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diff --git a/29705.txt b/29705.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..365055d --- /dev/null +++ b/29705.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5366 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Interference and Other Football Stories, by +Harold M. Sherman + +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: Interference and Other Football Stories + +Author: Harold M. Sherman + +Release Date: November 5, 2009 [EBook #29705] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INTERFERENCE--FOOTBALL STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + + [Transcriber's note: Extensive research found no evidence + that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + + + + +INTERFERENCE + +AND OTHER FOOTBALL STORIES + + +BY + +HAROLD M. SHERMAN + + + + + +THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY + +CHICAGO + + + + +COPYRIGHT 1932 by + +HAROLD M. SHERMAN + +Made in U. S. A. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + Interference + A Case of Nerves + The Bright Token + "Butter Fingers" + For the Glory of the Coach + + + + +INTERFERENCE + + +"Can I see you a minute, Coach?" + +"Yes, Mack. Come in." + +Mack Carver, substitute back on Grinnell University's varsity squad, +stepped across the threshold of Coach Edward's office. He carried his +one hundred and eighty-seven pounds easily and with an athletic +swagger. But he scowled as he entered, indicating that his call was +about an unpleasant matter. + +"Well, boy--what's on your mind?" smiled the Coach, straightening up +from a mass of papers which contained diagrams of the plays Grinnell +was to use in her season's big game against Pomeroy, now less than a +week away. + +"Plenty!" was Mack's bluntly grim answer. He stood now, facing his +coach, across the desk. + +Coach Edward's smile faded as he met Mack's challenging glance. + +"I want to know why I've been kept so much of the time on the bench?" +the substitute back fired, point blank. + +"Because," answered Coach Edward, evenly, "there were eleven better men +on the field. That's ordinarily the only reason any man's kept on the +bench." + +"I don't believe it," retorted Mack, feelingly. "You've had it in for +me because my brother is coach at Pomeroy. That's the reason! And +you'd like to be coach at Pomeroy yourself!" + +Coach Edward drew in his breath, sharply. "Perhaps I would!" he said. +"But that's a strict matter of business--nothing personal!" + +"No?" flashed Mack. "You and brother Carl have been rivals for the +last two years. You've been out to beat each other on the gridiron and +now that you've turned out some cracking good teams with the smallest +college in the State, you think you've got my brother on the run!" + +"I'm tickled, naturally," admitted the coach. "Wouldn't _you_ be? +Don't you suppose your brother enjoys his triumphs over _me_? ... It's +all in a spirit of good sportsmanship!" + +"That part of it may be all right," conceded Mack, "but you feel strong +enough against my brother, just the same, to not want to give _me_ a +break!" + +"That's bunk!" branded Coach Edward. "But there's one thing I've +always wanted to know ... why is it you quit Pomeroy after two years +and came to Grinnell?" + +"That's an easy one to answer. I discovered I could never hope to make +the team that my brother was coaching. He was bending over backward to +keep from showing me any favors. When I found that out, I figured I'd +better save him from any further embarrassment and give myself a fair +chance by changing schools. That's why I came to Grinnell!" + +"But why Grinnell--Pomeroy's bitterest rival? Of all the schools you +might have picked...!" + +Mack grinned, sardonically. "My brother didn't think I'd ever make a +good football player. I'd hoped to be able to show him." + +"That's just your greatest fault," spoke the coach, frankly. "You want +the limelight every move you make. You're wondering all the time if +everyone's looking at you ... and it's hurting your game. No good +player can be thinking of starring and playing at the same time." + +Mack stared hard for a moment. + +"You've got me wrong," he said, slowly. "I naturally want to do the +best I know how. And maybe I've looked to you like I wanted to attract +attention. If I have, it's only because I hoped _you'd_ take a shine +to what I was doing. The spectators didn't matter." + +"You didn't need to worry about me," the coach replied. "It's my +business to keep tab on each man on the squad. I'm sorry if you feel +I've legislated against you but you force me to say that, up to the +present, I'm inclined to agree with your brother." + +"You will excuse me a minute?" requested the Coach, on observing that +Mack had no comment to make for the moment, "I've an air mail letter I +must post at once." + +"Okay," Mack assented,, and sank disconsolately in a chair beside the +desk as Coach Edward strode from the room, envelope in hand. + +"This is a swell fix I'm in," Mack bemoaned, with the Coach having +gone. "Talk about being hoodooed! How should _I_ know that Coach +Edward would ever be out after my brother's coaching job? I'll bet you +every time Coach sees me he thinks of my brother and that kills my +chances. But I was good enough so he had to make me a sub anyhow." +Mack's gaze suddenly fell upon Coach Edward's pile of papers. Diagrams +of football plays caught his eye. He leaned forward that he might see +them better, then gave a glance toward the door and arose from his +chair. "Hello! Pretty nice!... Maybe my brother wouldn't give a lot +to have a copy of all these plays!... He's probably had his scouts +covering Grinnell games ... but here's some plays we haven't used all +season. Boy--that lateral pass opening out into a forward is a pip!... +Coach Edward's been saving the fireworks to shoot on Pomeroy all +right!... Guess he'd give his left ear to beat my brother's team this +year. Huh! I'd give my right ear to get in the game!" + +Impelled by curiosity, Mack lifted some of the papers and studied other +diagrammed plays. He became more engrossed than he had intended when +he was seized with the uncomfortable feeling that someone else was in +the room. + +"Well?" spoke Coach Edward, standing quietly just inside the door. + +"Oh! I ... er ... a ...!" stammered Mack, badly fussed. "Pardon +me!... I saw these plays here and I...!" + +"... and you thought you'd get them _memorized_," said the Coach, +bitingly. + +"No, sir!" flashed Mack, stung at the insinuation. "I was just +interested. I...!" + +There was nothing further that he could say. It dawned on him in that +moment that his relationship to the coach of Pomeroy's eleven was apt +to cause many actions of his to be misconstrued. He would have to be +more careful. Coach Edward was even now regarding him suspiciously. + +"I hope, Mack, that I can trust you," he was saying. + +"You sure can," Grinnell's disgruntled substitute answered, inwardly +resenting the suggestion that he might use such information as he had +gleaned against his school. + +"I am surprised," Coach Edward finished, "that you would have permitted +yourself to examine anything on my desk." + +"I'm sorry, sir," Mack apologized, realizing that the Coach had reason +for complaining. "But I wouldn't think of passing anything on to +anyone else." + +"It wouldn't be exactly wise," said Coach Edward as the two stood face +to face. + +Mack, who had toiled so long in the hopes of becoming a varsity regular +and whose disappointment had finally assumed proportions of a grudge +against his Coach, now made one final appeal. + +"Coach, everything I do seems to be wrong. I can't get over the +feeling that you don't like me. I swear I didn't mean anything by +looking at those plays ... but you've an idea that I did. As for my +being on the team and not getting a real chance to play--there must be +some reason ... some big reason, if it's not prejudice. Whatever that +reason is--I want to know it." + +"That's what you _say_," rejoined Coach Edward. "But you're the sort, +Mack, who won't be told. You're proving that fact right now even +though you claim you want to know what's wrong. I've done the best I +could for you on what you've shown me... I'm not in the habit of +arguing or discussing a player's merits or demerits with him off the +field so I'll have to ask you to consider this interview at an end." + +"Okay!" rasped Mack, his pride deeply wounded and his feelings running +away with him. Turning on his heel, he strode to the door, but whirled +impulsively to throw back an angry taunt: "And here's hoping you get +trimmed by Pomeroy!" + +"Thank you," replied Coach Edward, icily. "I might have expected just +such a remark from you." + +And a very unhappy youth, leaving the Coach's presence with a wave of +remorse sweeping over him, knew that now he most certainly had sealed +his doom. He could hardly expect to be given an opportunity of playing +in the Pomeroy game after this. + + +Grinnell's football schedule was so arranged that the Pomeroy game was +always the last of the year. This permitted the small college eleven +to throw its complete strength against an ordinarily more powerful team +in the annual hope of creating an upset. For Pomeroy, the Grinnell +contest had customarily been booked as a "breather" between big games. +There had been little disposition in previous years, as a consequence, +to take Grinnell's opposition too seriously. Thus, most of the +excitement and enthusiasm had been provided by wide-eyed Grinnell +supporters who had hypnotized themselves almost to the point of +believing that the impossible was about to happen--a Grinnell victory! +That these loyal rooters had been disappointed as regularly as the +annual conflicts arrived, did not seem to dampen the ardor of the next +season's support. "Hope springs eternal" was the trite but simple +explanation offered by certain zealous followers who steadfastly +refused to concede Pomeroy's vaunted superiority. Coach Edward's +advent at Grinnell had served to heighten the interest when the small +college had held Pomeroy to a 20 to 7 count the first year of his +mentorship. Things commenced looking decidedly up as Grinnell, under +the new coaching regime, came back the following fall with even more +stubborn opposition, losing to Pomeroy in the last quarter, 13 to 7. +No longer could Pomeroy consider the smaller college a set-up and this +alone was sufficient for Grinnell supporters to claim a "moral +victory." But even bigger things were expected this season--Grinnell's +first undefeated eleven going into its major contest against a Pomeroy +team which was fighting hard to sustain its prestige of former years. + +Secret practice sessions were announced by Coach Edward the final week +before the Pomeroy game, adding an air of mystery and high tension to +an already pulsating feeling of suspense. + +"Coach has a genius for inventing new plays," Frank Meade, left half, +remarked to Mack Carver as the two dressed for practice on Tuesday +afternoon. "Don't you think?" + +"He figures out some good ones all right," Mack admitted. + +"I'll say he does!" echoed Frank, with enthusiasm. "That one he taught +us last night--a forward pass breaking out of that lateral!" + +Mack's face colored. He was too familiar with this play from having +seen it in diagram form on the Coach's desk. + +"Yes," he mumbled. "That's a peach." + +"If it's properly executed," Frank went on, "it should be good for a +touchdown." + +"Absolutely," Mack agreed, bending down and fingering with his shoe +laces. + +"Of course the right half has to block off any tacklers who may be +trying to get through at the man with the ball," Frank continued. "The +ball carrier's got to be given plenty of chance after taking the +lateral to spot a receiver for the forward. If he can do this--the +play ought to be a wow." + +"I'd like to be in there on that play," Mack said, impulsively. + +Frank laughed. "You may get the call yet. Anything can happen in this +game!" + +"Yeah?" retorted Mack, sarcastically. "All I've gotten so far is +slivers in the seat of my pants from sitting on the bench. I'm getting +tired of being shoved in for a couple minutes before the end of the +half to give you birds a chance to get under the showers and take a +rub-down before the second half opens. And then rushing in after the +game's in the bag to hold 'em for dear old Grinnell. There's no kick +in that." + +"But somebody has to do it," returned Frank, regarding Mack, curiously. +"I did that the last two years before they put me to work as a regular." + +"Yes, but this is my _third_ year," rejoined Mack. "At that rate, if +I'm any good, I ought to be out there with you, too." + +"You're playing in hard luck," Frank replied, pulling on his sweater. +"Grinnell has the best material she's ever had and the regulars are so +good that even good substitutes don't have the chance they might have." +He made a little bow, winking mischievously. "Of course, I'm excluding +myself. I'm rotten!" + +Mack forced a grin. This whole situation was too serious to him to be +taken lightly. "Yes," he retorted. "I'd probably be a regular if I +was as rotten as you are!" + +"Cheer up!" chuckled Frank, slapping Mack on the back. "Maybe some +day--you _will_ be!" + +"I won't unless Coach gives me a better break," said Mack, a bit +bitterly. "I've played in enough games to get my letter but it hasn't +meant anything ... an average of five minutes a game. Even at +that--don't you think I'm as good a back as Dave Morgan?" + +Mack bit his lips as he asked the question. It was perhaps unfair to +so embarrass Frank but Grinnell's substitute back was tempted to "fish" +for compliments as a defensive gesture against Coach Edward's analysis +of his ability. Should Frank agree that there was very little +difference, in his opinion, between Dave and himself, Mack felt that +this alone might prove the Coach to be biased. + +"You--as good a back as Dave?" repeated Frank, cagily. "Well, I'd be a +hard one to answer that. Dave happens to team together with me just +about perfectly. He's cleared the way for most of my long runs, as you +know." + +"Probably I could have done that, too," Mack argued. "But I've never +been put in the game when you were in. I've gone in with the second +string backfield. We don't have an open field runner in that crowd who +can get away like you can." + +"Thank heaven for that!" grinned Frank. "Say--you've asked _me_ a +question. Now let me ask _you_ one. Since your brother is coach of +Pomeroy you ought to know something about our chances for beating them +this year. What do you think? Are we going to break the jinx?" + +Mack hesitated. Frank, who had raised his voice to command the +attention of fellow teammates, was enjoying Mack's discomfiture. + +"That's what I call putting a fellow on the spot," sympathized Dave +Morgan, sauntering up. "If you can't think of a good answer, Mack--I +suggest the old reliable 'yes and no'." + +Fellow team members laughed. + +"Hey, Mack!" called fullback Steve Hilliard. "Isn't your brother +handicapped with poor material this year? His team's not done so well +... sort of an in and out eleven ... one Saturday looking like a world +beater ... the next Saturday looking like a bunch of dubs. What's the +low-down?" + +"You fellows know as much about it as I do," replied Mack, reluctant to +venture a comment. "For one thing, I think my brother's team has +played the stiffest schedule in their history ... and he's had trouble +keeping them at their peak every game. But Pomeroy's liable to make +plenty of trouble for us--as usual." + +"Meaning you think we still can't take them over?" pressed Frank, +jovially. + +"We'll have to go some!" was Mack's well guarded opinion. + +"Which leaves us just where we were before," summarized Frank. "Too +bad, guys! Here we've got a man--the actual brother of Pomeroy's +coach--and he can't give us a better inside on what to expect. Was for +two years on the squad, too!... I was hoping he could tell us all of +Pomeroy's weaknesses and what his brother might be having up his +sleeve. But now it begins