you're a—a brick, old man!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Huh! Any more trains to New York tonight?"</p> + +<p>"There's one at twelve-something," answered +Don, with a grin.</p> + +<p>"Thinking of catching it?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit!"</p> + +<p>"All right then." Tim dug in his pocket and +then tossed the door-key beside him on the cushion. +"Better unpack your bag, you silly ass. +Then we'll go out and get some air. I sort of +need it!"</p> + +<p>Some three hours later Tim, tossing back his +bed-clothes, exclaimed: "Hello! What have we +here?"</p> + +<p>"That's just a note I wrote you," said Don hurriedly. +"Hand it here, Tim."</p> + +<p>"I should say not! I'm going to read it!"</p> + +<p>"No, please, Tim! It's just about two or three +things I was going to leave you! Hand it over, +like a good chap!"</p> + +<p>"Something you were going to leave me?" said +Tim as he let Don wrest the sheet of paper from +him. "Oh, I see. Well,"—he felt carefully of the +lump on his chin—"I guess you left me enough as +it is, dearie!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>AMY APPEARS FOR THE DEFENCE</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Practice</span> on Monday was a wretched affair. To be +sure, many of the fellows who had played in the +Chambers game had been excused, but that didn't +account for the fact that those who did take part +went at their work as if half asleep. Both McPhee +and Cotter failed to get any life into the first, and +the second, while it, too, seemed to have taken +part in the general slump, managed to score twice +while the first was with difficulty wresting three +touchdowns from its opponent. Mr. Robey +shouted himself red in the face, Steve Edwards, +who followed practice, pleaded and exhorted, and +a stocky, broad-shouldered, bearded individual +who made his appearance that afternoon for the +first time frowned and shook his head, and all to +small purpose. The players accepted scoldings +and insults as a donkey accepts blows, untroubledly, +apathetically, and jogged on at their own +pace, guilty of all the sins of commission and omission +in the football decalogue.</div> + +<p>There was much curiosity about the newcomer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +and many opinions as to his identity were hazarded +on the bench that afternoon. It was quite +evident that he was a football authority, for Coach +Robey consulted him at times all during practice. +And it was equally evident that they were close +friends, since the stranger was on one occasion +seen to smite the head coach most familiarly between +the shoulders! But who he was and what +he was doing there remained a secret until after +supper. Then it became known that his name was +Proctor, Doctor George G. Proctor, that he was a +practising physician some place in the Middle +West and that he was visiting Coach Robey. But +that was unsatisfactory data and some enterprising +youth hunted back in the football records +and, lo, the mystery was explained. Eight years +before "Gus" Proctor had played tackle on the +Princeton eleven and in his junior and senior +years had been honoured with a position on the +All-American Team. Subsequently he had +coached at a college in Ohio and had put said college +on the map. Now, having stolen away from +home to see Princeton and Yale play next Saturday, +he was staying for a day or two with Mr. +Robey. After that became generally known Doctor +Proctor was gazed at with a new respect whenever +he appeared on field or campus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> + +<p>Don and Tim went up to Number 12 that night +after supper to call on Tom Hall. Tim was having +hard work making Don face the music. If Don +could have had his way he would have kept to himself, +but Tim insisted on dragging him around. +"Just keep a firm upper lip, Donald," he counselled, +"and show the fellows that there's nothing +in it. That's the only way to do. If you keep +skulking off by yourself they'll think you're +ashamed."</p> + +<p>"So I am," muttered Don.</p> + +<p>"You're not, either! You've done nothing to +be ashamed of! Keep that in mind, you silly It. +Now come along and we'll go up and jolly Tom +a bit."</p> + +<p>Steve Edwards was not at home, but Amy Byrd +was enthroned on the window-seat when they entered +in response to Tom's invitation, and Amy +had evidently been holding forth very seriously +on some subject.</p> + +<p>"Don't mind us," said Tim. "Go ahead, Amy, +and get it off your chest."</p> + +<p>"Hello," said Amy. "Hello, Don, old man. +Haven't seen you for an age. Make yourselves +at home. Never mind Tom, he's only +the host. How did you like the practice today, +Tim?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I didn't see it, but I heard enough about it. +It must have been fierce!"</p> + +<p>"It was perfectly punk," growled Tom. "I +should think Robey would want to throw up his +hands and quit!"</p> + +<p>"Did you see it, Don?" asked Amy.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't go over. What was the trouble?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm no expert," replied Amy, taking his +knees into his arms and rocking gently back and +forth on the seat, "but I'd say in my ignorant way +that someone had unkindly put sleeping-potions in +the milk at training-table! The only fellow who +seemed to have his eyes more than half open was +McPhee. Mac showed signs of life at long intervals. +The rest sort of stumbled around in their +sleep. I think Peters actually snored."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we're going to get a fine old drubbing next +Saturday," said Tom pessimistically. "And +what a fine exhibition for that chap Proctor! I'll +bet Robey could have kicked the whole team all +the way back to the gym. He looked as though +it would have done him a world of good to have +a try at it!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, these things happen," said Tim +cheerfully. "It's only a slump. We'll get +over it."</p> + +<p>"Slump be blowed!" said Tom. "This is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +a fine time to slump, five days before the +game!"</p> + +<p>"I know that, too, but there's no use howling +about it. What we need, Tom, is to have you get +back there at right guard, old man."</p> + +<p>"That's what I've been saying," exclaimed +Amy earnestly. "I want Tom to go to Josh and +ask him to let him play, but he won't. Says it +wouldn't be any good. You don't know whether +it would or not, Tom, until you try it. Look here, +Josh doesn't want us to get beaten Saturday any +more than we want it ourselves, and if you sort +of put it up to him like that——"</p> + +<p>"I'd look well, wouldn't I?" laughed Tom. +"Telling Josh that unless he let me off pro the +team would get licked! Gee, that's some modest, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"You don't have to put it like that," replied +Amy impatiently. "Be—be diplomatic. Tell +him——"</p> + +<p>"What we ought to do," interrupted Tim, "is +get up a petition and have everyone sign it."</p> + +<p>"I thought of that, too," said Amy, "but this +dunder-headed Turk won't stand for even +that."</p> + +<p>"Why not, Tom?" asked Don.</p> + +<p>"Because."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And after that?" asked Amy sweetly.</p> + +<p>"Well, look here, you chaps." Tom scowled +intently for a moment. "Look here. It's this +way. Josh put a bunch of us on pro, didn't he? +Well, what right have I to go and ask to be let off +just because I happen to be a football man? You +don't suppose those other fellows like it any better +than I do, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, forget that! I'm one of them, and I'm +having the time of my life. It's been the making +of me, Tom. I'm getting so blamed full of learning +that I'll be able to loaf all the rest of the year; +live on my income, so to say." And Amy beamed +proudly.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," answered Tom doggedly, +"but I don't intend to cry-baby. I'm just as much +in it as any of you. If Josh wants to let us all +off, all right, but I'm not going to ask for a—a +special dispensation!"</p> + +<p>"You don't need to," said Tim. "Let the fellows +do it. That has nothing to do with you. +What's to keep us from going ahead and getting +up a petition?"</p> + +<p>"Because I ask you not to," replied Tom simply. +"It's only fair that we should all be punished +alike."</p> + +<p>"But you're not," said Don.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We're not? Why aren't we?" asked Tom in +surprise.</p> + +<p>"Because you're getting it harder than Amy +and Harry Westcott and the others," answered +Don quietly. "They aren't barred from any +sport, and you are."</p> + +<p>"By Jove, that's a fact!" exclaimed Amy.</p> + +<p>"But—but we all got the same sentence," protested +Tom.</p> + +<p>"I know you did, but"—Don smiled—"put it +like this. I hate parsnips; can't bear them. Suppose +you and I were punished for something we'd +done by being made to eat parsnips three times a +day for—for a month! You like them, don't you? +Well, who'd get the worst of that? The sentence +would be the same, but the—the punishment would +be a heap worse for me, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>"'Father was right'!" said Tim.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father never spoke a truer word!" cried +Amy, jumping up from the window-seat. "That +settles it, Tom! Get some paper, Tim, and we'll +write that petition this minute and I'll guarantee +to get fifty signatures before ten o'clock!"</p> + +<p>"You'll do nothing of the sort," said Tom stubbornly. +"Don talks like a lawyer, all right, but +he's all wrong. And, anyway, I'm out of football +and I'm going to stay out for this year. I've quit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +training and I probably couldn't play if Josh said +I might. So that——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, piffle," said Amy. "Quit training! +Everyone knows you never quit training, Tom. +You could go out there tomorrow and play as +good a game as you ever did. Don't talk like a +sick duck!"</p> + +<p>"There's no reason why I should play, though. +Pryme's putting up a bully game——"</p> + +<p>"Pryme is doing the best he knows how," said +Tim, "but Pryme can't play guard as you can, +Tom, and he never will, and you know it! Now +have a grain of sense, won't you? Just sit tight +and let us put this thing through. There isn't a +fellow in school who won't be tickled to death to +sign that petition, and I'll bet you anything you +like that Josh will be just as tickled to say yes to +it. Whatever you say about Josh Fernald, you've +got to hand it to him for being fair and square, +Tom."</p> + +<p>"Josh is all right, sure. I haven't said anything +against him, have I? But I won't stand for any +petition, fellows, so you might as well get that out +of your heads. Besides, my being on the team or +off it isn't going to make a half of one per cent's +difference next Saturday."</p> + +<p>There was silence in the room for a moment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +Then Amy went dejectedly back to the window-seat +and threw himself on it at full length. "I +think you might, Tom," he said finally, "if only on +my account!"</p> + +<p>"Why on your account?" laughed Tom.</p> + +<p>"Because I'm the guy that got you all into the +mess, that's why. And I've felt good and mean +about it ever since. And now, when we think up a +perfectly good way to—to undo the mischief I +made, you act like a mule. Think what a relief it +would be to my conscience, Tom, if you got off pro +and went back and played against Claflin!"</p> + +<p>"I don't care a continental about your conscience, +Amy. In fact I never knew before that +you had one!"</p> + +<p>"I've got a very nice one, thanks. It's well-trained, +too. It——" Amy's voice trailed off into +silence and for the next five minutes or so he took +no part in the conversation, but just laid on the +cushions and stared intently at the ceiling. Then, +suddenly, he thumped his feet to the floor and +reached for his cap.</p> + +<p>"What time is it?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Most eight," said Tim. "We'd better +beat it."</p> + +<p>"What time——" began Amy. Then he +stopped, pulled his cap on his head and literally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +hurled himself across the room and through the +door, leaving the others to gaze at each other +amazedly.</p> + +<p>"Well, what's wrong with him?" gasped Tim.