to look like 'no soap'!" + +"Don't you even know his standard plays?" joshed Steve. "If you know +the formations, you might tip us off so we could shift to meet them." + +"I'd have to be in the line-up to do that," said Mack. "Each play +would have to be diagnosed. Even then I wouldn't want to do it." + +"Why not?" + +"Wouldn't seem hardly fair--taking advantage of what I know about my +brother's plays ... or system." + +"All's fair in love and football," kidded Steve. "Shouldn't think that +would make any diff. Your brother has scouts out, trying to discover +what he can about us. Our coach has scouts giving your brother's team +the once-over. So there you have it! Fellows have changed colleges +before. You're entitled to bring what you know about football at +Pomeroy to Grinnell. Why be close-mouthed about it?" + +Mack shook his head decisively. + +"As far as my football in Pomeroy is concerned," he gave answer, "it's +a closed book. I'm here at Grinnell just as though I'd come here at +the start. Of course I can't forget, with the Pomeroy game coming up, +that my brother's coach of the team and that I'm really opposing him..." + +"How do you feel about that?" Frank asked. + +Mack drew in a deep breath as team members looked at him with intent +interest. + +"All right, boys!" broke in Coach Edward, entering the locker room. +"Snap out of it! We're going to have our last scrimmage of the year +tonight. Going to try out those new plays I ran you through yesterday. +Let's go!" + +The players, springing to their feet, jostled each other through the +doorway onto the field, Mack joining with them, secretly glad of the +coach's interruption. Inwardly he was in such a turbulent state that +he didn't really know how he felt about the Pomeroy-Grinnell clash. He +should be intensely loyal to Grinnell, without question ... but there +were other factors crowding in. If to lose the Grinnell game actually +meant the loss of his brother's coaching job ... it also meant the loss +of his mother's support. Carl had been assuming this responsibility +until he, Mack, could finish his schooling and help out. Under these +circumstances, with Carl's position probably wavering in the balance +due to an unsteady season and the demand of Pomeroy alumni for winning +football, the outcome of the Grinnell game took on added if not painful +significance. The situation was even beginning to take the edge off +Mack's original desire to compete against his brother's team and show +it up. There was always drama in the idea of brother against brother. +Newspapers were already hinting at the possible conflict and would make +much capital of the matter if it did come to a head. But Mack did not +now relish the thought of being in any way instrumental in the loss of +his brother's coaching job. + +"I'm getting in more and more of a jam, it seems to me," he muttered, +as he trotted out on the field. "Maybe I'd be better off if I quit +this game entirely." + + +Opportunities often come when least expected. Coach Edward suddenly +decided that he wished the regulars to face the strongest lineup he +could possibly throw against them as a severe test of the new plays. +As a result, Mack Carver found himself at right half on the Second +Eleven which had been trained in Pomeroy plays. + +"You've run through many of these Pomeroy plays yourself," Coach Edward +said to him, "so we're depending on you to carry the brunt of the +Second Team offensive and give us a good idea of what to expect next +Saturday." + +There was nothing in the coach's attitude to indicate a remembrance of +the unpleasant interview between them. Mack's heart bounded at the +thought that Coach Edward was recognizing him to this extent. Here +was, at least, a chance to demonstrate what he could do in +practice--much more of a chance than he had been given hitherto. + +"I'll try to impersonate Dizzy Fox, Pomeroy's star right half," Mack +told Alf Rigsbee, Second Team quarterback. "He's the man our fellows +will have to look out for!" + +"Okay, _Dizzy_!" grinned Alf. "You're going to be in for a busy +afternoon!" + +"And listen!" cried Mack, with more spirit than he had felt all season. +"Let's give this Varsity bunch more than just a work-out!... If we all +hang together, I think we can outscore 'em!" + +"We can try!" volunteered Bob Hayes, fullback. "Seeing as how we've +got some of you first team subs in here to help us!" + +Coach Edward, assuming the role of referee, blew his whistle, +signalling the two teams to take the field. It was to be the Varsity's +kick-off. + +Frank Meade, carefully toeing the ball, looked over the boys opposing +him. + +"Don't be too hard on us, you guys!" he joshed. "We're just learning +the game!" + +"Then we'll teach you a lesson this afternoon!" quarterback Alf Rigsbee +called back to him. "We're out to _get_ you babies and we don't mind +saying so!" + +The threat brought howls of good-natured derision from the Varsity team +members but the chiding ceased when, with Franks kicking off over the +goal line and the ball being brought out to the Seconds' twenty yard +line, Mack Carver made fifteen yards on the first play with one of his +brother's clever wing back formations. + +"I'll show Coach Edward whether I'm a ball carrier or not!" Mack told +himself, highly flushed with his early success. "Call my number +again!" he begged. + +Quarterback Rigsbee shot him the ball a second time and Mack skated +through tackle on a delayed wing back for seven yards. + +"This Varsity isn't much!" kidded the Seconds' linesmen, elated at +Mack's gains. + +"Wait till we've solved these new plays and we'll stop you cold!" +promised Bert Henley, Varsity quarterback. + +But the Seconds were well drilled and Mack Carver, in particular, +functioned remarkably well, skirting the ends and knifing through the +line on plays with which he had long been familiar. + +"Wonder what Coach thinks now?" he said to himself as the Seconds +landed on the Varsity's ten yard line for a first down. + +Mack found himself regretting that there were no student spectators and +no newspaper reporters on the sidelines watching his performance. All +such had been banned for this week of secret practice. + +"Come on, gang! Let's stop this advance right here and now!" appealed +Varsity quarterback Donner. "We've played with these little boys long +enough!" + +The Varsity had taken a time-out to get reorganized. The so-called +Scrubs hadn't made things this interesting throughout the entire season. + +"They'll be expecting another wing back," counselled Mack. "My brother +had another good play you fellows haven't been taught. What do you say +we try it?" + +"No--we'd better stick to the plays that have been given us," replied +quarterback Alf Rigsbee. + +"It's simple," insisted Mack, "and we want this touchdown. Listen--you +feint a pass behind the line to me and I shoot to my left like I've got +the ball but the left half really gets it--only, after he does, he +fades hack into the backfield and then throws a forward pass out to me. +It's a grand scoring play. We ought to be able to work it without +rehearsal and it should catch the Varsity flat-footed!" + +Quarterback Rigsbee looked to his fellow team members questioningly. + +"Sounds like a peach to me," endorsed left half Bill Grady. "What do +you say we try it?" + +"Well, if you guys think it's okay," agreed Alf. "Now this'll be the +signal...!" + +With play resumed, the Seconds sprung their surprise play. A quick +crisis-crossing behind the lines, Mack lunging to the left, Bill Grady +taking the ball and dropping into his backfield...! + +"Look out for a pass!" + +The Varsity shouted its warning as Bill suddenly wheeled and hurled the +pigskin to his left where a crouching figure straightened up, raced +toward the goal, jumped into the air to catch the ball and was tackled +almost immediately, only to fall over the line for a touchdown. + +"Atta boy, Mack!" shouted delirious Seconds, dragging the tickled +Varsity substitute to his feet. + +"How about it, you Varsity?" Mack taunted. "A march of eighty yards!" + +"Yea, Pomeroy!" razzed Second team members. "You can't stop Pomeroy!" + +"Just a minute!" broke in Coach Edward, abruptly. "What play was that +you fellows just pulled?" + +Alf Rigsbee, Seconds' quarterback, looked a bit uneasy. + +"Why, er ... it was a play Mack suggested to us ... one his brother +used. Not so bad, hey?" + +"Since when is anyone giving you men plays without my authority?" the +Coach demanded, picking up the pigskin. "Ball's on the ten yard line. +Use the plays in which you've been instructed!" + +Mack stared, open-mouthed. "But, Coach, I...!" he started, biting off +the protest. + +"I was afraid of that," quarterback Rigsbee mumbled. "But we scored on +the Varsity anyhow. They can't take that away from us! Never mind +that, guys--we'll do it all over again!" + +Cut here Alf's optimism encountered its first snag. The Varsity, now +desperate, crashed through the Seconds' line to throw Mack for a four +yard loss. In four downs the Seconds had advanced the ball only to the +nine yard line where it went over. The Varsity tried a running play +which failed to gain and then kicked out of danger. On an exchange of +punts, the Varsity gained twenty yards and put the ball in play on +their twenty-nine yard line. + +"Here we go!" they announced. + +"Yes--_backward_!" shouted quarterback Rigsbee as the Seconds' line +charged fast and forced a two yard loss. + +"Get in there!" ordered the Coach. "You've got to work for your +yardage tonight. I haven't picked out any bed of roses for you Varsity +men. If you're going to stand a chance against Pomeroy you've got to +do better than this!" + +"Don't let them shake Frank Meade loose!" pleaded Alf of his determined +Seconds. "Frank depends on Dave's clearing the way for him. Stop Dave +and you stop Frank most of the time!" + +"I'll take care of Dave!" volunteered Mack, eyeing his rival for right +halfback. "The coach thinks he's better than I am. All right--this is +a swell time for him to prove it!" + +On the first play with Dave running as interference, Grinnell's star +blocking halfback collided with the fellow who thought he was just as +good and Mack's ambitious effort to break up the formation ended in a +nose dive as Frank, carrying the ball, raced down the field for +thirty-seven yards and a first down on the Seconds' thirty-four yard +line. + +"I thought you said you'd take care of Dave," chided quarterback +Rigsbee as a dejected Mack picked himself up. + +"He won't block me out again!" was all Mack would say as he took his +place behind the line. + +"Dave's a tough man to stop," rejoined Alf. "You pick him off right +along and you _are_ good!" + +The Varsity was laughing now. Frank's long run had pepped Grinnell's +first stringers up. Quarterback Bert Henley said something in Frank +Meade's car. Frank nodded. It was to be one of Coach Edward's new +plays ... two laterals behind the line with Frank on the ball carrying +end. + +"Watch this one!" warned Alf Rigsbee as he saw the shift. His Seconds +were all eyes and they needed to be for the passes which followed left +them momentarily dazed. The pigskin changed hands with bewildering +speed behind the line and Frank finally emerged with Dave running +interference, dashing around right end. Most of the Seconds had been +pulled in on the play but Mack, studying the shift closely, hazily +recalled that this was another of the plays he had seen diagrammed. + +"Frank around right end!" he exclaimed, "that play looked like a nifty +when they ran through it last night. But I'll nail Frank this time!" + +Racing to his left, Mack rapidly loomed in front of the fast traveling +Frank who was shielded by his interferer, Dave, running a step ahead +and in front of him. Dave, seeing Mack coming, prepared for the +impact. Mack, eyes only for Frank, charged savagely, intending to +brush Dave aside and keep on going until he had brought Frank to the +ground with a diving tackle. What actually happened was extremely +jolting to Mack. He hit Dave but did not tumble him. Instead it was +he who rebounded and Dave continued on. Mack, rolling over, painfully, +saw Dave go on down the field to bowl quarterback Alf Rigsbee, playing +safety, out of the way and leave Frank with a clear path to the goal +line. + +"Great work!" Mack heard Coach Edward complimenting Dave. "That's what +I call 'interference'!" + +The Varsity lined up in front of the Seconds' goal line with Dave +holding the ball while Frank place-kicked the point after touchdown. A +chagrined Mack Carver could only turn to Alf and declare: "The score +should have been a tie if that touchdown of ours hadn't been +disallowed." + +Alf shrugged his shoulders, expressively. "What do we care?" was his +answer. "It's only practice!" + +To Mack, however, his entire efforts seemed to have been punctured like +a toy balloon. He had tried to put more fight in his play. He had +tried, moreover, to show the coach that Dave was not so hot as a +blocking back. But he had actually only served to further demonstrate +Dave's great ability to dump would-be tacklers. This scrimmage had +been more than practice to him--it had been a final testing of +abilities he had claimed to have which he apparently did not possess. +The coach would probably discount the runs he had made while +impersonating Pomeroy's star back, Dizzy Fox. He had already +discredited the touchdown scored on a trumped up play, despite its +perfect execution. In fact, every way you looked at it, this fellow +Mack Carver appeared as a complete wash-out. He even marvelled now +that he had had the audacity to visit Coach Edward and ask why he +wasn't a regular on the Varsity. How foolish of him to have imagined +that the Coach was holding his relationship to Carl Carver against him! +He really owed the coach an apology! + +"Hey, Mack!" said a voice, and Grinnell's substitute back, momentarily +lost in a solemn revery, realized that Dave Morgan was at his elbow. +"Listen, old man," Dave was saying. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" + +"No," Mack replied. "But you sure took me out of those plays. It was +swell interfering." + +Dave nodded. "You came at me like the charge of the Light Brigade," he +grinned, "only you hit me too high ... gave me a chance to get under +you and I hoisted you out of the way. Next time try the shoulder and +the half roll--like this ...!" And Dave put his words into action, +sending Mack spinning as he did so. + +"Much obliged!" was Mack's comment, when he had recovered his balance. + +"Don't mention it!" said Dave, and was off to join his Varsity mates as +the two elevens lined up again for kick-off. + +Mack, standing staring after the fellow who had beaten him out for the +team, could scarcely control his feelings. He had carried a chip on +his shoulder all season; hadn't mixed with the fellows the way he might +have; had taken the game and its incidents too seriously, and here was +a guy--his rival--who was sport enough to take him aside and tip him +off as to how he might be stopped! + +"I'll try it next chance I get," Mack decided, "and if it works...!" + +Varsity kicked off to the Seconds who lost the ball on downs after +putting on another advance--this one for forty yards. Mack was +responsible for half of the yardage gained but the Varsity was now +getting on to the Pomeroy plays and developing an effective defense to +cope with them. Taking the ball on its twenty-three yard stripe, the +Varsity started a slashing drive, mixing straight line plays and end +runs. Finally, with the Seconds' defense stiffening, quarterback Bert +Henley called upon Coach Edward's new play--the lateral opening out +into the forward pass. + +"Now!" thought Mack, as he analyzed what was coming. + +Dave Morgan, intended as Frank's screen on the pass, lateralled to +Frank and stationed himself in front as interferer. Frank, who had +started to run wide, faded back for the throw. Coming in fast, Mack, +following instructions, tore into Dave, hitting him low. Frank's +interference disappeared suddenly and completely in a jolting +somersault and Mack, with a half roll, was upon his feet and diving +back after the man with the ball. Frank tried to elude him and to +forward pass at the last instant but Mack had covered him too fast. He +was tackled before he could get the ball away for a loss of twelve +yards. + +"Great stuff!" congratulated a winded Dave who had staggered to his +feet. "That's getting past interference!" + +"Now aren't you sorry you wised me up?" smiled Mack, appreciatively. +"You could have had things all your own way." + +"But it wouldn't have been any fun," was Dave's reply. "Now I've got +to _work_!" + +And Dave's prediction proved correct. A friendly feud developed +between Mack and himself. It was no longer possible for Dave to block +Mack out of the play and keep going himself. Invariably the two went +down and out together. Occasionally Mack would so batter his +interference as to reach the man with the ball himself. If he did not, +he so thoroughly removed the interference that he forced the ball +carrier in the open and made him comparatively easy prey for fellow +Seconds to bring down. + +"Dave, you've done wonders for me," Mack said, gratefully, at the end +of a gruelling practice. "I don't know how to thank you." + +"Don't try," Dave answered. "I've been watching you for some time. I +knew you were just missing out. You ought to make it tough for anybody +from now on!" + +That any fellow player would have been so unselfish as to help a rival +overcome a fault in charging interference and thus jeopardize his own +position on the team was almost beyond Mack's comprehension. Long +after the practice session was over he puzzled Dave's great kindness +and wondered, too, whether Coach Edward had finally been impressed with +the way he had played. + +"After I got the hang of it, I made even Dave look bad," Mack told +himself. "I certainly didn't intend to do this ... but every time I +broke up the interference and nabbed Frank it counted in my favor and +against Dave. Coach doesn't know, of course, who's responsible for my +improvement. I only wish it was earlier in the season. I might be +able to get somewhere." But this thought brought a feeling of remorse +since Mack's advancement would ordinarily have to be at Dave's expense. + +"I see now what Coach meant about a fellow's playing wholeheartedly for +the team," Mack reflected. "Dave wasn't thinking of himself when he +helped me out. If I should develop into the better player, I know he'd +take his hat off to me. And here I've been playing for myself right +along. Swell guy--this Mack Carver!... So swell he ought to be ducked +in Grinnell Lake!" + + +News travels fast across a college campus. The following morning +students were thrown in a turmoil of excitement by word that Coach +Edward's office had been rifled during the night and nothing disturbed +but the team plays. It was rumored that two detectives had been +employed by the college to determine, if possible, the guilty party or +parties. Despite an attempt to keep the matter quiet, newspapers got +hold the story and, later in the day, papers appeared with streaming +headlines: + + GRINNELL PLAYS STOLEN + FROM COACH'S OFFICE + + POMEROY AUTHORITIES INDIGNANTLY + DENY ACCUSATIONS OF PART IN ATTEMPT + TO SECURE GRINNELL PLAYS AND SIGNALS + + +The Grinnell _Leader-Tribune_ went so far as to declare, in its news +story, that relations between Pomeroy and Grinnell had been strained +for the past two years since Grinnell had developed into a school to be +feared by the larger college. It seemed that Pomeroy had scheduled +Grinnell merely for the purpose of giving her a drubbing and taking it +easy between big games and that Grinnell's increased opposition had +been embarrassing to Pomeroy students and alumni who rated their eleven +far better than the intended victim. Now matters had become so acute, +a report was going the rounds that Coach Carl Carver's job at Pomeroy +hung upon his winning the Grinnell game, about which there was some +doubt owing to Pomeroy's uncertain season. A victory for Grinnell, on +the other hand, would be the greatest triumph ever scored by that +school since Pomeroy was a nationally known eleven, accustomed to +playing the best in the country. "It's a step up or a step down for +either coach," the news article concluded, and Mack Carver, Grinnell +substitute back, who read the stories with a strange lump in his +throat, breathed his thanksgiving that no mention was made of him. + +"This is one time when my not being well known as a football player has +helped out," he said to himself. "If I'd been prominent on the +Grinnell team, I'd have been played up along with my brother. As it +is, they'll probably let me alone." + +But in this surmise, Mack was wrong. On reporting for football +practice that afternoon, he found fellow team members regarding him +with traces of suspicion. + +"Coach wants to see you in the Field House," Frank informed. "He says +not to dress." + +Mack stiffened with surprise. + +"Okay," he replied, face sobering. "Any idea what it's about?" + +"How should I know?" rejoined Grinnell's star back, but Mack fancied he +noted an attempt on Frank's part to conceal his real feelings. +"Maybe," Frank added, rather lamely, "he's moving you up as a regular!" + +"No chance of that," said Mack, grimly. "See you guys later!" + +He turned on his heel and strode out of the locker room. On the way to +the Field House his thoughts ran together crazily. There could only be +one answer to the Coach's request to see him. It must be in connection +with the stolen plays!... Mack's mind raced back to the moment in +Coach Edward's office when he had been detected examining the plays. +He winced. This was probably the meagre clue upon which he was being +drawn into the case ... this and the fact that he was a brother of Carl +Carver's! + +Coach Edward was apparently awaiting Mack's arrival. He was in the +company of two strange men when Grinnell's substitute back located him +in one of the conference rooms. + +"Meet Mr. Pierce and Mr. Greene," the Coach introduced. "Take a chair +over here." + +Mack sat down, feeling the two men looking him over, shrewdly. + +"You've been called," explained Coach Edward at once, "in the hopes +that you may help us throw some light on what happened in my office +last night." + +"I thought so," answered Mack, eyeing his coach squarely. + +"Why did you think so?" demanded the man referred to as Pierce. He was +solidly built, black moustache and heavy eyebrows. Mack took an +instant dislike to his bullying manner. + +"The reasons should be obvious," he replied. + +"As we understand it," spoke up the man introduced as Greene, "you paid +Coach Edward a visit some days ago--at his office." + +"I did," acknowledged Mack. + +"At that time," continued Mr. Greene, "you took quite an interest in +some diagrams of plays which your coach had on his desk." + +Mack's face flushed. "I did," he admitted. + +"What was the big idea?" boomed Pierce. "You knew your coach would +tell you all he wanted you to know about any plays he had. Why take +the first chance you got to look them over?" + +Mack turned to Coach Edward who sat back, having left the questioning +to the two strange gentlemen. + +"Listen here, Coach! Who are these men? Am I being cross-examined? +You don't think that _I_...?" + +"These men are detectives as you've probably supposed," said Coach +Edward. "I haven't accused you of anything. The case has been turned +over to them. They have been acquainted with all known facts ... and +you simply are being asked to contribute what you know." + +Mack stirred uneasily. "I don't know anything!" he replied, frowning +his defiance. + +"Didn't you even know that a key to Coach Edward's office was found to +be missing from his desk shortly after you left?" pressed Detective +Pierce. + +"No," said Mack, his temper slowly rising. + +"But you're willing to admit that a knowledge of Grinnell plays and +signals would be highly valuable to your brother, aren't you?" + +Mack glared. "I suppose they would ... but if you think my brother +would take any underhanded advantage...!" + +"We're not thinking," interrupted Detective Greene, smoothly. "We're +just talking out loud. I believe you've been peeved at your Coach for +some time ... even accused him of not giving you the breaks you +deserved!" + +"That's right," said Mack, after a moment's hesitation. "And I want to +apologize for that." + +"You do, eh?... What for?" + +"Because I discovered last night I was wrong." + +"Last _night_?" + +"I mean--yesterday afternoon ... in scrimmage. I thought I was better +than I really was. I'm sorry I ever said anything, Coach." + +Coach Edward nodded, exchanging glances with the two detectives. + +"Trying to make things right now, aren't you?" taunted Detective +Greene. "But you can't explain away that crack you took at Coach +Edward just as you were leaving." + +"What crack was that?" + +"'Here's hoping you get trimmed by Pomeroy!'" Mack flinched. He had +been sincerely trying to straighten matters up but the detectives did +not appear to be giving him credit. + +"I was sore when I left," said Grinnell's substitute back. "I +shouldn't have said that. I didn't really mean it." + +"You didn't mean it, eh?... Isn't it a fact, when you left Coach +Edward's office you were practically positive you wouldn't get a chance +to play against Pomeroy?" + +He hesitated. "Yes, sir," he finally granted. + +"And," persisted Detective Pierce, "isn't it a fact, if you couldn't +get a chance to play, you would rather have seen your brother's team +win?" + +"No!" cried Mack, rising from his chair. + +"Just a minute, son!" snapped Detective Pierce, pushing Mack down. +"Wasn't that remark you made, leaving Coach Edward's office, actually a +threat?" + +Mack stared at the burly figure in front of him in amazement. This +interview was taking on the proportions of a third degree. + +"A threat?" Mack repeated, somewhat bewildered. + +"A threat that, if the coach didn't put you in the game against +Pomeroy--you'd do all you could to help Pomeroy win!" + +"That's a lie!" branded Mack. "I didn't have any such idea in mind. +You can't prove a thing. I never saw the key. I haven't been near +Coach Edward's office since. I haven't been in touch with my brother. +You can't make me out a thief. I went straight to the Coach with my +grievance and got it out of my system. I've apologized--whether he +wants to accept it or not. I'd intended going to him and apologizing +today ... until this came up. It's unfortunate ... but I didn't have +anything to do with it!" + +Mack's outburst sounded incoherent as it poured from his lips but he +was greatly up-wrought. To think of such suspicions having centered +upon him! He could understand how he had been responsible for part of +his dilemma but the rest seemed far-fetched, absurd. + +"I think, officer, the boy's been questioned enough," said Coach Edward. + +"Not quite!" rejoined Detective Pierce. "This young man also mentioned +in your presence the rumor that you were out after his brother's job. +Isn't that so, Mr. Carver?" + +"Yes," glowered Mack, now strictly on the defensive. + +"He had that very much on his mind. It's human then to believe that he +would be interested in his brother's holding his job. Am I right?... +Isn't that the way you feel about it, Mr. Carver?" + +"Naturally," conceded Mack, with a feeling of being cornered. "But I +wouldn't let even that stand in the way of playing my hardest for +Grinnell if I got the chance in the Pomeroy game!" + +"On the other hand, if you should sympathize too much with your +brother, you might fumble at the right time or make a poor play which +would help Pomeroy out?" + +"No, no!" Mack fairly shouted. "I'm not that sort. I won't answer +another question!" + +"You're quite right, Mack," sided Coach Edward, evidently disturbed by +the turn the cross-examination had taken. "Gentlemen, I don't think +anything is to be gained by detaining Mr. Carver longer." + +Detectives Pierce and Greene looked consultingly at one another. + +"I'm not satisfied that the boy's telling all he knows," declared +Pierce. "Since I'm in charge of this case, I must ask that he be +suspended from the team until this matter is solved." + +"Please," begged Coach Edward, as Mack looked his concern. "Not that. +It will mean unfavorable publicity--ill feeling between the two +schools." + +"We can't help that," said Detective Pierce, bluntly. "You've reported +that your office has been entered. We've been assigned to the case. +You've told us everything you knew about events leading up to last +night and it's our job to run the clues down. Greene and I feel that +this young man should be held as a material witness. Naturally it +won't look right for you to keep a man on the team who's under +suspicion." + +"I quite agree with you there." + +"Then suspend him at once." + +"I dislike doing this very much." + +"You haven't any choice, Mr. Edward." + +"But I don't feel you've lined up sufficient evidence to warrant such +action. I'll confess thinking first of Mack when I discovered what had +been done ... but it was only because of certain incidents. Listening +to this cross-examination today, I'm not convinced that he is any way +connected. Rather, I believe that the circumstances surrounding him +have been unfortunate. I'd much prefer to drop the whole matter +than..." + +"You can't drop it!" bellowed Detective Pierce. "It's in the papers. +We're not going to have it said that we were hushed up. Whoever broke +into your office must have been working for Pomeroy because the plays +and signals wouldn't have done anyone else any good. When this young +man decides to talk we'll find out something. You wait and see." + +Mack Carver laughed, grimly. The situation, serious as it was, now +struck him funny. Two small town detectives with an inflated sense of +their own importance. Coach Edward, because of his desire to win the +Pomeroy game had magnified the happening until it had developed beyond +his control. There was going to be some fireworks now despite anything +that he could do. + +"It's all right, Coach," said Mack, sympathetically. "Go ahead and +suspend me. You probably wouldn't have played me anyway--so it's no +loss to the team. Besides--these men can't prove anything on me if +they spend the rest of their lives." + +"Mack," addressed Coach Edward, with obvious sincerity. "I hope you'll +believe me when I say that I'm deeply sorry this thing has occurred. +You've made your mistakes in judgment ... and I've made mine. I've a +feeling now that you're being done an injustice but there's little I +can do about it for the time being...!" + +"What are you trying to hand the boy?" cut off Detective Pierce. "Is +he suspended or isn't he?" + +"He's suspended," said the Coach, simply. + +"Very well!" snapped Detective Pierce. "Come on, Greene. I've got +another angle for us to follow up. As for you, son--you stay put where +we can call you!" + +"I will," Mack promised, and stepped into the hall. + +Outside the cool November air felt bracing to his feverish temples. He +inhaled it to the depth of his lungs as he strode from the Field House, +across the gridiron where Darby, assistant coach, was putting the squad +through its paces. + +"Hi, Mack!" yelled Frank as the substitute back was discovered. "Where +you going?... Wait a minute!" + +The team members looked Mack's way, apparently much interested. + +"They're probably curious to know what's happened," thought Mack, a +peculiar sort of numbness taking possession of him ... a numbness which +was making him insensible to bitterness and disappointment. But Mack +had no desire to mix with his fellows and hurried his footsteps toward +the exit gate. + +"Hold on, Carver!" Assistant Coach Darby shouted after him. + +Mack came to a stop and looked back, wonderingly. Darby hurried, over, +followed by Varsity team members. + +"What's the matter?" asked Mack, almost defiantly. "What do you want?" + +"Better get into your duds," said Darby. "We may need you." + +"Not me," Mack rejoined, incredulously. + +"Yes, you!" replied Frank, coming up and tapping him on the shoulder. +"Dave's just been