</p> + +<p>"He's got something in that crazy head of his," +answered Tom uneasily. "Don't let him start that +petition business, Tim, will you? I don't want to +seem mean or anything, you know, but I'd rather +let things be as they are. Come up again, fellows. +And maybe today's showing doesn't mean anything, +Tim, just as you said. We'll hope so, eh?"</p> + +<p>Faculty conferences took place on Monday +evenings at half-past seven in the faculty meeting +room in Main Hall. At such times, with the principal, +Mr. Fernald, presiding at the end of the +long table and all members of the faculty able to +attend ranged on either side, all and sundry matters +pertaining to the government of the school +came up for discussion. The business portion of +the conference was followed by an informal half-hour +of talk, during which many of the students +were subjected to a dissection that would have +surprised them vastly had they known of it. Tonight, +however, the executive session was still +going on and Mr. Brooke, the secretary, was still +making notes at the foot of the table, when there +came a rap at the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Fernald nodded to Mr. Brooke. "See who +it is, please," he said.</p> + +<p>The secretary laid down his pen very carefully +on the clean square of blue blotting-paper before +him, pushed back his chair and opened the door a +few inches. When he turned around his countenance +expressed a sort of pained disapprobation. +"It's Byrd, sir," announced Mr. Brooke in a low, +shocked voice. "He says he'd like to speak to +you."</p> + +<p>"Byrd? Well, tell him I'm busy," replied the +principal. "If he wants to wait I'll see him after +the conference. Although"—Mr. Fernald glanced +at the clock—"it's only four minutes to eight and +he'd better get back to his room. Tell him I'll +see him at the Cottage at nine, Mr. Brooke. As I +was saying," and Mr. Fernald faced the company +again, "I think it would be well to arrange for a +longer course this Winter. Last year, as you'll +recall—— Eh? What is it?"</p> + +<p>"He says, sir, that it's a faculty matter," announced +Mr. Brooke deprecatingly, "and asks to +be allowed to come in for a minute."</p> + +<p>"A faculty matter? Well, in that case—— +All right, Mr. Brooke, tell him to come in."</p> + +<p>As Amy entered eight pairs of eyes regarded +him curiously; nine, in fact, for Mr. Brooke, closing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +the door softly behind the visitor, gazed at him +in questioning disapproval.</p> + +<p>"Well, Byrd, what can we do for you?" Mr. +Fernald smiled, doubtless with the wish to dispel +embarrassment. But he needn't have troubled +about that, for Amy didn't look or act in the least +embarrassed. "I'm afraid," continued the principal, +"that I can't offer you a chair, for we're +rather busy just now. What was it you wanted to +speak of?"</p> + +<p>"I guess it looks pretty cheeky, sir, for me to +butt in here," replied Amy, with a smile, "but it's +rather important, sir, and—and if anything's to +be done about it it'll have to be done tonight."</p> + +<p>"Really? Well, it does sound important. Suppose +you tell us about it, Byrd."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir." Amy paused, gathering his +words in order. "It's this, Mr. Fernald: when +we fellows were put on pro—probation, I mean, it +was intended that we should all get the same punishment, +wasn't it, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Let me see, that was the affair of—— Ah, yes, +I recall it. Why, yes, Byrd, naturally it was meant +to treat you all alike. What complaint have +you?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't exactly a complaint, sir. But it's this +way. There were nine of us altogether. It was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +my fault in the first place because I put them up to +it. They'd never thought of it if I hadn't." Amy +glanced at Mr. Moller. "It was a pretty silly piece +of business, sir, and we got what we deserved. +But—but none of us meant to—to hurt anyone's +feelings, sir. It was just a lark. We didn't think +that——"</p> + +<p>"We'll allow that, Byrd. Please get down to +the purpose of this unusual visit," said Mr. +Fernald drily.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Well, eight of us it doesn't matter +so much about. We aren't football men and being +on probation doesn't cut so much—I mean it +doesn't matter so much. But Tom Hall's a football +man, sir, and it's different for him. This is +his last year here and losing his place on the team +was hard lines. That's what I'm trying to get at, +sir. You meant that we were all to be punished +the same, but we weren't. It's just about twice +as hard on Tom as it is on the rest of us. You see +that, sir, don't you?"</p> + +<p>There was a moment of silence and then Mr. +Simkins coughed. Or did he chuckle? Amy +couldn't tell. But the principal dropped his eyes +and tapped his blotter with the tip of the pencil he +held. At last:</p> + +<p>"That's a novel point of view, Byrd," he said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +"There may be something in it. But I must remind +you that the Law—and the faculty stands for +the Law here—takes no cognisance of conditions +existing—hem!" Mr. Fernald glanced doubtfully +down the table. "Perhaps it should, though. +We'll pass that question for the moment. What +is it you suggest, Byrd?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, the team's in punk shape. It was +awful today. It needs Tom, sir; needs him +awfully. I don't say that we'll beat Claflin if he +should play, Mr. Fernald, but I'm mighty sure we +won't if he doesn't. And it seemed to me that +maybe you and the other faculty members hadn't +thought of how much harder you were giving it to +Tom than to the rest of us, and that if you did +know, realise it, sir, you'd maybe consider that +he'd had about enough and let him off so he +might play Saturday. The rest of us haven't any +kick coming, sir. It's just Tom. And he doesn't +know that I'm here, either. We tried to get him +to let us petition faculty, but he wouldn't. He said +he was going to take the same punishment as the +rest of us."</p> + +<p>"Then he doesn't agree with your contention, +Byrd?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he sees I'm right, Mr. Fernald, but he—he's +obstinate!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Fernald smiled, as did most of the others.</p> + +<p>"Byrd, I think you ought to take a law course," +said the principal. "I might answer you as I +started to by pointing out that it is no business of +ours whether a punishment is going to hit one fellow +harder than another; that just because it +might should make that one fellow more careful +not to transgress. But you've taken the wind out +of my sails by getting me to testify that we intended +the punishment to be the same for all. +You've put us in a difficult place, Byrd. If we +should lift probation in Hall's case it would seem +that we had different laws for team members than +for boys unconnected with athletics. You've made +a very eloquent plea, but I don't just see——" +Mr. Fernald hesitated. Then: "Possibly someone +has some suggestion," he added, and it seemed to +Amy that his gaze rested on Mr. Moller for an +instant.</p> + +<p>At all events it was the new member of the faculty +who spoke. "If I might, sir," he said hesitatingly, +"I'd like to make the suggestion that +probation be lifted from all. It seems to me that +that would—would simplify things, Mr. Fernald."</p> + +<p>"Hm. Yes. Possibly. As the target of the +extremely vulgar proceeding, Mr. Moller, the suggestion +coming from you bears weight. Byrd,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +you'd better get to your studies. You'll learn our +decision in the morning. Your action is commendable, +my boy, and we'll take that into consideration +also. Good-night."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, sir. Good-night, sirs. Thank +you."</p> + +<p>Amy retired unhurriedly, unembarrassedly, and +with dignity, as befitted one who had opened the +eyes of Authority to the error of its ways!</p> + +<p>The next morning Mr. Fernald announced in +chapel that at the request of Mr. Moller, and in +consideration of good behaviour, the faculty had +voted to lift probation from the following students: +Hall——</p> + +<p>But just there the applause began and the other +eight names were not heard.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>THE DOCTOR TELLS A STORY</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Tuesday</span>, with the return of all first-string players +to the line-up and the appearance of Tom Hall +once more at right guard, practice went about a +hundred per cent better, and those who turned +out to watch it went back to the campus considerably +encouraged. The showing of the team +naturally had an effect on the spirit of the mass +meeting that evening. Ever since the Southby +game the school had been holding meetings and +"getting up steam" for the Claflin contest, but +they had been tame affairs in contrast with tonight's. +Brimfield was football-crazy now, for +the Big Game loomed enormous but four days +away. Fellows read football in the papers, talked +football and, some of them, dreamed football. +The news from Claflin was read and discussed +eagerly. The fortunes of the rival eleven were +watched just as closely as those of the home team. +When a Claflin player wrenched an ankle Brimfield +gasped excitedly. When it was published +that Cox, of the blue team, had dropped fourteen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +goals out of twenty tries from the thirty-five-yard +line and at a severe angle, depression prevailed at +Brimfield. The news that the Claflin scrubs had +held the first to only one touchdown in thirty minutes +of play sent Brimfield's spirits soaring! Fellows +neglected lessons brazenly and during that +week of the final battle there was a scholastic +slump that would undoubtedly have greatly +alarmed the faculty if the latter, rendered wise by +experience, hadn't expected it.</div> + +<p>The first team players were excused from study +hour subsequent to Monday in order that they +might attend blackboard lectures and signal drills +in the gymnasium. On Tuesday night, after an +hour's session, and in response to public clamour, +they filed onto the platform just before the meeting +was to begin at nine-fifteen and, somewhat +embarrassedly, seated themselves in the chairs +arranged across the back. Mr. Fernald was there, +and Mr. Conklin, the athletic director, and +Coaches Robey and Boutelle, and Trainer Danny +Moore, and Manager Morton and Childers, captain +of the baseball team. And Steve Payne was +at the piano. Also, sitting beside Mr. Robey, was +Doctor Proctor.</p> + +<p>Childers, who was cheer leader that Fall, presided, +and, after the assemblage had clapped and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +shouted "A-a-ay!" as each newcomer appeared +on the platform, opened proceedings with the +School Song. Then Mr. Fernald spoke briefly, +Captain Edwards followed, each being cheered +loudly and long, and Childers introduced Mr. +Robey. "What we are all anxious to know tonight," +said Childers, "is whether we're going +to win next Saturday. Mr. Fernald has said that +he <i>hopes</i> we shall, Captain Edwards has said that +he <i>thinks</i> we shall, and now we're going to hear +from the only one who <i>knows!</i> Fellows, a long +cheer for Mr. Robey, and make it good! Are you +all ready? Now then! One—two—three!"</p> + +<p>"Brimfield! Brimfield! Brimfield! Rah, rah, +rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Brimfield! +Brimfield! Brimfield! Robey!"</p> + +<p>When the cheering, and the shouting and clapping +and stamping that followed for good measure, +had quieted down, Mr. Robey said: "Fellows, +Captain Childers is much too flattering. I'm not +gifted with second-sight, even if he thinks so. I +don't know any more than he does or you do +whether we're going to win on Saturday. Like +Mr. Fernald, I <i>hope</i> we are and, like Captain Edwards, +I <i>think</i> we are." Cheers interrupted then. +"But I don't want to make any prediction. I'll +say one thing, though, and that is this: If the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +team plays the way it <i>can</i> play, if it makes full +use of the ability that's in it, there's only one +thing that can happen, and that's a Brimfield victory! +I've got every reason to expect that the +team <i>will</i> do its utmost, and that is why I say that +I think we'll win. We must remember that we're +going up against a strong team, a team that in +some ways has shown itself so far this season our +superior. I don't say that the Claflin eleven is +any better than ours. I don't <i>think</i> so, not for a +moment. Our team this Fall is as good as last +year's team. We've had our little upsets; we +always do; but we've come down to practically the +eve of the game in good shape. Every fellow has +done his best and, I am firmly convinced, is going +to do a little better than his best on Saturday +afternoon. And that little better is what will decide +the game, fellows. After the coaches have +done their part and the players have toiled hard +and earnestly and enthusiastically, why then it +all comes down to <i>fight!