carried off the field with a dislocated knee. It's +doubtful if he'll be able to play Saturday." + +Mack stood for a moment, shocked at the news. The field seemed to spin +around in a circle ... then the peculiar numbness returned. + +"Too late," he heard himself saying. "You'll have to use someone else. +I'm no longer on the team. I've been suspended." + +And, with that, he continued on out through the exit gate, not so much +as glancing back over his shoulder. + + +Grinnell College never knew a sensation to compare with that which +arose over the suspension of one Mack Carver. Not widely acquainted +because of his having entered Grinnell as a Junior with his residence +on the campus not quite three months in duration, Mack now became the +most discussed young man in school. His brother, Coach Carl Carver of +Pomeroy, had been too well known for the past few years, due to the +steam roller effect of his team upon the woeful best that Grinnell +could put on the field. Newspapers, in their merciless survey of the +present situation, left nothing to be imagined, emphasizing that the +coming Saturday's contest was more a "battle of coaches" than it was a +"battle of elevens." Injury of Dave Morgan, Grinnell's great blocking +back, had complicated matters still more since Mack Carver, the +suspended back, would logically have taken his place on the team. News +had leaked out of Mack's satisfactory performance in the last secret +scrimmage and rumor had it that Mack and his brother were not supposed +to be on speaking terms. This rumor hardly jibed with the suspicion +Mack was declared to be under--of having stolen Grinnell signals and +plays for the purpose of tipping said brother off that Pomeroy might be +assured of winning the game. But, since one good rumor deserved +another, all those interested might read and take their choice. +Meanwhile all sorts of wild reports were circulated, sides were +frenziedly taken, and the Grinnell stadium was sold out with thousands +of demands for tickets being of necessity refused. + +"There'll be plenty of excitement here Saturday," a Grinnell +storekeeper remarked. "I'm going to re-enforce my store windows so the +crowds can't push 'em in." + +Friday afternoon, Pomeroy's football squad, thirty-three strong, +arrived at Grinnell, having made the hundred and forty mile trip by +bus. They immediately took rooms in the Grinnell Inn--a whole floor to +be exact--and then the squad stretched their legs with a walk up and +down the Main Street while Coach Carl Carver got on the telephone and +called his brother. + +"Mack--this is Carl! What's all this I hear about stolen plays and +your suspension?" + +"It's all a lot of noise!" + +"Yeah? Doesn't sound like it by the papers. Looks pretty serious to +me. I've invited Coach Edward up here to see me in fifteen minutes and +I want you to be here." + +"Aw, nix, Carl!... I've said my say. I'm not begging for anything. +I've embarrassed you enough as it is! You know what they're saying ... +that we're in cahoots!" + +"What do I care what they're saying?... I want you to be here, +understand?... I'm not taking 'no' for an answer!" + +"Okay," said Mack, reluctantly, "but I'm telling you beforehand, it +won't do you any good." + +Mack arrived five minutes before Coach Edward appeared. + +"Well!" greeted Carl, "this is a nice kettle of fish!" + +"Mostly my fault, too," said Mack, and related the events leading up to +the present moment. + +"So Coach Edward is after my job?" mused Carl. "That's what happens +after you've had a winning team for a couple years. A few reverses and +the proud alumni commence hollering 'get the axe'! Everybody loves a +winner and they don't stop to figure there's got to be a loser to every +winner. Now that Grinnell's piled up a great record this year, we're +supposed to bump you off. If we do, despite the fact we've had no +season to shout about ourselves, the alumni will consider our year +crowned with success." + +"You think you're going to beat us?" grinned Mack. + +"Yes--with you suspended!" kidded Carl. + +"Cut it!" Mack winced. "I'll prove to you yet that I can play +football!" + +"Go to it!" invited Carl. "I admire your stick-to-it-iveness! Three +years and just a substitute indicates a bear for punishment." + +"Being related to you is my biggest handicap," was Mack's rejoinder. +"It cost me better consideration before and it's costing me my chances +now." + +"Tough luck!" sympathized Carl. "But if your coach gets my job next +year, you'll have a clear field!" + +"I hope he doesn't!" + +"Meaning you hope we win?" + +Mack's face colored. "No--but I hope you keep your job win or lose." + +"Listen, kid!" and Carl looked cautiously toward the door, "we've been +slowed up due to injuries and illness this year in addition to poor +material. But right now my eleven's at its peak for the first time and +we're set to give Grinnell a whale of a battle tomorrow. So--if your +team wins, your coach will be deserving of something!" + +A rap sounded on the door. + +"There he is now!" + +Carl strode over and flung the door open. + +"Edward, how are you?" + +"Fine, Carver. And you?" + +"Okay!... I've asked my kid brother to sit in." + +"Oh! ... Hello, Mack!" + +"Hello, Coach." + +"Sit down, Edward." + +"Thanks." + +"I haven't said anything to Mack about this but maybe I can throw a +little light on this stolen play business." + +"Yes?" + +"On Wednesday night, this week, I received a mysterious note, signed by +a Mister "X" who proposed to sell me your signals and plays. I was +advised to leave one hundred dollars under a log in a vacant field..." + +Coach Edward leaned forward, highly interested. Mack whistled, +impulsively. + +"What did you do?" + +"I left the hundred," related Coach Carver, "but I marked the bills. +The next morning I found the bills gone and, in their place, this +sealed envelope which, I imagine, contains the stolen plays and +signals." + +"You haven't opened it?" + +You'll have to take my word for it. The seal is unbroken. Of +course--this could be a second envelope." + +"Hardly likely," said Coach Edward, greatly fussed. "May I open it?" + +"I should expect you to," said Carl. "Maybe we've both been fooled. +It may be nothing but a wad of paper." + +"No--it's the plays all right ... and--the signals!" gasped Coach +Edward. "This is almost incredible ... and certainly brazen! I don't +suppose the guilty person has been traced?" + +"No--although the police in Pomeroy as well as the merchants have been +quietly tipped off as to the marked bills--a tiny "X" in the right hand +upper corner. You see, the idea is to out-X Mister X." Carl was +smiling. + +"But he's probably left the town," surmised Coach Edward. + +"Yes--and he's more probably returned to Grinnell," predicted Carl. +"You may find some of the marked five dollar bills in your town." + +"Then you figure the thief a resident of Grinnell?" + +"Well, I most certainly don't wish to claim him for Pomeroy! We've +already been given the name of being behind this ... and my own brother +is under the shadow of suspicion." + +"This I regret very much," declared Coach Edward. "I said so at the +time. Mack and I have had our differences; I jumped a bit too hastily +at conclusions myself and the result is this unfortunate notoriety. +I'm profoundly sorry. I would like to be able to make amends." + +"Then may I suggest that you begin by reinstating my brother at once. +You have the evidence now to prove he was not implicated and I demand +that you do it!" + +"You won't have to demand," promised Coach Edward, "I was opposed to +this action in the first place and it will please me to present these +facts to the dumb detectives on the case who would have half the +college indicted for the theft if I'd listen to them!" + +"Whether you use my brother in the game or not is no affair of mine," +continued Coach Carver. "But it _is_ my affair when his name and mine +is attacked. As for tomorrow--good luck but not too much of it!" + +"I might say the same to you!" said Coach Edward, extending his hand. + +The two coaches shook hands. Carl's hand was cool and firm; but his +rival's palm was hot and trembly. + + +Morning papers, the day of the game, carried the news of Mack Carver's +reinstatement and a letter of public apology from Coach Edward. No +explanation was offered, as to the reasons behind Mack's return to the +Varsity. + +"I'll bet this action was taken simply to reduce the feeling between +the two colleges," ventured a Grinnell supporter. "There have been +enough ugly reports surrounding this game and the authorities probably +got together, figuring they'd quiet a lot of wild rumors and unfounded +stories. But you can't tell me--where there was so much smoke--that +there isn't plenty of fire!" + +And this opinion seemed to be shared by most of the thousands who +jammed the stadium for the game. It was a clear, cold day with a dry, +hard field destined to provide a fair test of the strength of both +elevens. + +In the locker room, as Grinnell players dressed for the game, Mack +Carver was approached by team members who expressed their confidence in +him. Mack, while he tried not to show it, was highly nervous and ill +at ease. There was now every reason to believe that he would see +service in the game since Dave's knee had not responded to treatment +and since Coach Edward would probably feel that his playing at least +part of the contest would prove to Pomeroy that no grudge or suspicion +remained. + +"If I'm put in I've got to play a bang-up game," Mack told himself, "or +I'll be open to criticism again. I can't afford to make any slips." + +Dave Morgan, hobbling in on crutches, had encouraging words to say. + +"You're in a tough spot, I know," he sympathized. "But just forget +you're related to Coach Carver and go out there to play a game of +football. If you tear in there the way you did when you got started +against me--you won't have to worry." + +"Thanks," said Mack, gratefully. "You're a peach!" + +"Don't kid yourself," grinned Dave. "I didn't throw this knee out to +give you your chance!" + +Mack's eyes clouded. "No, Dave--you've done more than that. You've +shown me what real spirit was. I've been so wound up in myself that I +couldn't feel it before. I feel it now, though ... and I only hope I +can play good enough so your loss won't be felt too badly." + +Dave patted him on the back. "I'll be pulling for you, boy!" + +A buzz of excitement went through the crowded stands as the Pomeroy and +Grinnell elevens lined up for kick-off and the player numbered "26" in +Grinnell's backfield was pointed out to be Mack Carver. Pomeroy was +kicking to Grinnell. + +"The highly exploited brother act is about to be put on!" cried a fan. +"We'll soon see what a brother player can do against a brother coach. +If there's not plenty of fireworks in this game, I'll miss a good +guess!" + +Mack, as he awaited the referee's whistle starting the game, felt his +heart throbbing in his throat. This was his big moment--a terrible +moment. For him--the world rested on his shoulders. Thanks to +unwelcome newspaper publicity his every move would be watched. He +would be playing as though followed by a spotlight. Keenly conscious +of the business rivalry between his brother and Coach Edward, Mack +thoroughly appreciated the gesture of his being placed in the opening +line-up. He even wondered what his own feelings would have been had he +been in Coach Edward's shoes. Could he have trusted the brother of a +rival coach in the big game--knowing how deeply rooted is family +loyalty? Not that he would have suspected said brother of deliberate +leanings toward the other side ... but he might have feared an +unconscious favoring and a partial let-down on the part of the brother +at critical times. Were a game the only thing at stake, such brotherly +consideration might be entirely discounted. But when the loss of such +a game might affect the family pocketbook, the situation took on +different proportions. And this was the tough spot in which the +Grinnell Coach and player found themselves. Coach Carl Carver had +never intimated any personal concern nor confessed to any embarrassment +at the possibility of Mack's playing. His attitude had been impersonal +... but he, of the three, was least in position to feel the strain. + +The kick-off! + +Mack's eyes followed the ball as it arched in the air and spun his way. +Out of the corners of his eyes he saw team-mates forming a phalanx in +front. Then he heard Frank Meade's voice off to his left. + +"Take it, Mack--and follow me!" + +The stands were rocketing sound as Mack, his throat suddenly dry as +paper, realized the pigskin was coming to him on his own seven yard +line ... that the Pomeroy eleven was rushing down ... trying to +penetrate Grinnell's quickly forming interference. He made the catch, +clutching the ball to him fearsomely, terrorized at the thought of +dropping it, and felt himself in motion as he slid in behind Frank who +crossed in front of him. Ten--fifteen--twenty yards he traveled ... +conscious that frenzied Pomeroy forms were being dumped heavily to +earth by fellow team-mates ... and that Frank, directly ahead, was +doing herculean work at clearing the way for him. On the thirty yard +stripe, Frank suddenly went down, blocking off another tackler as he +fell ... and Mack was forced to veer toward the sidelines as he was +left upon his own. He saw now that Dizzy Fox, Pomeroy's star backfield +man, was bearing rapidly down on him. There was no escape ... he must +try to straight-arm ... or else be forced out of bounds.... + +Smack! + +Dizzy's body-jarring tackle could be heard over the entire field. Mack +felt his breath violently punched from him and the mad clamor of the +field fade out in almost total darkness. A referee's whistle +screeched. Mick came to himself with the trainer bending over him, +lifting him up and down at the waist. He was gasping for breath. + +"Pomeroy's ball!" he heard the referee saying. + +"Pomeroy's ball?" Mack repeated, dazedly. + +"Yeah--you fumbled when you was hit!" said the trainer. "Tough break, +old boy!" + +Pomeroy's ball on Grinnell's forty yard line and Mack Carver's +brilliant runback of the initial kick-off reduced to naught! + +"What will Coach Edward think?" an agonized Mack wondered as he +stumbled to his feet and was shoved back into position. + +"Never mind that, Mack!" Frank was saying in his ear. "That might have +happened to any of us!" + +But this was small consolation and it was even less consolation when +Pomeroy, overjoyed at the early turn of fortune, put on an inspired +drive which carried them the remaining distance to the Grinnell goal in +three first downs. The point after touchdown was kicked and Pomeroy, +five minutes after the game's opening, was out in front with a seven to +nothing lead. + +"That's what you call brotherly cooperation!" remarked a disgruntled +rooter, but he was instantly howled down by those inclined to be +charitable. + +"Mack was over-anxious!" explained one. "He made a great get-away but +he was trying too hard. He was too tense when he was hit and the ball +was snapped out of his arms. If he'd have relaxed, he'd have held onto +it. Shouldn't I know? I played for three years!" + +Again Pomeroy kicked off. This time the ball went to Frank Meade who +was downed on the twenty-five yard mark. Then followed a terrific +struggle between two powerful lines--both elevens settling down to work +with the first hysteria of battle over. The contest became a punting +duel between the twenty yard lines with the offense of the two teams +effectively checked. + +"Looks like that lone touchdown might prove to be the measure of +difference between Pomeroy and Grinnell!" observed a spectator as the +half ended. "If it is, it's going to be hard on Mack Carver! He +hasn't shown much so far ... but no one has--except Dizzy Fox who made +the only score. That fellow sums up as the best back on the field!" + +In the locker room a dejected Mack Carver rightfully expected a +reprimand from his coach. Instead, Coach Edward announced to his +squad: "Boys, you'll be glad to know that the man who stole our signals +and plays has been caught. He's a small time gambler who'd placed bets +on Pomeroy to win. We owe his capture to Mack's brother, Coach Carl +Carver. And I want to again apologize to Mack for the embarrassment +I've caused him and his brother." + +"That's all right, Coach," replied Grinnell's substitute back who had +played in the starting line-up for the first time. "I'm darn sorry +about that fumble." + +"Go out after 'em this half!" was Coach Edward's retort. "You can get +that touchdown back!" + +Mack could have no quarrel now about not being given the proper chance +to show what he could do. Coach was keeping him in, was giving him the +benefit of every doubt, was finding no fault even when his fumble might +be costing Coach Edward an opportunity to take over the coaching reins +at Pomeroy ... and at the same time help Coach Carver to hold his +position. + +"This touchdown mustn't be what decides the game!" Mack told himself, +fervently. "If Pomeroy wins, I mustn't be held accountable for it!" + +The third quarter began as though to continue the close defensive +struggle but, along toward the end of the quarter, Grinnell suddenly +came to life as left half Frank Meade, behind the frenzied interference +of Mack Carver, broke away for a thirty-nine yard run which placed the +ball on Pomeroy's twenty-one yard mark. + +"Great work, Mack!" shouted a delighted Dave Morgan from the Grinnell +bench. Then, turning to the Grinnell subs, Dave grinningly declared: +"Say--he looked just like _me_ out there on that one! Did you see him +block those tacklers out of the way?... Now he's got going ... look +out, Pomeroy--here we come!" + +Pomeroy's defense tightened. An end run failed to gain. A lateral +pass was good for four yards. Third down and seven to go. + +Quarterback Bert Henley, calling signals in the huddle, nominated one +of Coach Edward's new plays--the lateral pass opening into a forward. +On this play, Mack was to take the pass from Bert and lateral to Frank +who was to fade back while Mack screened the pass from in front, +blocking off would-be tacklers. + +The ball was snapped. Mack took the toss from Bert and started +running, then tossed the pigskin on to Frank who was running on his +left. + +The toss was poor and Frank fumbled, then recovered. Mack continued +left, covering Frank as he dropped back ... but the Pomeroy line was +through fast and Mack found himself confronted with three frenzied +linesmen who sought to break up the pass. He threw himself in front of +them all and actually succeeded in bringing two down but the third +dodged to the side and leaped up, just as Frank, hurried by the poor +toss, released the pass. + +"It's intercepted!" screamed Pomeroy stands as the Pomeroy right end +deflected the ball and gathered it into his arms, starting off for the +Grinnell goal, some eighty yards distance. He angled his run to avoid +a desperate Frank Meade who immediately gave chase. Mack, +disentangling himself from the two Pomeroy linesmen, also attempted to +follow after but was bumped joltingly to the ground again by another +Pomeroy player who came up from nowhere to offer interference in his +team-mate's wake. + +"Touchdown!" yelled a delirious Pomeroy as the right end crossed +Grinnell's goal just as Frank hit him in a diving tackle. "There goes +your old ball game!" + +Amid a riotous ovation by Pomeroy rooters, the point after touchdown +was added as the third quarter ended with the scoreboard reading: +Pomeroy, 14; Grinnell, 0. + +"I'm responsible for that score, too!" moaned Mack, inconsolably. +"That rotten pass I made to you, Frank. By the time you recovered and +got set they were on you!..." + +Frank, bitterly disappointed, had nothing to say. But Quarterback Bert +Henley, greatly perturbed by the breaks of the game, turned savagely +upon Grinnell's substitute back. + +"You're right, Mack. You've played a swell game today for Pomeroy! If +you'd stolen the signals and handed 'em to your brother's team, you +couldn't have done any better! Coach Edward's treated you pretty white +... but you're about as low as a guy could get!" + +"Shut up, Bert!" demanded Frank, grabbing the outraged quarterback by +the arm as Mack accepted the blazing denunciation with clenched fists, +controlling himself with difficulty. + +"He ought to be taken out!" cried fullback Steve Hilliard, equally +upset. + +Grinnell team members looked to the sidelines, half-expectant that +Coach Edward would take action but he sat immobile as Pomeroy prepared +to kick-off once more. Whether by design or not, the pigskin was +driven directly at Grinnell's offending player. + +"I'll take it!" cried Frank, racing over from the side. + +"No!" shouted Mack, "It's _mine_!" + +Something in Mack's brain went hot at the realization that his +team-mates were trusting him no longer. Here was Frank, trying to take +a ball away from him which was rightfully his to accept. Frank made +the catch, snatching the ball practically out of Mack's arms. + +"Get in front of me!" he yelled. + +Mack had no other choice. Pomeroy players were sifting through +Grinnell's interference as Mack shot up the field, with the +fleet-footed Frank constantly urging him on to greater speed, until +both got behind a wedge of their own team members who were doing an +excellent job of crashing Pomeroy tacklers. At mid-field the wedge was +broken up and Mack and Frank emerged from the heap on their own. + +"To the right!" directed Frank, seeing that two tacklers were bearing +down from the left. Mack changed directions obediently. + +Grinnell supporters, wild with hope, screamed the two runners on. + +"Look out from behind!" they shrieked, as a Pomeroy player, giving mad +chase, was rapidly closing up the gap. + +Frank looked back over his shoulder, then called to the fellow who had +put his own team in the hole. + +"Mack--drop back and take that guy out!" + +"Okay!" answered Mack, dropping at once to the rear as Frank raced past +him. + +The Pomeroy tackler loomed up almost at once and Mack, whose charge +down the field as Frank's interferer had been fraught with one +spectacular piece of frenzied blocking after another, now completed his +task by hurling himself in front of the last threat to Frank's +sensational touch down dash from kick-off. Tackler and interferer went +down in a thudding pile as Grinnell's star halfback crossed Pomeroy's +goal line and triumphantly touched the ball down. Then the field +rocked with sound. + +"What a run!" gasped Dave Morgan, waving his crutch. "And what a piece +of interfering! Mack sure produced that time! Didn't look like he was +handing the game to Pomeroy then, did it?... Come on, gang--this old +game isn't lost yet!" + +But a great groan went the rounds as the pass from center was bad and +Frank missed the kick for extra point. Score: Pomeroy, 14, Grinnell, 6! + +"If we make another touchdown and kick the goal, we'll still be a point +behind!" grieved a Grinnell supporter. "There goes our outside chances +of at least tying the score!" + +"Now you're playing _football_!" were Frank's words to Mack as he shook +his fist at him and then turned on other scowling team members with the +demand that they show a little fight. + +"This is not enough!" Mack kept repeating. "I've got to do more!... +This is not enough!" + +Grinnell kicked off and it was a frenzied Mack Carver who raced down +the field to bowl over interferers and down the Pomeroy man with the +ball on his eighteen yard line. + +"Yea, Carver!... Yea, yea, yea!" + +"Hold 'em!" ordered Quarterback Bert Henley. "Make 'em kick!" + +The Grinnell linesmen, battered from the pounding they had received, +dug their cleats into the turf and held for three downs with Pomeroy +being able to gain but two yards. Dizzy Fox then dropped back to his +five yard line to punt. + +"Block that kick!" was the cry. + +And, with the snapping of the ball, Grinnell opened up a hole. It +existed but for a moment as the lines strained against one another ... +but, in that moment, Grinnell's right guard was through. He hurried +the kick, all but blocking it so that the ball went out of bounds on +Pomeroy's thirty yard mark. + +"All right, gang!" shouted Quarterback Bert Henley. "What are we going +to do about this?" + +"We're going through!" answered the team to a man. + +Coach Edward sent in three fresh linesmen with the aim of aiding the +offensive drive. The scoreboard read: eight minutes to play. + +To Mack's astonishment, he was given the ball on the first play, a +drive through tackle. He plunged for four yards and, heard the +Grinnell stands yell his name. Frank was good for two yards ... Steve +was good for four more and a first down on Pomeroy's twenty yard mark! + +"That's hitting 'em!" commended Bert. "Keep it up, you guys! How +about you, Mack? Do you want to see us win or don't you?" + +Mack glared. "Just gimme that ball!" + +Fighting and squirming his way through, Mack made another four yards. + +"Four yards, Carver!" the stands commenced shouting. + +But Pomeroy rose up to turn fullback Steve Hilliard back at the line of +scrimmage. + +Third down and six to go. Frank Meade--on a triple pass behind the +line--with Mack as interference, breaking out around left end! The +play was beautifully executed but Mack, as he turned the end, stumbled +so that Frank bumped him and was thrown off his stride. Before he +could recover, Pomeroy tacklers were in on him so that he gained but a +yard. + +"There you go!" razzed Bert, shaking a blackened fist in Mack's face, +"Spilling the bucket again!" + +"Shut up, Bert!" snapped Frank. "Signals!" + +"Signals!" Bert repeated. + +Mack stiffened. Bert was calling the trick play once more on which he +had made the poor toss to Frank. This time the play must be good. +Here they were on Pomeroy's fifteen yard line and fourth down with five +yards to go. + +"If I bungle _this_ one...!" Mack thought, and bit his lips. + +Berths toss to him was wide but Mack reached out one hand and pulled +the ball to him as he ran. He shot the ball on a quick lateral toss to +Frank and fairly sobbed his relief when he saw that the toss couldn't +have been better. Frank faded, holding the pigskin ready to pass, as +Mack now turned his attention to helping block Pomeroy men who were +trying to get through at him. In this he was successful, going down +under two Pomeroy linesmen as Frank shot a pass low and to the +right--over the end zone. There--racing into the end zone, was right +end Eddie Miller. He touched the ball with his finger tips, juggled +and caught it, being almost immediately buried beneath an avalanche of +tacklers. + +"Yea!" roared the Grinnell stands. "A touchdown!" + +Pomeroy, a greatly sobered team, lined up in front of its own goal +posts. The team charged viciously and Frank, with Bert upending the +ball, again missed the place-kick for extra point. + +Score: Pomeroy, 14; Grinnell, 12. + +"Well, we might as well lose by two points as one," philosophized a +Grinnell supporter. "Nice comeback we staged ... but too late to do us +much good. Only four minutes left to play." + +Grim-faced Grinnell warriors eyed each other. Could they possibly +regain possession of the ball and drive down the field for a third +touchdown and snatch a victory from almost certain defeat? The odds +were overwhelmingly against them. It had been a most spectacular and +pulsating game from the standpoint of spectator and player alike. Both +teams were now near exhaustion from their offensive and defensive +efforts. + +"Brother Carl will certainly know his team's been in a ball game," +thought Mack, feeling somewhat relieved that he had at last performed +creditably after several wretched blunders. Inwardly, however, there +lurked a condemning conscience which impressed upon him that no +performance save one which might lead to a Grinnell victory could ever +suffice. This feeling took precedence over a flash of satisfaction +that his brother was apparently to retain his coaching position, if it +actually had hung upon the outcome of this game. "But I mustn't think +of this at all!" Mack told himself at once. "My attitude has got to be +like Dave suggested. I've simply got to forget any family tics. I'm +playing to beat Pomeroy ... not my brother!" + +Grinnell kicked off to Pomeroy and the visitors indicated at once that +they intended to retain possession of the ball until the end of the +game if they possibly could. Several first downs in succession ate up +valuable seconds and took the ball to Grinnell's forty-five yard line. + +"Hold 'em!" begged and ranted quarterback Bert Henley. "What's the +matter with you guys? Gone to pieces?... Get in there and _hold that +line_!" + +More reserves came dashing out from the side lines to help bolster a +Grinnell forward wall which had taken plenty of punishment. These +fresh men drove into the Pomeroy line on the first play and opened a +hole through which Mack Carver darted. He hit an interferer, sent him +spinning and broke up a pass behind the line. The ball went wild with +Mack following into Pomeroy's backfield after it. Three wide-eyed +Pomeroy men were on his heels as he dived for the pigskin and rolled +over with it clutched against his stomach. The three Pomeroy men +landed on him almost together. + +"Grinnell's ball on Pomeroy's forty yard line!" announced the referee, +and Grinnell supporters went crazy. + +"Great stuff, Mack!" shouted Coach Edward from the sidelines, and Mack, +hearing, could only gulp his joy. The game might be lost but if Coach +Edward only could believe he'd done his best despite the two glaring +misplays ... errors, at least, which he, himself, could never excuse...! + +"Your kid brother's playing quite a game out there!" observed a faculty +member to Pomeroy's coach who fidgeted nervously. + +"_Quite_ a game?" was the response. "A whale of a game!... I never +saw a kid play in worse luck the first three quarters ... but now he's +making his own breaks ... and am I glad there's only a minute left to +play...?!!" + +Mack was thumped joyously on the back by fellow players as he staggered +back in position, holding his side. He had held onto the ball at all +costs and despite a scrambled attempt on the ground to wrest it away +from him. + +With only time for about two plays, Quarterback Henley called for a +pass. Frank Meade faded back and shot a long one. Mack, breaking +through with other possible receivers, had not expected to be singled +out, but wheeled just in time--after getting free--to hear the crowd +yell and see the pigskin coming straight at him. He reached up and +picked it out of the air on Pomeroy's twenty-five yard line, being hit +before he could move by Dizzy Fox. + +"Yea, Carver!" yelled the stands. + +Mack, all but bewildered by the way plays had revolved about him, was +pushed into the huddle as time-keepers consulted their watches. + +"What'll it be?" demanded Bert. "Shall we chance another pass?" + +"A field goal would do it?" cried Steve, with a glance at the +scoreboard. "But Frank's toe hasn't been so hot today!" + +"We've only time for one more play," reminded Bert. "Can you fellows +hold that line? Seems to me a kick's a little better than another +pass. We're almost dead in front of the goal posts!" + +"I'll try it if you say so!" volunteered Frank. "Mack--you've got to +block 'em off until I toe that ball! They mustn't get through at me +this time!" + +"Okay!" said Mack, jaws tightening. Here was the test. A successful +kick meant defeat for his brother ... no, defeat for _Pomeroy_! It +meant that all scores against him would be wiped out ... his misplays +forgotten...! ... But how about his brother's coaching position?... +He mustn't think about that!... His mother--her support!... No, +no!... Whatever happened would be all right.... He must do his part +... he must be loyal to Grinnell. He'd picked this school with the +hope of someday helping to beat Pomeroy ... and here was his chance!... +He must do his part to the uttermost limit ... and then--if the kick +failed ... well--nobody could say he hadn't tried...! + +"Kick formation!" Bert was calling. + +A murmur of surprise swept through the stands and a pall