</i> And so it's fight that's +going to win the game.</p> + +<p>"You fellows must do your part, though. You +must be right back of the team, every minute—and +let them know it. Cheering helps a team to +win, no matter what anyone may say to the contrary. +Only cheer at the right times, fellows.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +Just making a noise indiscriminately is poor stuff. +But I don't need to tell you this, I guess, because +your cheer leader knows what to do better than I +do. But let the team know that you're right with +them, backing them up all the time, fighting behind +them, boosting them along! It counts, fellows, +take my word for it!</p> + +<p>"And now there's one other thing I want to say +before I make way for someone who can really +talk. It's this, fellows. Don't forget the team +that has helped us all season, the team that +doesn't get into the limelight. And don't forget +the coach, who has worked just as hard, perhaps +a good deal harder, to develop that team than I've +worked. I'm going to ask you to show your appreciation +of the unselfish devotion of Coach +Boutelle and one of the finest second teams Brimfield +has ever had!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robey bowed and retreated and Childers +jumped to his feet.</p> + +<p>"A cheer for Coach Boutelle, fellows!" he +shouted. "A long cheer and a whopper!" And, +when it had been given lustily: "And now one +for the second team!" he cried. "Everyone into +it! One—two—three!" The enthusiasm was +mounting high now, and, after the cheer had died +away, there were demands for a song. "We want<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +to sing!" proclaimed the meeting. "<i>We want to +sing!</i>"</p> + +<p>Childers held up a hand. "All right, fellows! +Just a minute, please! We've got a guest with us +this evening, an honoured guest, fellows. Those +of you who know football history know his name +as well as you know the names of Heffelfinger and +DeWitt and Coy and Brickley and—and many +others in the Football Hall of Fame! I know you +want to hear from him and I hope he will be willing +to say a few words." Childers glanced at Doctor +Proctor and the latter, smiling, shook his head +energetically. "He says he will be glad to, fellows," +continued Childers mendaciously, amidst +laughter, "and so I'm going to call first for a cheer +for—if the gentleman will pardon me—'Gus' +Proctor, famous Princeton and All-America +tackle, and after that we're going to listen very +attentively to him. Now, then, everyone into this! +A long cheer for Doctor Proctor!"</p> + +<p>"I'm an awfully poor speaker, fellows," began +the doctor, when he had advanced to the front of +the platform. "I appreciate this honour and if I +don't do justice to the fine reputation your—your +imaginative cheer leader has provided me with +you must try to forgive me. Speaking isn't my +line. If any of you would like to have a leg sawed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> +off or something of that sort I'd be glad to do it +free of charge just to prove that—well, that +there's something I <i>can</i> do fairly decently!</p> + +<p>"I saw your team practice yesterday and I +thought then that perhaps an operation would +benefit it. Then I saw it again today and discovered +that my first diagnosis was wrong. Fellows, +I call it a good team. I think you've got material +there that's equal to any I've ever seen on a school +team. Your coach says he won't prophesy as to +your game on Saturday. I've known George +Robey for ten years. He isn't a bad sort, take him +all around, but he's a pessimist of the most pessimistic +sort. He's the kind of chap who, if you +sprang that old reliable one on him about every +cloud having a silver lining, would shrug his +shoulders and say, 'Humph! More likely nickel-plated!' +That's the sort he is, boys. Now I'm +just the opposite, and, at the risk of displeasing +George, I'm going to tell you that, from what I've +seen of the Brimfield football team in practice, +I'm firmly convinced that it's going to win!"</p> + +<p>Loud and prolonged cheering greeted that prediction, +and it was fully a minute before the +speaker could proceed.</p> + +<p>"I've played the game in my day and I've +coached teams, boys, and I think I've got a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +of what your coach disclaimed. I mean a sort of—well, +not second-sight, but a sort of ability to +tell what a team will do from the looks of the +players on it. In my profession we have to study +human nature a lot and we get so we can classify +folks after we've looked them over and watched +them awhile. We make mistakes sometimes, but +on the whole we manage fairly well to put folks +in the classes they belong in. Doing that with +the members of your team I find that almost without +exception they class with the kind of fellows +who <i>don't like to be beaten!</i> And when a fellow +doesn't like to be beaten he isn't—not very often.</p> + +<p>"I think I can read in the faces I see here tonight +a great deal of that same spirit, and if the +team has it and you fellows behind the team have +it, why, I wouldn't give a last year's plug-hat for +Claflin's chances next Saturday!</p> + +<p>"Football," continued Doctor Proctor presently, +"is a fine game. It's fun to play and it's a +wonderful thing to train a fellow's body and mind. +I've heard lots of folks object to it on various +scores, but I've never heard an objection yet that +carried any weight. More often than not those +who run football down don't know the game. Why, +if it did no more than teach us obedience and +discipline it would be worth while. But it does<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +far more than that. It gives us strong, dependable +bodies, it teaches us to think—and think +quick, and it gives us courage, physical and moral. +I'm going to tell you of an incident that I witnessed +only a few weeks since if you'll let me. I +fear I'm taking up too much time——"</p> + +<p>There were cries of "No, no!" and "Go +ahead!"</p> + +<p>"I'll try to be brief. Last Fall I was travelling +on a train out my way, to be exact some eighty +miles west of Cincinnati, when we had an accident. +A freight train was slow about taking a +side track and we came along and banged into it. +It was about five o'clock in the morning and most +of the passengers were asleep. A wreck's a nasty +thing in any case, but when it happens at night or +before it is light enough to see it is worse. The +forward cars of our train and the freight caught +fire from the engines, and there was a good deal +of loose steam around, and things were pretty +messy for awhile. There happened to be another +doctor on the train and, as soon as we got our +bearings, we started a first-aid camp alongside the +track. Some of the passengers, mostly in the day +coaches up front, were badly burned and we had +our hands full.</p> + +<p>"There is always more or less confusion in an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +affair of that sort and it was some minutes after +the accident before the rescue work got under way. +But one of the first rescuers I noticed was a young +chap, a boy in fact, probably about seventeen +years old. He didn't have a great deal on, I remember, +but he was certainly Johnny-on-the-spot +that morning! It was he who brought the first patient +to me, a little dried-up Hebrew peddler I +judged him, who had been caught under some +wreckage in the forward day-coach. He had a +broken forearm and while I was busy with him I +saw this young chap climbing in and out of windows +and wading through wreckage and always +coming out again with someone. How many folks +he pulled away from the flames and the scalding +steam I don't know, but I never saw anyone work +harder or more—more efficiently. Yes, efficiently +is just the word I want! And I said to myself at +the time: 'That fellow is a football man! And +I'll bet he's a good one!' You see, it wasn't only +that he had courage to risk himself, but he had the +ability to see what was to be done and to do it, +and do it quick! Why, he was pulling injured +women and children and men from those burning, +overturned cars before a grown-up man had +sensed what had happened! And later on, when +we'd done what we could for the burned and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +scalded bodies and limbs, I got hold of the boy for +a moment. I asked him his name and he told it, +and then I said: 'You've played football, haven't +you?' And he said he had, a little. He wasn't +much of a talker, and when some of us said some +nice things about what he had done he got horribly +fussed and tried to get away. But someone +wanted to shake hands with him, and he wouldn't, +and I saw that his own hand was burned all inside +the palm, deep and nasty. 'How did you do +that?' I asked him as I dressed it. Oh, he didn't +know. He thought he'd got his hand caught between +some beams or something; couldn't get it +out for a minute. It wasn't much of a burn! Well, +the wrecking train and a hospital train came along +about then and I lost sight of that chap, and I +didn't see him again.</p> + +<p>"I've told the story because I think it bears me +out when I say that football is fine training. I +don't say that that boy wouldn't have been just as +brave and eager to help if he hadn't been a football +player, but I do maintain that he wouldn't +have known what to do as readily or how to do it +and wouldn't have got at it as quickly. And when +the flames are eating their way back from car to +car quickness means a whole lot! That's the end +of my story, boys. But while I've been telling it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> +I've been looking for some sign to tell me that +you recognised the hero of it. I don't find the +sign and I'm puzzled. Perhaps you're so accustomed +to heroes here at Brimfield that one more +or less doesn't stir you. For the satisfaction of +my own curiosity I'm going to ask you if you +know who I've been talking about."</p> + +<p>A deep silence was the only answer. The doctor's +audience looked extremely interested and +curious, but no one spoke.</p> + +<p>"I see. You don't know. Well, perhaps I'd +better not tell then." But a chorus of protest +arose. The doctor hesitated, and his gaze seemed +to rest intently on a spot at one side of the hall +and about half-way back. Finally, when silence +had fallen again: "I guess I will tell," he said. +"It can't do him or you any harm. It may help +a little to know that there's one amongst you fine +enough to do what I've described. I've never +seen that boy from the moment the wrecking train +reached the scene of the wreck until tonight, and +so I've never spoken to him again. But as I sat +on the platform here awhile ago I looked and saw +him. I don't forget faces very easily, and as you +can understand, I wasn't likely to forget his. As +I say, I haven't spoken to him yet, but I'm going +to now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a silence in which a dropped pin +would have made a noise like a crowbar. Half the +audience had turned their heads in the direction +of Doctor Proctor's smiling gaze, but all eyes were +fixed on his lips. The breathless silence lengthened. +Then the doctor spoke.</p> + +<p>"How is your hand, Gilbert?" he asked.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>COACH ROBEY IS PUZZLED</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Some</span> twenty minutes later Don dropped into a +chair in Number 6 and heaved a deep sigh of +relief. "Gee," he muttered, "I wouldn't go +through that again for—for a million dollars!"</div> + +<p>Tim chuckled as he seated himself beyond the +table. "Why not?" he asked innocently. "I +thought everyone treated you very nicely."</p> + +<p>A smile flitted across Don's face. "I suppose +they did, only—I guess that was the trouble! I +felt like an awful fool, Tim! Look here, what did +he have to go and tell everything he knew for? I +was afraid he was going to and I wanted like anything +to sneak out of there, but the place was so +quiet I didn't have the nerve! At first I didn't +suspect that he had seen me. I didn't recognise +him until he stood up to speak this evening. Yesterday +I thought he looked sort of familiar, but I +couldn't place him. He—he talks too much!"</p> + +<p>"He said some awfully nice things about you, +old man."</p> + +<p>"He said a lot of nonsense, too! Exaggerated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +the whole thing, he did. Why, to listen to him +you'd think I saved about a thousand people from +certain death! Well, I didn't. I helped about six +or seven folks out of those cars. They were sort +of rattled and didn't seem to know enough to +beat it."</p> + +<p>"They weren't in any danger, then?"</p> + +<p>"No, not much. All they had to do was crawl +out of the way."</p> + +<p>"Then they weren't any of them burned, Don?"</p> + +<p>"A few were."</p> + +<p>"How about the man with the broken arm?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'd got caught somehow." Don looked +up and saw Tim's laugh. "Well," he added defensively, +"he needn't have told about it like that, +right out in front of the whole school, need +he?"</p> + +<p>"You bet he need! Donald, you're a bloomin', +blushin' hero, and we're proud of you! And when +I say blushing I mean it, for you haven't stopped +yet!"</p> + +<p>"I guess you'd blush," growled Don, "if it happened +to you!"</p> + +<p>"I dare say, but it never will. <i>I'll</i> never have +the whole school get up on their feet and cheer me +like mad for three solid minutes! And I'll never +have Josh shake my hand off and beam at me and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +tell me I'm a credit to the school! Such beautiful +things are not for poor little Tim!"</p> + +<p>Don sighed. "Well, it's over with, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Over with, nothing! It won't be over with as +long as you stay here, Donald. A hero you are and +a hero you remain, old chap. And—and I'm +mighty proud of you, you old humbug! Telling +us you didn't do anything but help lug folks to the +relief train, or something!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say that," replied Don defensively.</p> + +<p>"You let us think it. Gee, if I'd done anything +like that I'd have put it in the papers!" Tim +chuckled and then went on seriously. "You don't +need to worry about the fellows thinking you a +quitter any more, do you? I guess Proctor settled +that once and for all, Don. And suppose you'd +run away home the other night. This wouldn't +have happened and fellows would have said you +had a yellow streak. I guess it was a mighty +lucky thing you have little Tim to look after you, +dearie!"</p> + +<p>"I'm glad I didn't," said Don earnestly. "I'd +have made a worse mess of it, shouldn't I? I—I'm +sorry you got that punch, though, Timmy."</p> + +<p>"Forget it! It was worth it! Being the room-mate +of a hero atones for everything you ever did +to me, Donald. I'm that proud——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Tim didn't finish, for Don started around +the table for him.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At the time this conversation was taking place +Mr. Robey and Doctor Proctor were walking back +to the former's room in the village through a +frosty, starlit night.</p> + +<p>"You certainly managed to spring a sensation, +Gus," observed the coach as they turned into the +road.</p> + +<p>"I should say so! Well, that boy deserved all +the cheering and praise he received. And I'm +glad I told that story."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's got me guessing," responded the +other. "Look here, Gus, take a chap like the one +you described tonight. What would you think if +he quit cold a week before the big game?"</p> + +<p>"Quit? How do you mean, George?"</p> + +<p>"Just that. Develops an imaginary illness. +Tells you he doesn't feel well enough to play, in +spite of the fact that he has nothing more the +matter with him than you or I have. Probably +not so much. Shows absolute relief when you tell +him he's dropped. What would you say to that?"</p> + +<p>"You mean Gilbert did that?" Mr. Robey assented. +"I wondered why he wasn't on the platform +with the rest of the team," mused the doctor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +"I'd say there was something queer about +it, George. When did this happen?"</p> + +<p>"Last week. Thursday or Friday, I think. +He'd been laid off for a day or so and I thought +he'd gone a bit fine, although he's rather too +phlegmatic to suffer much from nerves. Some of +the high-strung chaps do go to pieces about this +time and you have to nurse them along pretty +carefully. But Gilbert! Well, on Saturday—yes, +that was the day—he'd been reported perfectly +fit by the trainer and just as a matter of form I +asked him if he was ready to play. And, by +Jove, he had the cheek to face me and say he +wasn't well enough! It was nonsense, of course. +He'd simply got scared. I told him so and +dropped him. But it's curious that a boy who +could do what you told of this evening could prove +a quitter like that."</p> + +<p>"You say he seemed relieved when you let +him go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he showed it plainly."</p> + +<p>"That is funny! I wonder what the truth of +it is?"</p> + +<p>"Nerves, I suppose. Cold feet, as the fellows +say."</p> + +<p>"Never! There's something else, old man, that +you haven't got hold of. Can he play?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Y-yes. Yes, he can play. He's the sort that +comes slow and plays a bit logy, but he's steady +and works hard. Not a brilliant man, you know, +but dependable. He's been playing guard. +Losing him has left us a bit weak on that side, +too."</p> + +<p>"Why not take him back then? Look here, +George, you're a good coach and all that, but +you're a mighty poor judge of human nature."</p> + +<p>"Piffle!"</p> + +<p>"It's so, though. You've only got to study that +chap Gilbert to see that he isn't the quitting kind. +His looks show it, his manner shows it, the way +he talks shows it. He's the sort that might want +to quit; we all do sometimes; but he couldn't because +he's got stuff in him that wouldn't let him!"</p> + +<p>"That's all well enough, Gus, but facts are +facts. Gilbert <i>did</i> quit, and quit cold on me. So +theories don't count for much. And this human +nature flapdoodle——"</p> + +<p>"I don't say he didn't quit. But I do say that +you've made the wrong diagnosis, George. Did +you talk to him? Ask him what the trouble was? +Go after the symptoms?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm no physician. He said he wasn't feeling +well enough to play. I told him we had no +place for quitters on the team. He had nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> +to say to that. If you think I can feel the pulse +and look at the tongue of every fellow——"</p> + +<p>Doctor Proctor laughed. "And take his temperature +too, eh? No, I don't expect you to do +that, George. But I'll tell you what I would do, +and I'd do it tomorrow too. I'd call around and +see Gilbert. I'd tell him that I wasn't satisfied +with the explanation he'd made and I'd ask him +to make a clean breast of the trouble, for he must +be in some trouble or he wouldn't thank you for +firing him. And then I'd stop cutting off my nose +to spite my face and I'd reinstate him tomorrow +afternoon!"</p> + +<p>"Hmph! The trouble with you doctors is that +you're too romantic. You imagine things, +you——"</p> + +<p>"We have to imagine, George. If we stuck to +facts we'd never get anywhere in our profession! +You try a little imagination, old chap. +You're too matter-of-fact. What you can't see +you won't believe in."</p> + +<p>"I certainly won't! As the kids say, seeing's +believing."</p> + +<p>"Well, there's a very unattractive board fence +across the road, George. On the other side of it +there are shrubs and grass. I can't see them, but +I know they're there."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> + +<p>"More likely tin-cans and ashes," grunted Mr. +Robey.</p> + +<p>"Pessimist!" laughed the other. "But never +mind; ashes or grass, something's there, and you +can't see it and yet you've got to acknowledge the +existence of it. Now haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so, but"—Mr. Robey laughed—"I'd +rather see it!"</p> + +<p>"Climb the fence and have a look then! But +you'll try my plan with the boy, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will. If only to satisfy my curiosity, +Gus. Hang it, the chap <i>can't</i> be a quitter!"</p> + +<p>"He isn't. I'll stake my reputation as—as a +romanticist on that! I'd like mighty well to stay +and solve the mystery with you, but I'll have to +jump for that early train. I wish, though, that +you'd drop me a line and tell me the outcome. +I'm interested—and puzzled."</p> + +<p>"All right. I'm not much of a letter-writer, +though. I'll see you before you go back and tell +you about it. You'll be in New York on Sunday, +won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Until two o'clock. Have lunch with me and +see me off. Come to the hotel as early as you can +and we'll hold post-mortems on the games. Let's +hope that Princeton and Brimfield both win next +Saturday, George!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>CROSS-EXAMINATION</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Don</span> found being a hero an embarrassing business +the next day. The masters bothered him by stopping +and shaking hands and saying nice things, +and the fellows beamed on him if they weren't +well enough acquainted to speak and insisted on +having a full and detailed history of that train-wreck +if they were! Of course they all, masters +and students, meant well and wanted to show +their admiration, but Don wished they wouldn't. +It made him feel horribly self-conscious, and +feeling self-conscious was distinctly uncomfortable. +At breakfast table his companions referred +to last evening's incident laughingly and poked +fun at Don and enjoyed his embarrassment, but +it wasn't difficult to tell that Doctor Proctor's +narrative had made a strong impression on them +and increased their liking for Don. When, just +before Don had finished his meal, Mr. Robey left +the training-table and crossed the room toward +him he braced himself for another scene in which +he would have to stand up and be shaken by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +hand, and possibly, and worst of all, listen to some +sort of an apology from the coach. But Don was +spared, for Mr. Robey only placed a hand on the +back of his chair, included the rest of the occupants +of the table in his "Good-morning," and said +carelessly: "Gilbert, I wish you'd drop over to +Mr. Conklin's office some time this morning and +see me. What time can you come?"</div> + +<p>"Half-past ten, sir?"</p> + +<p>"That will be all right, thanks."</p> + +<p>The coach returned to his table, leaving Don +wondering what was up. Possibly, he thought, +the coach wanted to make some sort of retraction +of his accusation of Saturday, although Don +didn't believe that Mr. Robey was the sort to funk +a public apology. If it wasn't that it could only +be that he was to be offered his place on the team +again. Don sighed. That would be beastly, for +he would have to tell more fibs, and brand new +ones, too, since not even a blind man would believe +him ill now! It was something of a coincidence +that Don should run across Walton in the corridor +a few minutes later. Don was for passing by +with no recognition of the other, but Walton, with +a smirk, placed himself fairly in the way.</p> + +<p>"Great stuff, Gilbert," he said with an attempted +heartiness. "Some hero, eh, what?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Drop it, Walton!" Don lowered his voice, +for others were passing toward the doorway. +"And I'll thank you not to speak to me. You +know my opinion of you. Now shut up!"</p> + +<p>Walton found nothing to say until it was too +late. Don approached the gymnasium after his +ten o'clock recitation with lagging feet. He had +scant taste for the impending interview and would +have gladly avoided it if such a thing had been +possible. But he didn't see any way out of it and +he heard the big door bang to behind him with +a sinking heart. Why, he hadn't even thought up +any new excuse!