of silence +fell. Grinnell--attempting a field goal as a last resort ... +attempting to pull a lost cause out of the fire! + +"Hold 'em, gang!" begged Bert. "You've got to hold 'em!" + +Grinnell's quarterback was kneeling, ready to upend the ball. Steve +and Mack were stationed at the side and in front. They exchange +determined glances. + +"No one gets past us!" said Steve. + +Mack, too full for words, nodded, fingers twitching, eyeing the enemy +line. + +Coach Carl Carver, pulling nervously at the rim of his hat, sized up +the distance between the teams and the goal posts. + +"It's one chance in a...!" he started. + +The ball flashed back and the two lines came together in a desperate +upheaval. Grinnell's line wavered and snapped. As it did so, Bert +caught the pigskin and placed its nose on the ground, sighting the +distant goal posts. Frank started running forward. + +"You get those two--I'll stop these babies!" fullback Steve shouted to +Mack as he blocked off frenzied Pomeroy linesmen, rushing through in a +mad attempt to spoil the kick. + +"Right with you!" echoed Mack, obliterating from his mind all thoughts +of possible consequences ... intent only upon doing the job assigned +him. His body halted the plunge of the Pomeroy left end and guard ... +and resulted in a third Pomeroy player piling atop. As he went down he +caught a fleeting glimpse of the pigskin passing over his head. A +moment of breathless, very terrible suspense, broken only by the sharp +crack of the timer's gun, signalling that the game was technically +over. Then a tremendous roar! Mack freed himself from the mass of +arms and legs just in time to see the ball settling over the bar and to +see the scoreboard change its figures to read: + + GRINNELL--15 + POMEROY--14 + + +Unaccountable things happened after that. More pandemonium than a +fellow, playing his first full game for Grinnell had thought existed in +the world. Joy-crazed students surrounding him as he suddenly gave +vent to his feelings and, to the amazement of fellow team-mates, broke +into uncontrolled sobs. + +"What the heck are you crying about?" Frank Meade was demanding. + +"Because," he choked, "Pomeroy lost!" + +A great shout of laughter went up at this from all except those who +realized the predicament Grinnell's substitute back had been in. + +"Cheer up, kid!" called a familiar voice, and Mack beheld Coach Carver +fighting his way through to him in company with Coach Edward. + +"But you lost your job?" Mack wanted to know, still somewhat dazed by +it all. + +"I sure did!" grinned Brother Carl, gripping him by the shoulder. "You +knocked me out of that!... I always said you couldn't play football!" + +"And now he knows it!" smiled Coach Edward. "I'm taking your brother's +place at Pomeroy next year--so he tells me!... In fact, he recommended +me!" + +"What?" gasped Mack. + +"Why not?" rejoined Carl, his eyes twinkling. "I've signed up to coach +Great Western next year at ... guess what salary...?" Carl looked +about him, cautiously. "I don't want any newspaper guys to hear +this--it's ... er ... just something to be kept in the family." +Whereupon Carl cupped his hand between his mouth and Mack's ear and +whispered a figure. + +"No?" cried Mack, overjoyed, and--forthwith leaped atop his brother's +back, bearing him to earth for a down which was not recorded in the +game! + + + + +A CASE OF NERVES + +"Look at that guy--he hasn't been eating enough to keep a canary alive +for the last three days!" + +"You know what's the trouble, don't you?" + +"Indigestion?" + +"Yeah--nervous indigestion? Speed's on edge over the big game next +Saturday against Hamilton!" + +"No kidding?" + +Kinky Doyle, who sat at the Second Team's training table, stared at his +informant unbelievingly. + +"Straight dope!" replied Sober Watkins, quarterback of the Scrubs, with +a glance toward the Varsity training table nearby and star half-back +Speed Bartlett, toying with his meal. "Speed had the same kind of +stagefright last season ... lost so much appetite and sleep and got so +high strung that he fumbled in the Hamilton game and handed them the +victory on a platter!" + +"That's funny," said Kinky, after a pause. "He hasn't been this way up +to the last few days. He's played through the whole year...!" + +"Sure--the big game's the only one that bothers him this way," grinned +Sober. "You know, some fellows can stand every kind of flower but +goldenrod ... and that knocks them for a flock of sneezes. Well, for +some reason, Speed has the feeling that Hamilton's not to be sniffed +at. All the other games are just dress rehearsals but this contest is +the real thing!" + +"That's bad," declared Kinky, seriously. "Bad for Speed and bad for +the team. The other fellows can't help but be depressed by the way +he's taking it. And after what happened last year it'll be a wonder if +Speed don't have the whole eleven on edge." + +"You said it," agreed Sober. "But what can we do about it? That's a +neat little problem for Coach Brock to solve!" + +Could the two squad members have known it, the Coach was even at that +moment turning a rather drastic plan over in his mind. Something +certainly had to be done. Practically every fellow at the Varsity and +Second Team training tables had observed the sudden funereal atmosphere +being radiated by one Speed Bartlett. His sad and solemn conduct had +begun to descend like a pall upon a heretofore gay and carefree dining +hall. Just why this climax to a Medford season should have such a +nervous effect upon her star halfback was as difficult to determine as +why some folks got short of breath in the proximity of a cat. "Cat +asthma", this was called. There weren't any words exactly descriptive +of Speed's disorder for he was courageous to a fault. In the heat of +battle he played with an abandon and a drive that usually carried him +through to his objectives. It wasn't, then, a matter of his actually +being "afraid" of anything. But, still, the seeming mere anticipation +of the big game with Hamilton produced a nerve-shattering reaction. + +"I can't let this go on," Coach Brock decided, "or I won't have any +morale left. Hamilton has a strong eleven this year and we'll need all +the fighting spirit we've got. Now if I can just figure out some way +to suspend Speed from the team--tell him he's out of the big +game--relieve him of his nerve tension and then shove him in the +contest at the last minute ... that might turn the trick!" + +Phil Doran and Milt Gleeson were as rabid Medford supporters as could +be found in college. More than this--they were close chums of Speed +Bartlett. Between them they owned a little runabout in which they +travelled to the various college towns where Medford's eleven might be +playing. The coming Hamilton game, however, was to be played at +Medford and, since it was to be the last contest of the season, the +boys' football trips were over. + +"What do you suppose Coach Brock's sent for us about?" Phil asked Milt +as the two were on the way to the athletic director's office. + +"Haven't the slightest idea," grinned Milt. "But maybe he wants us to +help him work out some new plays to spring against Hamilton!" + +"Only play I could suggest would be for him to put in the first and +second teams at the same time," declared Phil. "Then we might have a +chance to win by sheer weight of numbers!" + +"Oh, it's not as bad as that," replied Milt, defensively. "If Speed +just holds to his regular form this year, he'll give Hamilton plenty of +trouble. He's crazy to make up for his fumble in last season's game. +Have you seen him lately?" + +"Not in three days. Have you?" + +"No. I called around at his dorm yesterday but he wasn't in. About +time we got together again. Speed's a great guy." + +"And a mighty sweet football player," complimented Phil. "Well, here +we are--outside the sanctum of the man who controls the destinies of +Medford pigskin chasers. Shall I rap?" + +"Sure--don't you see it says 'private'?" + +A voice bade the callers to "come in!" and Phil and Milt presently +found themselves standing before the genial-faced coach. + +"Sit down!" Coach Brock invited, motioning to chairs. And when the two +wondering visitors were seated, he came straight to the point with: "I +understand you fellows know Speed Bartlett very well?" + +Phil and Milt exchanged glances. + +"Well ... er ... yes, sir ... we ...!" + +"We're _pretty_ good friends," temporized Milt. "Why--what's ... er +... happened?... Is Speed in trouble?" + +Coach Brock smiled, amusedly. "Yes, as a matter of fact, he is. Not +necessarily serious trouble," he hastened to assure as Phil and Milt +looked their concern, "but I want to guard against it getting any +worse." + +"Good grief!" exclaimed Milt, anxiously. "What's Speed done?" + +"We haven't been out with him for some time," volunteered Phil, "so we +wouldn't know anything." + +"It's nothing like that," declared the Coach. "Speed's simply going to +pieces over thoughts of the Hamilton game. I've got to break him of +this or he's going to have himself in such a mental stew by game-time +that he'll be next to useless." + +"Oh--then you want us to brighten him up?" divined Phil. + +Coach Brock shook his head. "No, there's only one thing that can have +any effect upon Speed," he said, decisively. "He's got to be told that +he can't play on Saturday. This will bitterly disappoint him, of +course, but it will relieve him at the same time. But the fly in the +ointment is how to make Speed believe that he's really not going to +play. He knows very well that I wouldn't remove the star of the team +without definite reason. Obviously, then, the only way we can put one +over on Speed is to catch him breaking one of the strict rules I've +laid down for members of the squad." + +"Now I 'get' you," cried Phil, eagerly. "You want us to help get Speed +in bad!" + +"That's precisely it," agreed the coach. "And here's how you can do +it. Take him over to Ashby in your car to catch the early evening +show. There's a Knute Rockne two-reeler showing at the picture house +that I'll recommend be seen. As you fellows know, my orders are for +every man on the squad to be in his room and in bed by ten o'clock. +Ashby is a good twenty miles from here and, after stalling for time you +start back to Medford with just time enough left to get Speed to his +dorm within the ten o'clock law. Unfortunately, however, your car +breaks down and you are delayed getting back until after midnight." + +"Quite a thrilling plot," agreed Milt. + +"It calls for some real acting," opined Phil. "And if Speed ever +caught on he'd darn near kill us!" + +"Aren't you willing to die for your college?" + +smiled Coach Brock. "I'll be within sight of the dorm so that I can +manage to be passing when you drive up, several hours late, with Speed. +What happens after that will be regrettable but hardly any fault of +yours. Automobiles do break down ... even in the best of families!" + +Phil and Milt grinned. + +"But what if Speed doesn't care to see this picture?" queried Milt. + +"I think he'll jump at the chance after the send-off I give to it this +afternoon at practice," said the coach. "But I'll insist that all +fellows who do make arrangements to take in the show, make a point of +getting back by their accustomed hour." + +"Okay!" accepted Phil. "We'll tackle Speed on the proposition after +practice ... tell him we've just learned of the football program ... +and that we're leaving in time to catch the seven o'clock show. +Wouldn't he like to go along?" + +"That's right," Coach Brock approved. "You can explain to Speed that +the seven o'clock show will be over around nine o'clock which gives you +a whole hour to drive the twenty miles back. Let me know, for sure, if +you can make arrangements, and I'll be ready to do my part." + +"We'll try our darndest," promised Phil. + +"And, of course," the coach added, warningly, "it goes without saying +that you are to keep this little matter strictly confidential. You are +doing this, remember, for the team!" + +Phil and Milt stiffened with a sense of their responsibility. + +"You can trust us," they assured. + +Speed Bartlett was quite innocent of any plot against him and quite +glad to accept the invitation of his two friends to attend the show. +In fact, he welcomed the opportunity as a means of possible relaxation. +Coach Brock had spoken highly of the Knute Rockne short +subject--declaring it to be extremely educational, particularly as +pertained to open field running. Since this was supposed to be Speed's +specialty, his curiosity was aroused. + +"Strange you fellows should be interested in seeing this same show," +mused Speed, on the way over. "It's a good break for me since I'm +supposed to see it, anyway." + +"Listen, Speed," declared Phil. "We're nuts over football. We'd go +almost anywhere within reason to see a game or something interesting +about it. And when we read in the paper that one of Knute Rockne's +pictures was there ... well, that was enough for us!" + +"Clever bird, this fellow, Knute," kidded Milt. "I'd place him next to +Coach Brock." + +Arriving at Ashby, Phil and Milt parked their car on a side street and +were surprised to find a crowd waiting to get seats. + +"Hello--they're doing some real business. Must be a great show!" +exclaimed Milt, with a wink at Phil. + +"Ten minutes after seven," said Speed, a bit disturbed. + +"Oh, there's plenty of time," said Phil, "but I've got so in the habit +of sitting that I hate to stand." + +It was seven-thirty before the three patrons from Medford were escorted +to seats and then it was to discover that the Knute Rockne feature had +just finished. + +"Tough luck," Milt whispered. "But it'll start the next show. We're +all right." + +The three then settled down to enjoy the feature picture and time sped +quickly. It was ten after nine that the Knute Rockne short subject +next flashed on the screen and its interest was compelling from the +start. The two-reeler was over at nine-forty, much to Speed's concern +when he discovered the time. + +"Holy smoke!" he cried. "We've got twenty minutes to drive twenty +miles. You fellows'll never make it!" + +"We'll try!" declared Phil, optimistically, as they rushed for the car. +"Gosh, where did that time go to?" + +"Won't make much diff if we are a few minutes late," said Milt, +reassuringly. "Coach won't hold you to account on this." + +"But he made a point of saying we had to be back on time if we went," +Speed recalled. + +"Sure--he's got to keep his discipline up," rejoined Phil, sliding +behind the wheel and working the starter. "What's the matter with this +thing? Have I flooded the carburetor?" + +The engine had refused to respond. + +"That's probably what's the trouble," diagnosed Milt. "Turn off your +gas entirely." + +"Good grief!" groaned Speed, "Get going, you guys! I don't want to be +any later than I have to!" + +"Keep your shirt on!" soothed Milt. "There she spits! She'll catch +hold in a minute. This little old bus hasn't failed us yet." + +Another valuable minute shot past ... and another. + +"Say--there goes the interurban!" said Medford's star halfback, +nervously. "It makes Medford by ten-thirty. I'd better catch it!" + +"Don't be foolish!" cried Milt, grabbing Speed and holding him in the +car. "We'll be back in Medford before that traction! It's a concrete +road most all the way!" + +"Here we go!" announced Phil as the engine finally took hold. +"Now--just as soon as we get beyond the city limits...!" + +At ten o'clock, when all good little football players were supposed to +be tucked in their beds or, at least, safe in their rooms, a runabout +containing the outstanding star of Medford's eleven was whizzing along +the highway with the indicator wavering between fifty and fifty five +miles an hour. + +"Nine miles in fifteen minutes!" figured Phil, eyes intent on the road +ahead. "At that rate we'll be in Medford around ten-sixteen. You +don't see that interurban do you?" + +"It's just about leaving Ashby now!" grinned Milt. "How's this for +traveling, Speed? This is just a little faster than you go down the +field. Say--what did you think of that