</p> + +<p>Mr. Robey and Mr. Conklin, the athletic +director, were both in the latter's room when Don +knocked at the half-opened door. Mr. Conklin +said "Good-morning" and then followed it with: +"I've got something to attend to on the floor, +Robey, if you'll excuse me," and went out, closing +the door behind him. Don wished he had stayed. +He took the chair vacated by the director and +faced Coach Robey with as much ease as he could +assume, which was very little. The coach began +without much preamble.</p> + +<p>"I didn't ask you over here to talk about last +night, Gilbert, or to offer you any apology for +what I said on the field last Saturday. I don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> +believe much in spoken apologies. If I'm wrong +I show it and there's no mistake about it. I think +I was wrong in your case, Gilbert. And I'll say +so, if you like, very gladly, and act so if you'll +prove it."</p> + +<p>"I don't want any apology, sir," answered +Don. "I guess you were right enough."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's what I want to find out. What +<i>was</i> the trouble, Gilbert?"</p> + +<p>"Why, just what I said, Coach. I—I didn't +feel very fit and I didn't think it would be any +use playing, feeling like I did. If you don't feel +well you can't play very well, and so I thought I'd +say so. I didn't mind being dropped, sir. I deserved +it. And—and that's quite all right." Don +got up, his eyes shifting to the door.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute! Let's get the truth of this. +You're lying, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>Don tried to look indignant and failed, tried to +look hurt and failed again. Then he gave it up +and dropped his gaze before the searching eyes +of the other. "I'm feeling some better now," he +muttered.</p> + +<p>Coach Robey laughed shortly. "Gilbert, you +can't lie worth a cent! Now, look here. I'm +your friend. Why not come across and tell me +what's up? I know you weren't sick. Danny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> +gave you a clean bill of health that morning. And +I know you haven't got any nerves to speak of. +There's something else, Gilbert. Now what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then why did you act that way?"</p> + +<p>"I—I just didn't want to play."</p> + +<p>"Didn't want to play! Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I wasn't doing very well, and it was pretty +hard work, and there was Walton after the place, +too. He could play better than I could."</p> + +<p>"Who told you so? Walton?" asked the coach +drily.</p> + +<p>"I could see it," murmured Don.</p> + +<p>"So you were suddenly afraid of hard work, +eh? It had never bothered you before, had it? +Last year or this year either?"</p> + +<p>"No, I guess not."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was more because you felt that +Walton would be a better man for the place, +then?" surmised the coach.</p> + +<p>Don agreed eagerly. It was a case of any port +in a storm by now and he was glad enough to have +the coach find an explanation. "Yes, sir, I guess +that was it."</p> + +<p>"Well, that was generous of you," said the +other approvingly. "But didn't it occur to you +that perhaps I would be a better one to decide<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> +that matter than you? You've never known me +to keep a fellow on the team for sentimental reasons, +have you?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"Hm. Now when was it—I mean how long before +last Saturday was it—that you and Walton +talked it over?"</p> + +<p>"Sir?" Don looked up startledly. "I—we—there +wasn't any talk about it," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Well, what did Walton say?"</p> + +<p>Don hesitated, studying Mr. Robey's face in +the hope of discovering how much that gentleman +knew. Finally: "When do you mean?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"I mean the time you and Walton talked about +which was the best man for the position," replied +the other easily. To himself he reflected that he +was following Gus Proctor's advice with a vengeance! +But he was by this time pretty certain +of his ground.</p> + +<p>"I don't remember that we ever—exactly did +that," Don faltered. "There was some talk, +maybe, but he—he never said anything like that."</p> + +<p>"Like what?"</p> + +<p>"Why, that he was a better guard."</p> + +<p>"Then what put the idea in your head, Gilbert?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose I just saw it myself."</p> + +<p>"But you were playing the position pretty regularly +before Thursday or whatever day it was +you were taken ill, weren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then how could you tell that Walton was better?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. He—he seemed better. And +then Tim told me I was too slow."</p> + +<p>"Tim Otis? Otis had better mind his own +business," grumbled the coach. "So that was it, +then. All right. I'm glad to get the <i>truth</i> of the +matter." The little tightening of Don's mouth +didn't escape him. "Now, then, I'm going to surprise +you, Gilbert. I'm going to surprise you +mightily. I'm going to tell you that Walton is <i>not</i> +a better left guard than you. He isn't nearly so +good. That does surprise you, doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>Don nodded, his eyes fixed uneasily on the +coach's.</p> + +<p>"Well, there it is, anyway. And so I think the +best thing for all of us, Gilbert, is for you to come +back to work this afternoon."</p> + +<p>Don's look of dismay quite startled the other.</p> + +<p>"But I'd rather not, sir! I—I'm out of practice +now. I've quit training. I've been eating all +sorts of things; potatoes and fresh bread and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> +pastry—no end of pastry, sir!—and—and +candy——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robey grunted. "You don't show it," he +said. "Anyway, I guess that won't matter. I'll +chance it. Three o'clock, then, Gilbert."</p> + +<p>Don's gaze sought the floor and he shook his +head. "I'd rather not, sir, if you don't mind," +he muttered.</p> + +<p>"But I do mind. The team needs you, Gilbert! +And now that I know that you didn't quit because +you were <i>afraid</i>——"</p> + +<p>"I did, though!" Don looked up desperately. +"That was the truth of it!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robey sighed deeply. "Gilbert," he said +patiently, "if I couldn't lie better than you can I +wouldn't try it! You weren't afraid and you +aren't afraid and you know it and I know it! So, +then, is it Walton?"</p> + +<p>After a moment Don nodded silently.</p> + +<p>"You think he's a better man than you +are, eh?"</p> + +<p>Don nodded again, but hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"Or you've taken pity on him and want him to +play against Claflin, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. You see, his folks are going to be +here and they'll expect him to play!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see. You and Walton come from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> +same town? But of course you don't. How did +you know his folks were coming, then?"</p> + +<p>"He told me."</p> + +<p>"When?"</p> + +<p>"About—some time last week."</p> + +<p>"Was it the day you had that talk about the +position and which of you was to have it?"</p> + +<p>"I guess so. Yes, sir, it was that time."</p> + +<p>"And he, perhaps, suggested that it would be +a nice idea for you to back out and let him +in, eh?"</p> + +<p>Don was silent.</p> + +<p>"Did he?" insisted the coach.</p> + +<p>"He said that his folks were coming——"</p> + +<p>"And that he'd like to get into the game so they +wouldn't be disappointed?"</p> + +<p>"Something like that," murmured Don.</p> + +<p>"And you consented?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly, but I thought it over and—and——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robey suddenly leaned forward and laid +a hand on Don's knee.</p> + +<p>"Gilbert," he asked quietly, "<i>what has Walton +got on you?</i>"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>"ALL READY, BRIMFIELD?"</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Those</span> who braved a chill east wind and went out +that afternoon to watch practice enjoyed a sensation, +for when the first team came trotting over +from the gymnasium, a half-hour later because of +a rigorous signal quiz, amongst them, dressed to +play, was Don Gilbert! A buzz of surprise and +conjecture travelled through the ranks of the shivering +onlookers, that speedily gave place to satisfaction, +and as Don, tossing aside his blanket, +followed the first-string players into the field a +small and enthusiastic First Form youth clapped +approvingly, others took it up and in a moment +the applause crackled along the side line.</div> + +<p>"That's for you," whispered Tim to Don. +"Lift off your head-guard!"</p> + +<p>But Don glanced alarmedly toward the fringe +of spectators and hid as best he could behind +Thursby! Practice went with a new vim today. +Doubtless the return of Don heartened the team, +for one thing, and then there was a snap of winter +in the air that urged to action. The second<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> +was as nearly torn to tatters this afternoon as it +had ever been, and the first scored twice in each +of the two fifteen-minute periods. "Boutelle's +Babies" were a lame and tired aggregation when +the final whistle blew!</p> + +<p>Later it became known that Walton was out +of it, had emptied his locker and retired from +football affairs for the year. All sorts of stories +circulated. One had it that he had quarrelled +with Coach Robey and been incontinently "fired." +Another that he had become huffy over Gilbert's +reinstatement and had resigned. None save Don +and Coach Robey and Walton himself knew the +truth of the matter for a long time. Don did tell +Tim eventually, but that was two years later, when +his vow of secrecy had lapsed. Just now he was +about as communicative as a sphinx, and Tim's +eager curiosity had to go unsatisfied.</p> + +<p>"But what did he <i>say?</i>" Tim demanded after +practice that afternoon. "He must have said +<i>something!</i>"</p> + +<p>Don considered leisurely. "No, nothing special. +He said I was to report for work."</p> + +<p>"Well, what did <i>you</i> say?"</p> + +<p>"I said I would!"</p> + +<p>"Well, what about Walton? Where does he +get off?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>Tim gestured despairingly. "Gee, you're certainly +a chatty party! Don't tell me any more, +please! You may say something you'll be sorry +for!"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you some day all about it, Tim. I +can't now. I said I wouldn't."</p> + +<p>"Then there is something to tell, eh? I knew +it! You can't fool your Uncle Dudley like that, +Donald! Tell me just one thing and I'll shut up. +Did you and Walton have a row the time you +went to see him in his room?"</p> + +<p>Don shook his head. "No, we didn't."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why——"</p> + +<p>"You said you'd shut up," reminded the +other.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right," grumbled Tim. "Anyway, I'm +mighty glad. Every fellow on the team is as +pleased as Punch. I guess the whole school is, +too. It was mighty decent of Robey, wasn't it? +Do you know, Don, Robey's got a lot of sense +for a football coach?"</p> + +<p>Don often wondered what had occurred and +been said at the interview between Mr. Robey and +Harry Walton. The coach had sworn Don to +silence at the termination of their interview. "If +Walton asks you whether you told me about the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> +business you can say you did, if you like. Or tell +him I wormed it out of you, which is just about +what I did do. But don't say anything to anyone +else about it; at all events, not as long as Walton's +here. I'm going to find him now and have +a talk with him. I don't think you need be at all +afraid of anything he may do after I get through +with him. You fellows clearly did wrong in outstaying +leave that night, but you had a fairly good +excuse and if you'd had enough sense to go to +faculty the next morning and explain you'd have +all got off with only a lecture, I guess. Your mistake +was in not confessing. However, I don't +consider it my place to say anything. It's an old +story now, anyhow. Be at the gym at three with +your togs, Gilbert, and do your best for us from +now on. I'm glad to have you back again. What +I said that afternoon you'd better forget. I'll +show the school that I've changed my mind about +you. I suppose I ought to make some sort of an +apology, but——"</p> + +<p>"Please don't say anything more about it, sir," +begged Don.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll say this, Gilbert: You acted like a +white man in taking your medicine and keeping +the others out of trouble. You certainly deserve +credit for that."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't see it," replied the boy. "I don't see +what else I <i>could</i> have done, Mr. Robey!"</p> + +<p>The coach pondered a moment. Then he +laughed. "I guess you're right, at that! Just +the same, you did what was square, Gilbert. All +right, then. Three o'clock." He held out his +hand and Don put his in it, and the two gripped +firmly.</p> + +<p>Hurrying back to Main Hall, Don regretted only +one thing, which was that he had in a way broken +his agreement with Walton to say nothing about +their bargain. Coach Robey, though, had pointed +out that the agreement had been terminable by +either party to it, and that in confessing to him +Don had been within his rights. "Walton can +now go ahead and take the matter to faculty, as +he threatened to do," said the coach. "Only, +when I get through talking to him I don't think +he will care to!"</p> + +<p>And apparently he hadn't, for no dire summons +reached Don from the office that day or the next, +nor did he ever hear more of the matter. Walton +displayed a retiring disposition that was new and +novel. On such infrequent occasions as Don ran +across him Walton failed to see him. The day of +the game the latter was in evidence with his +father, mother and younger brother; Don saw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +him making the rounds of the buildings with them +and he wondered in what manner Walton had +accounted to his folks for his absence from the +football team. Walton stayed on at school, very +little in evidence, until Christmas vacation, but +when the fellows reassembled after the recess he +was not amongst them. Rumour had it that he +had been taken ill and would not be back. +Rumour was proved partly right, at all events, +for Brimfield knew him no more.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The first and second teams held final practice +on Thursday. The first only ran through signals +for awhile, did some punting and catching and +then disappeared, leaving the second to play two +fifteen-minute periods with a team composed of +their own second-string and the first team's third-string +players. After that was over, the second +winning without much effort, the audience, which +had cheered and sung for the better part of an +hour, marched back to the gymnasium and did it +some more, and the second team, cheering most +enthusiastically for themselves and the first and +the school and, last but by no means least, for +Mr. Boutelle, joyously disbanded for the season.</p> + +<p>There was another mass-meeting that evening, +an intensely fervid one, followed by a parade<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> +about the campus and a good deal of noise that +was finally quelled by Mr. Fernald when, in response +to demands, he appeared on the porch of +the Cottage and made a five-minute speech which +ended with the excellent advice to return to hall +and go to bed.</p> + +<p>The players didn't attend the meeting that +night, nor were they on hand at the one that took +place the night following. Instead, they trotted +and slithered around the gymnasium floor in rubber-soled +shoes and went through their entire +repertoire of plays under the sharp eyes of +Coaches Robey and Boutelle. There was a blackboard +lecture, too, on each evening, and when, at +nine-thirty on Friday, they were dismissed, with +practice all over for the year, most of them were +very glad to slide into bed as quickly as possible. +If any of them had "the jumps" that night it was +after they were asleep, for the coach had tired +them out sufficiently to make them forget that +such things as nerves were a part of their +system!</p> + +<p>But the next morning was a different matter. +Those who had never gone through a Claflin contest +were inclined to be finicky of appetite and to +go off into trances with a piece of toast or a fork-full +of potato poised between plate and mouth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> +Even the more experienced fellows showed some +indication of strain. Thursby, for instance, who +had been three years on the first team as substitute +or first-choice centre, who had already taken +some part in two Claflin games, and who was +apparently far too big and calm to be affected by +nerves, showed a disposition to talk more than +was natural.</p> + +<p>Don never really remembered at all clearly how +that Saturday morning passed. Afterward he +had vague recollections of sitting in Clint +Thayer's room and hearing Amy Byrd rattle off +a great deal of nonsensical advice to him and +Clint and Tim as to how to conduct themselves +before the sacrifice (Amy had insisted that they +should line up and face the grand-stand before +the game commenced, salute and recite the immortal +line of Claudius's gladiators: "<i>Morituri +te salutant!</i>"); of seeing Manager Jim Morton +dashing about hither and thither, scowling blackly +under the weight of his duties; of wandering +across to the woods beyond the baseball field with +Tim Otis and Larry Jones and some others and +sitting on the stone wall there and watching Larry +take acorns out of Tim's ears and nose; and, +finally, of going through a perfectly farcical early +dinner in a dining hall empty save for the members<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> +of the training-table. After that events stood +out more clearly in his memory.</p> + +<p>Claflin's hosts began to appear at about half-past +one. They wore blue neckties and arm-bands +or carried blue pennants which they had the good +taste to keep furled while they wandered around +the campus and poked inquisitive heads into the +buildings. Then the Claflin team, twenty-six +strong, rolled up in two barges just before two, +having taken their dinner at the village inn, disembarked +in front of Wendell and meandered +around to the gymnasium laden with suit-cases +and things looking insultingly care-free and +happy, and, as it couldn't be denied, particularly +husky!</p> + +<p>Don, observing from the steps of Torrence, wondered +how they managed to appear so easy and +careless. No one, as he confided to Tom Hall and +Tim, would ever suspect that they were about to +do battle for the Brimfield-Claflin championship!</p> + +<p>"Huh," said Tom, "that's nothing. That's the +way we all do when we go away to play. It's this +sticking at home and having nothing to do but +<i>think</i> that takes the starch out of you. When you +go off you feel as if you were on a lark. Things +take your mind off your troubles. But, just the +same, a lot of those grinning dubs are doing a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> +heap of worrying about now. They aren't nearly +as happy as they look!"</p> + +<p>"They're a lot happier than they're going to be +about three hours from now," said Tim darkly. +That struck the right note, and Tom and Don +laughed, and Tim laughed with them, and they +all three put their shoulders back and perked up +a lot!</p> + +<p>And then it was two o'clock and they were pulling +on their togs in the locker-room; and Danny +Moore was circulating about in very high spirits, +cracking jokes and making them laugh, and Coach +Robey was dispatching Jim Morton and Jim's +assistant on mysterious errands and referring +every little while to his red-covered memorandum +book and looking very untroubled and serene. +And then there was a clamping of feet on the +stairs above and past the windows some two dozen +pairs of blue-stockinged legs moved briskly as +the visitors went across to the field for practice. +And suddenly the noise was stilled and Coach +Robey was telling them that it was up to them +now, and that they hadn't a thing in the world to +do for the next two hours but knock the tar out of +those blue-clad fellows, and that they had a fine +day for it! And then, laughing hard and cheering +a little, they piled out and across the warm,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> +sunlit grass, past the line of fellow-students and +home-folks and towners, with here and there a +pretty girl to glance shyly and admiringly at them +as they trotted by, and so to the bench. Nerves +were gone now. They were only eager and impatient. +"Squads out!" sang Mr. Robey. Off +came sweaters and faded blankets and they were +out on the gridiron, with Carmine and McPhee +cheerily piping the signals, with their canvas legs +rasping together as they trotted about, and with +the Brimfield cheer sounding in their ears, making +them feel a little chokey, perhaps, but wonderfully +strong and determined and proud!</p> + +<p>And presently they were back in front of the +bench, laughing at and pummelling one another, +and the rival captains and the referee were watching +a silver coin turn over and over in the sunlight +out there by the tee in midfield. Behind +them the stand was packed and colourful. Beyond, +Brimfield was cheering lustily again. +Across the faded green, at the end of the newly-brushed +white lines, nearly a hundred Claflin +youths were waving their banners and cheering +back confidently.</p> + +<p>"Claflin kicks off," sang Captain Edwards. +"We take the west goal. Come on, fellows! +Everyone on the jump now!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> + +<p>A long-legged Claflin guard piled the dirt up +into a six-inch cone, laid the ball tenderly upon it, +viewed the result, altered it, backed off and +waited.</p> + +<p>"All ready, Claflin? All ready, Brimfield?"</p> + +<p>The whistle blew.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>TIM GOES OVER</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">Coach Robey</span> put his best foot forward when the +first period started by presenting the strongest +line-up he had. Fortunately, Brimfield had +reached the Claflin game with every first-string +man in top shape, something that doesn't often +happen with a team. There was Captain Edwards +at left end, Thayer at left tackle, Gilbert at left +guard, Thursby at centre, Hall at right guard, +Crewe at right tackle, Holt at right end, Carmine +at quarter, St. Clair at left half, Otis at right +half and Rollins at full.</div> + +<p>Opposed to them was a team fully their equal +in age, weight and experience. The Claflin forwards +were a bit taller and rangier, and their centre, +unlike Thursby, was below rather than above +average size. Behind their line, the four players +were, with the exception of Grady, full-back, small +and light. But they were known to be fast and +heady and Claflin didn't make the mistake of underestimating +their ability. The left half, Cox,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> +was a broken-field runner of renown as well as +Claflin's best goal-kicker. Perhaps it would have +been difficult that fall to have picked two teams +to oppose each other that were more evenly +matched than those representing the Maroon-and-Grey +and the Blue.</p> + +<p>For the first few minutes of play each eleven +seemed to be feeling out its opponent. Two exchanges +of punts gained ground for neither side. +Brimfield got her backfield working then on her +twenty yards and St. Clair and Tim tried each +side of the blue line and in two downs gained a +scant six yards. Rollins punted out at Claflin's +forty-seven. The Blue got past Hall for two +and slid off Holt for three more. The next rush +failed and Claflin punted to Carmine on the fifteen. +The Blue's ends were down on Carmine and he +was stopped for a five-yard gain. Rollins tried a +forward pass to Edwards, but threw short and +the ball grounded. Tim Otis ran the left end for +four and, on a delayed pass, Rollins heaved himself +through centre for the distance, and Brimfield +cheered loudly when the linesmen pulled up stakes +and trailed the chain ten yards nearer the centre +of the field.</p> + +<p>A second forward pass was caught by Holt, but +he was brought down for a scant three-yard gain.