Rockne picture anyhow? Pick up +any pointers?" + +"Very interesting," admitted Speed. "But what's that I hear--is it a +knock in the motor?" + +"Careful, Phil!" warned Milt. "The old engine's getting too hot again. +Better slow up!" + +"What's the matter?" asked Speed, anxiously. + +"Nothing much," answered Milt, "Only we can't hit it up too fast for +too long a time. Might burn out a bearing or something!" + +Phil reduced the speed from fifty to twenty miles an hour and still the +knocking persisted. + +"Sounds like it's almost out of gas," said Speed. "It's commencing to +cough now!" + +"Maybe it caught cold standing out there to-night," suggested Milt. +"It _is_ acting strangely. Wouldn't you say so, Phil?" + +"Something's gone wrong," was Phil's grave comment. "I think there's +some foreign substance clogging the carburetor!" + +Pulling to the side of the road, Phil stopped the car. + +"Now what?" gasped Speed, glancing at his watch. + +"Have to take a look," said Phil, getting out and raising the hood. +"Pass out the flashlight, Milt!" + +"Which seat is it under?" asked the confederate in the dire conspiracy. + +"How do I know?" was Phil's rejoinder. + +A half hour of tinkering with the engine followed, during which an +agitated Speed Bartlett paced up and down the highway, returning every +few minutes to inquire the progress made. + +"We can't even get the engine started now," was Milt's cheerful report. +"It's a good thing we stopped when he did!" + +"That's where you made your mistake," said Speed, irritably. "You +never should have stopped!" + +"No!" retorted Phil, caustically. "You should burn out a bearing on +_your_ car!" + +"I haven't any car!" replied Speed, sharply. + +"That's just the point!" returned Milt, smothering a chuckle. "But, +don't worry, Speed, we'll explain to the Coach! Have a chocolate +bar--there's one in my coat in the car." + +"I can't eat anything," was Speed's glum rejoinder. "My stomach's on +the blink." + +A flashing headlight suddenly appeared from around a curve in the road. + +"Heigho!" exclaimed Phil. "Here comes the interurban!" + +"Quick--your flashlight!" cried Speed, with sudden resolution. "I'll +flag it!" + +Medford's football star dashed forward but Milt fumbled the flashlight +in handing it over and by the time Speed got hold of it the interurban +was whizzing past. + +"I knew I ought to have gone home by traction!" he lamented, loudly. +"Something told me not to go back with you guys! This is terrible!" + +"Listen, Speed--you're getting all worked up over this," consoled Milt. +"You crawl in the car there and curl up on the seat and get your sleep. +That's why the Coach wants you to turn in at ten--so you'll get the +right amount of sleep. If he should find out about this, we'll tell +him you got your sleep just the same!" + +"Sleep?" bellowed a greatly aggravated! Speed. "I haven't slept for +four nights as it is! How can I sleep now?" + +"Hey, Phil!" cried Milt, insinuatingly. "I'll fix this bird. Where's +the monkey wrench?" + +It was a quarter to one o'clock before a familiar looking runabout +appeared in front of the MacDaniel Dormitory and the door popped open +to let a highly exasperated and greatly worried athletic figure out. +There was not a sign of another soul upon the campus, nor was there a +light visible save the flickering street lamps. + +"Coast is clear!" whispered Milt. "Awfully sorry, old boy, but nobody +will be any the wiser. You sneak in to your room and...!" + +"Hello, there!" sounded a voice. "Is that you, Speed?" + +"Blue murder!" exclaimed an agonized fellow, under his breath, as he +cringed against the side of the car. "That's Coach now!" + +"It can't be!" said Phil, punching Milt knowingly with his elbow. +"What would Coach be doing out this time of night?" + +There were the sounds of footsteps approaching. + +"Make a break for it!" advised Milt, hoarsely. + +"I can't," moaned Speed. "I--I'm caught--cold!" + +"Well!" addressed Coach Brock, as he got within real hailing distance. +"Is this the time for you to be turning in? Who are these chaps with +you?... Oh, yes--I see. Doran and Gleeson. Where have you been?" + +"It's all our fault, Coach," Phil spoke up. "Milt and I took Speed +over to see the Rockne picture at Ashby and ... and our car broke down +on the way back." + +"I've heard that story before," was Coach Brock's unfeeling reply. +"What did I tell you, Speed, about being in by ten o'clock?" + +"But, sir ... I ... er ... it was unavoidable," stammered Medford's +star half-back. "I fully intended ..." + +"Sorry, Speed!" cut short the Coach, severely. "Orders are orders. +I'd like to make an exception but this wouldn't be fair to the other +members of the squad. From now on you're under suspension and this act +removes you from the game on Saturday!" + +"No, Coach, no!" pleaded Speed. "You can't keep me out ... not for +this! It's the first time I ever broke regulations and it wasn't +intentional...!" + +"Then why were you trying to sneak in the house?" demanded Coach Brock. +"You didn't intend to report this infraction to me did you?" + +"Well, er ... don't suppose I did," Speed was forced to confess. "I +was afraid maybe you wouldn't understand." + +"Hmm! It's a good thing I worked late at the office tonight," was the +Coach's comment. "As it is, I understand only too perfectly. You'll +turn in your suit tomorrow!" + + +Medford campus was thrown in a turmoil the next day, which was Tuesday, +with the news of Speed Bartlett's suspension. The report was first +treated as a rumor but when a crestfallen Speed himself would not deny +it and when he did not appear on the field for practice, the awful +truth finally dawned. + +"It's good-bye game now!" mourned Medford fans. "Did you hear what +Coach kicked Speed off the team for? Being out late! Can you fathom +that? And Speed had a good reason, too ... he was in a car that broke +down." + +A wave of indignation swept the college that the star player should be +ruled out of the big game of the year on a technicality, but Coach +Brock, in issuing a brief statement, stood by his guns, declaring that +discipline was necessary and the owners of the car, on further +cross-examination, could not prove that anything was or had been wrong +with the car. It was natural that such an excuse would be offered when +the fellows were caught flat-footed. But none of the three, under +questioning, would tell where they had been after leaving the theatre +at Ashby. + +The affect of Speed's removal on his fellow team members was to +eliminate any possible tendencies toward over-confidence. In its stead +a grim determination was born. Medford would have to make up for the +loss of its star by a greater fighting spirit. + +Speed himself, as disappointed as he was, suddenly discovered that his +appetite had returned. Stomach muscles which had contracted under the +nervous anticipation of the coming conflict, now relaxed and set up a +cry for food to work upon. And, while Speed no longer reported to the +training table, it was observed by a spying Phil and Milt that he ate +abundantly but wisely. + +"Coach sure knows his psychology," Milt said to Phil as they were +crossing the campus the day before the game. "All that was the matter +with Speed was a bad case of nerves...." + +At the moment of this remark, the fellow in question was hurrying in an +attempt to overtake his two friends, and had just gotten within +earshot. Discovering that he was being talked about, Speed lagged +curiously behind. + +"Speed's got sand all right," he overheard Phil say. "But he worries +too much before hand. You can imagine how bad it must have been for +the training table with Speed sitting there like a guy with a load of +lead in his stomach. The whole eleven's better off. It's a blow to +have Speed suspended but Medford'll take the field tomorrow with a +world of fight. + +"And when Coach sends Speed into the game--maybe Medford spirit won't +rise sky high!" chuckled Milt. "Boy, I guess maybe we didn't play our +parts to perfection! We ought to get letters for this!" + +Medford's star halfback stopped in his tracks and let his two friends +continue on their way, not realizing that he was anywhere near them. +He was burning with humiliation and resentment. So--this had all been +a put-up job! Coach Brock had enlisted the services of his two chums +to frame him ... to save his nerve for the big battle! + +"I'll go to the Coach and tell him what I think of him!" was Speed's +first reaction. + +But more sober thought decided Speed against this step. There was +truth in what Phil and Milt had said about him. He had been painfully +conscious of his feelings toward the coming game. Even now, since he +knew that Coach Brock intended reinstating him at the last moment, all +the old nervous symptoms had returned, worse than ever. There was that +heavy feeling in his stomach, the quickening of his pulse, the strained +sensation in his head.... + +"I guess I wasn't such a good influence around the fellows in this +condition," Speed reflected glumly. "But Coach put me off the team and +I'm going to stay off the team. I'll fix him--I'll leave town tonight +so he _can't_ get hold of me!" + +Saturday morning found the campus of Medford alive with old grads and +loud-mouthed Hamilton rooters who told everyone who would listen, in no +uncertain terms, what their eleven was going to do to the home team. + +"Too bad your star is out of the game!" Hamilton lamented. "You'll be +using that for an alibi--but we'd have beaten you either way!" + +At noon, Coach Brock sent word by second team member, Kinky Doyle, that +Speed Bartlett was to report to him at once. The Varsity had just left +training table, having had an early lunch. In two hours they would be +dressing for the game. + +"Hey, Coach!" cried an excited Kinky fifteen minutes later. "I've just +come from Speed's room. He's not there ... but I found this +note--addressed to you!" + +Coach Brock took the note, wonderingly, opened it, and read: + +To Coach Brock, + Medford College, + Medford. + +Dear Sir: + +Since I have been removed from the team, I couldn't bear to stay and +see the game, so I have left town. + +Yours, + Speed. + + +"Great jumping Jehoshaphat!" swore Coach Brock, crumpling the paper. +"The boy's gone crazy! Get hold of Doran and Gleeson at once!" + +"Yes, sir!" blinked a wondering Kinky Doyle, hurrying off. + +With Phil and Milt delivered to him, post haste, Coach Brock took them +privately aside and showed them the note. Phil gasped and Milt +whistled. + +"Where would Speed have gone?" demanded the coach. + +"I haven't the slightest idea," replied Milt. "Have you, Phil?" + +"There's four different directions," Phil answered. "And one's as good +as another!" + +"Well, you've got to find him!" the Coach ordered. "You got him in +this mess!" + +"_Us?_" mumbled Phil and Milt, all but overcome. + +"Don't argue!" snapped the Coach. "Get out and hunt him up! If Speed +Bartlett doesn't play today, the game's as good as lost!" + + +"End of first half!" cried the radio announcer. "And what a game this +has been!... But Hamilton's great team is proving too much for Medford +today. They're out in front, two touchdowns, thirteen to nothing, +which just about indicates the difference in playing strength. +Medford's offensive hasn't been able to get going ... no doubt due to +the loss of their backfield star, Speed Bartlett... Stand by, folks, +we're to have a word now from Coach Brock of Medford...!" + +There was a moment of prickling silence, then the sound of someone +clearing a husky throat. + +"I hope you will pardon me, radio football fans, for this brief +intrusion," spoke Coach Brock. "But I am addressing this appeal to +Speed Bartlett with the hope that he may be within the reach of my +voice. I herewith apologize to him. Further ... er ... facts have +just come to light in regard to his violation of the rules and were he +here in Medford today he would be offered his place in the line-up. It +is self-evident that Medford needs him...!" + +A certain young man, standing in front of a radio store in Ashby, +waited to hear no more. He rushed over to a taxi stand at the curb and +hailed a driver who had been listening in on the game. + +"What'll you charge to take me to Medford?" + +The taxi driver almost fell from his seat. + +"That's a fifteen dollar ride, son!" + +"Okay!" accepted Speed, "And there's an extra five in it for you if you +break all records getting there!" + +"Have you got that much money?" asked the driver, incredulously. + +"No," answered Speed, truthfully. "But Coach Brock has...!" + +"Oh--be you Speed Bartlett?" exclaimed the driver, starting his car. +"Suffering cats, boy! Then I'm gonna turn this old bus into a flyin' +machine!" + +"Good!" cried Speed, jumping in. "Oh--wait a second! I want to run in +this telegraph office!" + +A messenger boy, twenty minutes later, with the third quarter about +four minutes under way, reached Coach Brock's side. The coach was +intent upon the game inasmuch as his team was being pushed once more +into the shadow of its own goal posts. Hardly realizing what he was +doing, he took the yellow envelope and thrust it in a side pocket. + +"Hey, Coach!" cried a substitute, grabbing his mentor by the arm. +"That was a telegram!" + +"Read it to me!" snapped Coach Brock, handing the wire over and not +taking his eyes off the field. + +The sub slit the envelope open and gazed at the message in bewilderment. + +"Why--why--this is funny!" he exclaimed. "There's no name signed or +anything--just one word...!" + +"What is it?" asked the Coach. "Hold 'em out there! What's the matter +with you fellows? Gordon, go in for Ochs at left tackle!... What did +you say that one word was...?" + +"The word is '_coming_'!" announced the substitute. + +Coach Brock whirled, interest quickening, and seized the yellow piece +of paper. + +"_Coming?