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> +Once more Rollins attempted the centre of the +blue line, but this time he was stopped short. On +third down Rollins punted and Claflin caught on +her forty and ran the ball back to the middle of +the field. Claflin then found Crewe for four yards +and completed her distance on a straight plunge +between Gilbert and Thayer. It was the Blue's +turn to cheer then and she performed valiantly. +Claflin tried Edwards's end, but made nothing of +it, poked Cox past Crewe for a couple of yards, +made three around Holt and then punted. St. +Clair misjudged the distance and the ball went +over his head and there was a scamper to the goal +line. Carmine finally fell on the ball for a touchback +and the excitement in the stands subsided. +Brimfield smashed Otis at the Blue's centre and +reached the twenty-five-yard line. St. Clair made +three on a skin-tackle play at the right and Rollins +got the distance on a plunge after a fake-kick. +Brimfield again made first down on the forty-two +yards and her supporters howled gleefully. A +moment later they had new cause for rejoicing +when Rollins pegged the ball across the field to +Edwards and the Maroon-and-Grey's captain +scampered and dodged along the side of the field +for thirteen yards before he was tackled. Time +was called for a Claflin back and Brimfield drew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> +off for a consultation, the result of which was seen +in the next play.</p> + +<p>Carmine called Gilbert to the right side of centre, +the backs spread themselves in wide formation +ten yards behind the line and Steve Edwards, +as the first signal began, ran back, straightened +out as the ball was snapped, raced along behind +his forwards and swept around his right end. +Claflin's right end and half-back plunged outside +of Thayer, were met by St. Clair and Rollins, and +Carmine, having taken the ball on a long pass from +Thursby, raced past them and then swung quickly +in and found an almost clear field ahead.</p> + +<p>Two white lines passed under his twinkling +feet and then, near the twenty, he was challenged +by a Claflin back. Carmine eluded him, crossed +a third line, found himself confronted by the +Blue's quarter, attempted to slip by on the outside, +was tackled and borne struggling across the +side line and deposited forcibly on the ground.</p> + +<p>When the ball was stepped in by the referee it +was set down some four inches inside the fifteen-yard +line. In the stands and along the side of the +field Brimfield was cheering triumphantly, imploringly, +and waving her banners. The linesmen +scampered in obedience to the referee's waving +arm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>"First down!" shouted the official. "All right, +Brimfield? Ready, Claflin?" The whistle piped +again.</p> + +<p>Rollins was stopped squarely on a try at right +guard and Otis made a scant three past the left +tackle. Under the shadow of her goal-posts, Claflin +was digging her cleats in the turf and fighting +hard. Rollins went back. "Get through, Claflin! +Block this kick!" cried the Blue's quarter-back. +"<i>Get through! Get through!</i>" Back went the +ball from Thursby, a trifle high but straight +enough, Rollins poised it, swung his leg, and then, +tucking the pigskin under his arm, sprang away +to the left. Shouts of alarm, cries of warning, +the hurried rush of feet and rasping of canvas! +Bodies crashed together and went down. Rollins, +at the ten yards now, side-stepped and got past +a blue-legged defender, turned in and went banging +straight into the mêlée. Arms clutched at him. +He was stopped momentarily. Then he wrested +free, plunged on for another yard and went to +earth.</p> + +<p>"Second down!" cried the referee when he had +bored through the pile of squirming bodies and +found the ball. He glanced along the five-yard +line, set the pigskin to earth again, and "About +two feet to go!" he added. Brimfield was shouting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> +incessantly now, standing and waving. +"<i>Touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!</i>" Across +the field Claflin sent back a dogged chant: "<i>Hold +'em, Claflin! Hold 'em, Claflin! Hold 'em, Claflin!</i>"</p> + +<p>But surely Claflin couldn't do that! It seemed +too much to ask or expect. Otis made it first down +off left tackle, placing the ball on the three yards. +Before the next play could be started the period +ended and the teams flocked to the water pails and +then tramped down to the other end of the field. +The cheering never paused, even if the playing +did. Childers, red-faced and perspiring, kept the +Brimfield section busy every instant. "Once +more, now! A long cheer with nine 'Brimfields'! +That's good! Keep it up! We're going to score, +fellows! Let's have it again! All into it!"</p> + +<p>Only three yards to go and four downs to do +it! Claflin lined up desperately, her forwards digging +their toes barely inside their last line, her +backfield men skirmishing anxiously about behind +it. "Push 'em back, Claflin! You can do it! +Don't give 'em an inch! Stop 'em right here, fellows! +Low, low, get <i>low</i>, you fellows! Charge +into 'em and smother this play!" The Claflin +quarter, pale of face, thumped crouching backs +and watched the foe intently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Put it over now!" shrilled Carmine. "Here +we go! Get down there, Hall! Signals!"</p> + +<p>Rollins leaped forward, took the ball from Carmine +and smashed straight ahead. There was a +moment of doubt. His plunging body stopped, +went on, stopped, was borne back.</p> + +<p>"Second down! Two and a half to go!"</p> + +<p>Again the signals, the line shifted, Claflin +changed to meet the shift. St. Clair slewed across +and slammed past the Claflin left tackle. But the +secondary defence had him in the next instant +and he was thrust, fighting, back and still back. +But he had gained. "A yard and a half!" proclaimed +the referee.</p> + +<p>"You've got to do it, Brimfield!" shouted Edwards +intensely. "Don't let them get the jump +on you like that! Get into it, Crewe! Watch that +man, Gilbert! Come on now! Put it over!"</p> + +<p>"Signals!" shrieked Carmine. "Make it go +this time! Over with it!"</p> + +<p>Back went Rollins, hands outstretched. "Fake!" +shouted Claflin. "Watch the ball! Watch the +ball!"</p> + +<p>Rollins's arms fell, empty, as St. Clair grabbed +the pigskin and swept wide to the right. "<i>In! +In!</i>" cried Carmine. St. Clair turned and shot +toward the broken line. His interference did its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> +part, but the Claflin left end had fooled Holt and +it was that blue-legged youth who got St. Clair +and thumped him to the sod. An anxious, breathless +moment followed. Brimfield called for time +and St. Clair, on his back, kicked and squirmed +while they pumped the air back into his lungs. +The referee, kneeling over the ball, squinted along +the line. Then:</p> + +<p>"Fourth down and about two to go!" he announced.</p> + +<p>St. Clair had lost a half-yard! Claflin cheered +weakly. Steve Edwards and Carmine consulted.</p> + +<p>"We'd better kick it over," said Carmine. +"They're getting the jump on us every time, +Steve." Carmine's voice was husky and he had +to gasp his words out. Steve, panting like an +engine, shook his head.</p> + +<p>"We need the touchdown," he said. "We'll +put it over. Try 11. Tim can make it."</p> + +<p>St. Clair walked back to his place. The whistle +sounded again. "Come on, Brimfield!" gasped +Carmine. "This is your last chance! If you +don't do it this time you'll never do it! Play like +you meant it! Stop your fooling and show 'em +football! Every man into this and <i>make it go!</i> +Hall over! Signals!" Hall pushed his way to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> +the left of the line. Claflin shuffled to meet the +change. "Signals! 83—38—11—106!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Signals!</i>" cried St. Clair. Carmine turned on +him, snarling. "Use your bean! Change signals! +Hall over! 61—16—11—37! 61—16—11——"</p> + +<p>Back shot the ball to the quarter. Off sped St. +Clair around his end, followed by Rollins. Carmine +crouched, back to the line, while he counted +five. Then Tim Otis shot forward, took the delayed +pass, jammed the ball against his stomach +and went in past Thursby on the right.</p> + +<p>Tim struck the line as if shot out of a gun. +There was no hole there, but Tim made one. If +the secondary defence, overanxious, had not been +fooled by that fake attack at their end Tim would +never have gained a foot. But as it was Claflin +was caught napping in the centre of her line. Tim +banged against a brawny guard, Carmine, following +him through, added impetus, the Claflin line +buckled inward! Shouts and grunts, stifled groans +of despair from the yielding blue line! Then +Brimfield closed in behind Tim and he was borne +off his feet and on and over to fall at last in a +chaos of struggling bodies well across the goal +line!</p> + +<p>The ball went over to the right of the goal and +Carmine decided on a punt-out. Unfortunately,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +Thayer juggled the catch and so Brimfield lost her +try-at-goal. But six points looked pretty big just +then and continued to look big all the rest of the +half and during the succeeding intermission. +Brimfield's supporters were confident and happy. +They sang and cheered and laughed, and the sun, +sinking behind the wooded ridge, cast long golden +beams on the flaunting maroon banners.</p> + +<p>And then the teams came trotting back once +more and cheers thundered forth from opposing +stands. Howard had taken St. Clair's place, it +was seen, and Claflin had replaced her right guard. +But otherwise the teams were unchanged. Brimfield +kicked off and Claflin brought her supporters +to their feet by running the ball back all the way +to the forty-five-yard line. That was Cox, the +fleet-footed and elusive, and the Blue's left half +got a mighty cheer from his friends and generous +applause from the enemy. After that Claflin tried +a forward pass and gained another down, and +then, from near the middle of the field, marched +down to Brimfield's thirty-three before she was +stopped. The Maroon-and-Grey got the ball on +downs by an inch or two only.</p> + +<p>Brimfield tried the Claflin ends out pretty thoroughly +and with Otis and Howard carrying, took +back most of Claflin's gain. But a forward pass<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> +finally went to a Claflin end instead of Holt and +the tables were suddenly turned. It was the +Blue's ball on Brimfield's forty-six then, and +Claflin opened her bag of tricks. Just how Cox +got through the centre of the Brimfield line no one +ever explained satisfactorily, but get through he +did, and after he was through he romped past Otis +and Rollins and raced straight for the goal. Carmine +and Howard closed in on him and it was +Carmine who brought him down at last on the +twelve yards.</p> + +<p>How Claflin shouted and triumphed then! The +Blue came surging down the field to line up +against the astounded enemy, determination written +large on every countenance. A plunge at Gilbert +gained a yard and was followed by a three-yard +gain off Holt. Then Claflin fumbled and recovered +for a two-yard loss and, with eight to go +on fourth down, decided that a goal from field +was the best try. And, although Brimfield tried +hard to get through to the nimble-footed Cox, and +did smear the Blue's line pretty fairly, the ball +went well and true across the bar, and the 0 on +the score-board was changed to a 3!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>LEFT GUARD GILBERT</h3> + + +<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">That</span> finished the scoring in the third period. All +that Claflin could do was to bring back Brimfield's +punts and try desperately to find holes in the +maroon-and-grey line that weren't there. Both +teams were showing the effects of hard playing, +and when the third quarter ended substitutes were +hurried in from both benches. For Brimfield, +McPhee relieved Carmine, Lee went in for Holt +and Sturges for Crewe. Claflin put in a new right +end, a fresh full-back and returned her original +right guard to the line-up.</div> + +<p>McPhee brought instructions from Coach +Robey. Brimfield was to hold what she had and +play the kicking game. If she got within the +Blue's thirty-yard line she was to let Rollins try +a drop-kick.</p> + +<p>Rollins punted regularly on second down and +just as regularly Claflin rushed until the fourth +and then punted back. After five minutes of play, +during which the ball went back and forth from +one thirty-yard line to the other, it dawned on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +Claflin that she was making no progress. A new +full-back trotted in and displayed his ability by +sending the ball over McPhee's head on his first +attempt. Fortunately, though, the punt, while +long, was much too low, and McPhee had plenty of +time to go after the pigskin, gather it in and run +back a dozen yards before the Claflin ends reached +him. But after that McPhee played further back +and Rollins put still more power into his drives.</p> + +<p>With almost ten minutes of the final period +gone, Claflin, grown desperate, tried what forward +passing would do. The first time, she lost the +ball to Thayer, and Clint got ten yards before he +was thrown, but the second attempt went better +and Cox, who made the catch, ran across three +white lines and only stopped when Edwards +dragged him down from behind. Claflin got another +first down by two plunges at the right of the +opponent's line and a wide end-run. Then a penalty +set her back fifteen yards and she had to +punt after two ineffectual attempts at rushing. +Otis got through for five yards and then Rollins +punted again.</p> + +<p>The head linesman announced five minutes to +play. On the stands the spectators were beginning +to depart. Claflin was back on her thirty-five +yards, banging desperately at the maroon-and-grey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> +line, desperately and a bit hopelessly. +A forward pass was knocked down by Captain +Edwards, an assault at the left of the Brimfield +line was smeared badly, Cox tried the other end +and was laid low for a loss. Claflin punted.</p> + +<p>Howard, on a double pass, swept around the +enemy's left for fifteen yards and then squirmed +past tackle for six more. Rollins kicked to Claflin's +ten and Edwards nailed the Blue's quarter +before he could move. Brimfield cheered encouragingly. +But Claflin, after getting four around +Sturges, punted out of danger to Brimfield's +forty-seven.</p> + +<p>"Three minutes!" announced the timekeeper.</p> + +<p>Otis got two at centre and Rollins again fell +back to kick. The ball came to him low and he +juggled it. Claflin poured through the right of +the line, the ball bounded back from some upthrown +arm and went dancing along the field. +Blue players and maroon dashed after it. Hall +almost had it, but was toppled aside by a Claflin +man. Carmine dived for it and missed. Then +Tim Otis and a Claflin forward dropped upon it +simultaneously and struggled for its possession. +Tim always maintained that he got more of it +than his opponent, and got it first, but the referee +awarded it to Claflin and dismayedly Brimfield<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> +gathered together and lined up only twenty yards +from her goal!</p> + + +<p>"Two minutes, fellows!" shouted the Claflin +quarter-back exultantly. "We've got time to do +it! Come on now, come on! We can win it right +now! All together, Claflin! We've got them on +the run! They're all-in! They're ready to quit!"</p> + +<p>The Claflin full-back faked a kick and circled +around Lee's end for a six-yard gain. Then the +Blue's right half plugged the line and got three +more past Hall. It was one to go on third down. +Another attack on Hall was pushed back, but Claflin +made it first down by sending Cox squirming +around Thayer. The ball was on the eleven yards +now. It was Brimfield's turn to know the fear of +defeat. Edwards implored and bullied. Claflin +banged at Gilbert for a yard. A quarter-back run +caught Steve Edwards napping and put the pigskin +on the seven yards. Brimfield's adherents, +massed along the side line, shouted defiantly. +Across the darkening, trampled field, the Claflin +cohorts were imploring a touchdown.</p> + +<p>"Third down! Six to go!" shouted the referee, +hurrying out of the way.</p> + +<p>"On side, Claflin right end and tackle!" warned +the umpire.</p> + +<p>The signals came again and the Claflin full-back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> +smashed into the left of the opposing team. But +it was like striking a stone wall that time. Perhaps +the ball nestled a few inches nearer the goal, +but no more than that. It was Don who bore the +brunt of that attack and after the piled-up bodies +had been pulled aside he and the Claflin full-back +remained on the ground. On came the trainers +with splashing buckets. Don came to with the +first swash of the big, smelly sponge on his face. +Danny Moore was grinning down at him.</p> + +<p>"Are ye hurt?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Don considered that a moment. Then he shook +his head. "I'm—all right,—Danny," he murmured. +"Just—help me—up."</p> + +<p>"Don't be in a hurry. Take all the time the law +allows ye." Danny's fingers travelled inquiringly +over the boy's body. "Where do you feel it?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>Don kept his eyes stoically on the trainer's. If +he flinched a little when Danny's strong fingers +pressed his right shoulder it was so little that the +trainer failed to see it. Nearby, the Claflin full-back +was already on his feet. Tim came over and +knelt by the trainer's side.</p> + +<p>"Anything wrong, Don?" he asked in a tired, +anxious voice.</p> + +<p>"Not a thing," replied Don cheerfully. "Give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> +me a hand, will you? I'm sort of wabbly, I +guess."</p> + +<p>On the side line Pryme, head-guard in hand, +was trotting up and down. Coach Robey was looking +across intently. Don shook himself, stretched +his arms—no one ever knew what that cost him!—and +trotted around a few steps. Then, out of the +corner of his eyes, he saw the coach say something +to Pryme, saw the disappointed look on the +substitute's face and was half sorry for him. The +whistle blew again and Don was crouching once +more beside Thursby—why, no, it wasn't Thursby +any longer! It was Peters, stout, complacent +Peters, wearing a strangely fierce and ugly look +on his round countenance!</p> + +<p>"Now hold 'em, Brimfield!" chanted McPhee. +"Hold 'em hard! Don't let them have an inch!"</p> + +<p>Far easier said than done, though! A quick +throw across the end of the line, a wild scramble +and jumble of arms, a faint "<i>Down!</i>" and, at the +right end of the Brimfield line, a mound of bodies +with the ball somewhere down beneath and to all +appearances across the goal line! Anxious moments +then! One by one the fallen warriors were +pulled to their feet while into the pile dove the +referee. The timekeeper hovered nearby, watch +in hand. Then the referee's voice:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 291px;"> +<img src="images/gs04.jpg" width="291" height="400" alt="The runner smashed into sight, wild-faced for an instant before he put his head down and charged in" title="The runner smashed into sight, wild-faced for an instant before he put his head down and charged in" /> +<span class="caption">The runner smashed into sight, wild-faced for an instant before he put his head down and charged in</span> +</div> + +<p>"Claflin's ball! First down! A foot to go!"</p> + +<p>"Line-up! Line-up!" shrieked the Claflin quarter. +"We've got time yet! Put it over!"</p> + +<p>"Fight, Brimfield!" shouted Steve Edwards. +"There's only forty seconds! Hold them off! +Don't let them get it! Tom! Peters! Don! Get +into it now!"</p> + +<p>"Signals! Signals!"</p> + +<p>Then a moment of silence save for the gasping +breath of the players. The Claflin quarter shouted +his signals, the ball sped back, the lines heaved. +Straight at the left guard position plunged the +back. "<i>Stop him!</i>" growled Peters. The secondary +defence leaped to the rescue. Back went +the man with the ball. "<i>Down!</i>" he cried in +smothered tones. The referee pushed in and +heeled the mark.</p> + +<p>"Second down! A foot and a half to go!"</p> + +<p>Don knew now that if he had fooled Danny +Moore he had not fooled the Claflin quarter-back. +That quarter knew or guessed that he had been +hurt and was playing for him. Don gritted his +teeth and ground his cleats into the sod. Well, +they'd see!</p> + +<p>The signals again, broken into by Steve Edwards's +shrill voice in wild appeal. Steve was wellnigh +beside himself now. Peters was growling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> +like a bear in a cage. Then again the plunge, hard +and quick, the whole Claflin backfield behind it! +Don felt an intolerable pain as he pushed and +struggled. Despair seized him for an instant, for +he was being borne back. Then someone hurtled +into him from behind, driving the breath from his +lungs, and he was staggering forward.</p> + +<p>Peters was yanking him to his feet, a wild-eyed +Peters mouthing strange exultant words. "They +can't do it! No, never! Not if they were to try +all night! We put 'em back again, Gilbert! We'll +do it again! Come on, you blue-legged babies! +Try it again! You'll never do it!"</p> + +<p>Don, dazed, swaying giddily, groped back to his +place. Thayer was muttering, too, now. Don +wondered if they were all crazy. He was quite +certain that he was, for otherwise things wouldn't +revolve around him in such funny long sweeps. +Then his mind was suddenly clear again. The +Claflin quarter was hurling his signals out hurriedly, +despairingly, fighting against time. Don +didn't listen to those signals for he knew where +the attack would come. And he was right, for +once more the blue right guard and tackle sprang +at him to bear him back. And then the runner +smashed into sight, wild-faced for an instant before +he put his head down and charged in. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> +Don didn't yield. Peters, roaring loudly, was +fighting across him, and, front and rear, reinforcements +hurled themselves into the mêlée. Don +closed his eyes, every muscle in his body straining +forward. A roar of voices came to him only dimly. +Ages passed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He wondered if Danny Moore had nothing better +to do than eternally swab his face with that +beastly old sponge! Why didn't he pick on some +other fellow? Don felt quite aggrieved and tried +to say so, but couldn't seem to make any sound. +Then he realised that he had forgotten to open his +lips. When he did he got a lot of cold water in his +mouth and that made him quite peevish. He tried +to raise his right hand, changed his mind about it +and raised his left instead. With that he pushed +weakly at the offending sponge.</p> + +<p>"Take it away," he muttered. "I'm—drowned."</p> + +<p>"Can you walk or will we carry you?" asked +Danny in businesslike tones.</p> + +<p>"Walk," said Don indignantly. "Let me up." +Recollection returned. "Did they make it?" he +gasped.</p> + +<p>"They did not. Lie still a bit."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but——" Don's voice grew faint and he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> +closed his eyes again. The sponge gave a final pat +and disappeared. "What—what down was that?" +asked Don anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Third."</p> + +<p>"Then—then they've got another! Help me +up, Danny, will you? We've got to stop them, you +know. I don't believe they—can do it, do you? +We put them back twice, you know."</p> + +<p>"Sure you did," said the trainer soothingly. +"Here you are, Tim. Take his feet. And you +get your arm under his middle, Martin. So! +Careful of the shoulder, boys. He's got a fine +broken blade in there!"</p> + +<p>"Wait!" Don kicked Tim's hands away from +his ankles as, raised to a sitting posture +by Danny and Martin, his puzzled glance swept +the field. "Where's—where's everyone?" he +gasped.</p> + +<p>"If you mean the team," laughed Tim, "they're +beating it for the gym."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Don. "But—but what happened? +They didn't"—his voice sank—"they didn't do +it, did they, Tim?"</p> + +<p>"Of course they didn't, old man! We pushed +them back three times and we'd have done it again +if the whistle hadn't saved them!"</p> + +<p>"Then we won!" exclaimed Don.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Surest thing you know, dearie! If you don't +believe it listen to that band of wild Indians over +in front of the gym! Now are you ready to be +lugged along?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, thanks," sighed Don.</p> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> + +<p>The illustrations in this html version have been relocated to match the +page numbers given on the List of Illustrations. Their original locations were +between pages: 86 and 87; 222 and 223; and 302 and 303, respectively.</p> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Left Guard Gilbert, by Ralph Henry Barbour + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEFT GUARD GILBERT *** + +***** This file should be named 26149-h.htm or 26149-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/1/4/26149/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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