_" he repeated. "Coming?... By George--this is from that +goofy Speed Bartlett!... Jerry, you go in for Maltby at right guard. +Get Pete to take a time-out and tell the team that Speed's on the way +here. Tell those guys to buck up! Speed'll be in the game now ... +he's due any minute!" + +A second substitute raced out on the field and Coach Brock now +excitedly examined the telegraph blank. + +"Ashby!" he groaned, as he saw the office from which the wire was sent. +"Twenty miles... He had ten minutes of the intermission minutes for +time-outs ... plus two minutes' for the third quarter plus another ten +to fifteen minutes for time-outs ... plus two minutes' intermission +between quarters ... how much does that make? Can he get here before +the game's over?... Why did that galoot have to go so far away?... +Come on, team--the old fight!" + +News that their backfield star was due to appear any second proved a +tremendous bracer to a beaten team. Medford braced on her ten yard +line and held the mighty Hamilton for downs, then punted out of danger. +Medford did even more than this. As the third quarter drew to a close, +she drove deep into Hamilton territory on her first sustained offensive +of the day. + +"Save the game for Speed!" became the slogan. "Put the old ball in +scoring position!" + +But the fourth quarter got under way with no sign of Speed Bartlett and +Coach Brock was forced to wave a yellow slip of paper as proof that he +hadn't been pulling a ruse on his team. + +"He's coming!" the coach megaphoned. "This wire says so!" + +"He must be coming from Florida!" growled quarterback Pete Slade. +"Let's go, guys!... Maybe we can score without him!" + +A taxi suddenly wheezed into the stadium, steam and water frothing from +the radiator, the cap of which had been blown off. A figure leaped +from the taxi before it had come to a stop and went racing toward the +Medford bench. A section of the Medford crowd recognized the figure +and set up a great hue and cry. The Medford team, hearing the +outburst, immediately called for "Time out!" + +"Pay this man twenty bucks!" Speed panted, pointing to the taxi driver, +as Coach Brock embraced him, wildly. "How about my togs?" + +"They're right here!" said the Coach. "Gather around him, you fellows. +He'll have to change on the field ... no time to chase to the locker +room!" + +Clothes were fairly thrown at Medford's star halfback and willing hands +helped strip him while other willing hands, almost too willing, fairly +jerked on his moleskins. Meanwhile Coach Brock had shoved two ten +dollar bills in the taxi driver's hand, wrapped a blanket around him +and pushed him down on the bench alongside the substitutes. + +"What's he doing this for?" asked the bewildered driver. + +"Don't know," grinned the sub next him. "If he finds he needs you, +he'll probably send you into the game!" + +The time-out period exhausted, Medford resumed play with third down and +eight to go on Hamilton's fifteen yard mark. But, so stimulating was +the knowledge that Speed Bartlett was actually on the field, Medford +opened up a hole which sent quarterback Pete Slade galloping through +for a first down! + +And then the top of the stadium all but lifted as Speed dashed out on +the gridiron, buckling his belt. Team-mates greeted him like a long +lost brother and Medford went into a huddle. The stands were in an +uproar. Fullback Ned Turner went through for two yards to Hamilton's +five yard mark. + +There was nothing nervous about Speed Bartlett as he crouched in his +position, waiting to hear his signal called. He had been given so much +to think about on his wild ride from Ashby to Medford that the nerve +strain had left him. He was coldly calm and grimly determined, +obsessed with a desire to make up for lost time. An enthused Medford, +having taken a severe battering from Hamilton earlier in the game, now +tore into the enemy and made a slicing opening for her backfield star +who flashed through and over the line for a touchdown on his first play. + +Phil and Milt, just entering the stadium after a fruitless search for +Speed, could not believe their eyes as they looked out on the gridiron. + +"What's Coach been doing--kidding us?" they gasped. "Speed's been in +the game all the time!" + +Greater cheers as Speed kicked goal for extra point and the scoreboard +changed to read: Hamilton, 13, Medford, 7. + +"Six more minutes to play!" someone announced, hysterically. "Do it +again, Speed, old boy!" + +Team members exchanged words with Speed as they lined up to kick off to +Hamilton. + +"Boy, we thought you'd never get here!" + +"So did I!" Speed grinned. "Been softening Hamilton up for me all this +time, eh? Well, let's get another touchdown!" + +A worried Hamilton, receiving the kick-off, was downed on her +twenty-two yard mark. But three yards were gained on two tries and +Hamilton punted, desperately resolved to hold the touchdown lead to the +finish. It was Medford's ball on her own thirty-three yard line. But +Medford now was playing with a frenzy and yet with a precision which it +had not shown all season. Mixing line plays, end runs and lateral +passes, with Speed Bartlett being given the ball three-fourths of the +time, quarterback Pete Slade drove his warriors down to Hamilton's +twenty yard mark with two minutes remaining. + +"Listen, fellows!" said Speed, in a huddle, "I saw a play in a movie +the other day ... one of Knute Rockne's ... and there's a weakness in +Hamilton's line ... right where this play's supposed to go. It's an +off-tackle smash ... and if the man with the ball gets through into the +open field it's almost impossible to stop him...!" + +"Give us the dope!" ordered quarterback Slade. "We're entitled to one +more time-out!" + +"Now what's Speed up to?" wondered Coach Brock, who, for the past five +minutes had been biting off fingernails at a rapid rate. "Looks to me +like he's been knocked goofy and is delivering the boys an oration!" + +With the calling of time the team snapped back into position and a new +formation took shape before an astounded Coach's eyes. The ball was +passed and a hole was suddenly cracked open off left tackle. Through +this hole a dashing Speed disappeared and then, as suddenly, reappeared +in the face of Hamilton's surprised secondary defense. Two would-be +tacklers were shunted out of the way by vicious Medford interference +and Speed side-stepped another. The rest of the way to the goal line +was unmolested and he romped across for his second touchdown of the +quarter to tie the score at thirteen all! + +"I never gave the boys that play," said Coach Brock. "But it's vaguely +familiar. I've seen it some place before!" + +"That play was shown in the Rockne picture!" informed a substitute. + +Coach Brock blinked a moment, then put a hand to his head, staggered +dizzily, and sat down. But he did not remain seated long for Speed +Bartlett coolly toed the ball between the uprights for the point that +sent Medford into the lead, fourteen to thirteen, just as the gun +banged for the game's end, in one of the greatest last quarter finishes +ever witnessed in the home stadium. + +Phil and Milt were the first wild-eyed rooters to reach Medford's star +halfback as other supporters swarmed on the field with one idea in +mind--to tear down the goal posts. They hoisted a protesting Speed on +their shoulders and hurried him across the field toward the Medford +bench. + +"Why carry me this way?" Speed shouted, looking down at them. "How +about your car--is it broken down again?" + +Something in the way Speed said this caused Phil and Milt to glance up +suspiciously. + +"How did you get wise?" Phil wanted to know. + +"Never mind!" rejoined Speed. "Keep moving! Don't let this crowd +catch me ... and keep me away from Coach Brock!..." + +"Why?" gasped Milt. "What's the matter?" + +"Nothing!" said Speed, "except I haven't had anything but a malted milk +all day--and I'm darned hungry!" + +"Can you beat that!" groaned Phil. "Hold up your side of him, Milt! +He's getting darned heavy!... Here we've sacrificed ourselves to save +this guy's nerves ... and then, in this last five minutes, we get all +upset ourselves! My stomach's tied up in such a knot that I couldn't +even digest a soda wafer." + +"Don't mention stomach to me," said Milt. "I'm a nervous wreck!" + +"Hey!" shouted a jubilant Coach Brock, who saw that a gathering crowd +was carrying the star of the game in triumph to the locker room. "Wait +for me, Speed!" Then, grinningly, he held up a yellow slip of paper +and signalled with it. "Don't you see--you boob--I--I'm _coming_!"... + + + + +THE BRIGHT TOKEN + +"Here, take this--it's your token of good luck," she had said. That +was twenty years ago, when she was a wistful, dark-eyed slip of a girl +and he a wiry, sandy-haired bundle of nerves that football authorities +insisted on dubbing the best quarterback in Harvard history, a man who +would certainly be accorded All-American honors at the conclusion of +the season. + +It was a bare hour before the game that he had met her in a secluded +spot in the shadow of the stands. A cold rain was falling which, most +every one admitted, made a Yale victory look overwhelmingly certain. +He could remember how the delicately traced fingers had clung to the +lapel of his sweater, and how, when he had started to take leave of her +for the locker room, she had restrained him. + +The fingers had gone to her throat, had fumbled there an instant, and +had undone the slip of a crimson bow which had been caught at the +collar of her waist. Tinglingly he could recall how she had commanded +him to hold out his right wrist, how sheepish he had felt when she had +tied the bow about it--and yet how proud! He had kissed it then and +she had laughed, a laugh of nervous admiration, and patted him on the +arm. And he had gathered her into one last, impulsive embrace and +whispered, "My darling wife!" + +Ah, that was twenty years ago! Twenty years! And yet memory made it +yesterday; for to-day Carrington R. Davies was going back--back to the +scene of it all--back to witness the annual clash with the Yale +Bulldogs, and to sit in the stands where he would be pointed out as one +of Harvard's greatest old-time football heroes. + +Every year since his graduation, C. R. D. had gone back on the occasion +of the Yale game--gone either to Cambridge or New Haven--and he +intended to keep on doing it as many years as he was permitted to draw +breath. + +As Davies took the train at the Grand Central Station, New York, he +glanced apprehensively at the gray sky overhead and hoped that the +weather man who had prophesied rain was wrong. Harvard would need a +dry field this year to stand an even chance at winning. Her back field +was light, fast, and shifty. It depended on a quick get-away and a +sure under-footing. Yale's eleven was solid, heavy from end to end, +with a stubborn defense that had allowed but two touchdowns so far that +season, and a pile-driving back field that moved slowly but surely +behind a battering forward wall. If it rained, Davies reflected, +Harvard's last vestige of hope was due to be trampled in the mud. + +And yet twenty years before, almost to the day, with a driving rain +falling and Yale dangerously near Harvard's goal in the last quarter, +the game locked in a grim nothing-nothing tie, a bespattered, +sandy-haired youth with a crimson bow encircling his right wrist, had +scooped up a fumble at his very goal line and dodged and slipped +through the whole Eli team for a frenzied touchdown. + +The final score of that heart-blasting contest had been five to +nothing, and the sensational length-of-the-field run had clinched for +the Harvard quarterback his right to All-American honors. The feat was +talked about yet, wherever Harvard men gathered who had witnessed the +spectacle of victory jerked from the grinning jaws of defeat. At the +Harvard Club on Forty-fourth Street, New York, Carrington frequently +ran into brother alumni who said, "I remember you when----" and then he +was forced to listen to their versions of his crowning football +achievement. + +Davies found solace in going over old times. The Harvard Club was his +haven of refuge. He was one of the best known men there. To enter the +dining room was to nod to men at practically every table. There was a +joy in feeling that he was among friends; in having his praises sung to +younger grads by those who had chummed with him in college; to have his +football prowess perpetuated by retelling. + +It was nothing to C. R. D. that he was recognized also as one of the +leading architects in New York City. He had worked hard the past +twenty years, but perhaps it was not so much because he had yearned to +go forward as it was to keep him from thinking too much on certain +closed incidents of his life. + +At times, like this morning, he found himself trying to piece together +what his father, Martin S. Davies, would have told him had he not died +with the words on his lips. It was only four years back. The elder +Davies had been stricken suddenly while Carrington was in the West, and +a wire had brought the son on the first train. He was told, on +arrival, that the father was desperately ill; that he had held to the +weakening thread of life and consciousness because of a strong-willed +desire to impart some vital information to his son. + +However, when Carrington Davies had been led into the sick room, the +father, overcome with emotion, died from the shock, his fingers +clutching the arms of his son, his eyes set upon his son's face, and +the words: "Your wife--I--she's at----" trailing off into the darkness +with him. + +For days after, when all his father's effects had been painfully gone +over, Davies had sat in frenzied study. It had been years since he had +given serious thought to the brief, tragic romance of his college days. +He had suffered keenly for a time, but his father's counsel had held +weight with him, held weight even though he could never forget the +girl, nor that day of days when she had plighted her faith in him with +the dainty crimson bow and he had gone out on the field of battle +feeling like a gladiator. A silly, lovesick fool he had been, perhaps, +on that glorious day; but no incident in his entire life thereafter +quite came up to this. + +When he had become older and more mature, when he had reached an age at +which he could better judge the sort of woman he should marry, Davies, +as his father said he would, had come upon the discovery that all +feminine creatures were hopeless bores. Thus his unattached state grew +to be recognized as perennial, and whatever romance he enjoyed came to +him through the cultivated channels of his memory. + +How angry his father had been when he had found that Davies had +secretly married! The boy had written home for the family blessing and +had received, by return mail, the family curse. Carrington Davies came +of too good and wealthy a stock to have been inveigled into marrying a +nobody, his proud parents told him. Why, the girl was an orphan, her +parents had been dead some years, and she was employed at serving in a +quaint little tea room under the brow of the university. + +It was quite natural that a girl of her circumstances should have roped +Davies in. Any girl who had really cared would have insisted that he +wait until after graduation. Should this marriage become known to +college authorities, Davies would be expelled. And then where would he +be? Disgraced! His career ruined! And ruined by a girl who had +cleaved to him only for the money that he represented! + +Martin S. Davies made a special, hurried trip to Cambridge to make his +son see all these points. And the elder man brought plenty of money to +make any others concerned see as he wanted them to see. The affair was +successfully hushed up. Carrington Davies, threatened with being +disowned if he did not do exactly as his father dictated, had stood by +powerless. + +He reflected now that this had been the biggest mistake of his life. +But years of strict obedience to his parent had awed him, awed him into +letting his father approach Hazel Nubbins, the girl who had so shortly +before become his wife. What the elder Davies said to her or what +proposition he made, the son never knew. But he recalled the satisfied +expression his father wore on returning from the interview, when he +said: + +"It's all right, son. I've fixed everything. Now, for God's sake +don't ever get into a jam like this again!" + +And the next day Carrington Davies heard that the girl had left the +place of her employ, pleading ill health. Weeks later, when he had +come out of the daze occasioned by these happenings, Davies had been +unable to obtain any information as to Hazel's whereabouts. And +gradually, as the weeks stretched out into months, the whole affair +shaped itself into the memory of a vaguely pleasant dream which had +turned out a blundering nightmare. + +Now, as he sped over the rails on the football special bound for +Cambridge, his thoughts came racing back to the present at the dash of +something against his window, a something that left a running streak. + +"Rain!" exclaimed Davies disappointedly. "Drizzling, cold rain! The +devil hang the weather man, anyhow!" + +As the trip progressed the rain did likewise, true to forecast. At +twelve fifteen, when the special arrived at Brighton, a stop one mile +from the stadium, Davies stepped into a sullen, sweeping downpour. +There was little hilarity among the detraining football followers, and +crimson colors gave way to the somber black of umbrellas. Davies +raised his coat collar and pulled down his hat brim, making a dash for +a store front that carried a light-lunch sign. + +It seemed that almost every one else made a dash for the same place at +the same time, and the race proved a dead heat with the first fifty. +These just managed to squeeze inside, Davies being about the +forty-seventh by half an elbow and several sore toes. It made him feel +as if he was bucking the line again; only there was little relish to it +this time, with the general pell-mell and every one calling out his +order in place of the familiar, "Rah, rahs!" + +Just how Davies at last came by a Swiss-cheese sandwich and a cup of +pleasantly hot and fragrant coffee he never quite knew. He just found +himself jostled along, automatically holding out his hands when he came +up against the counter, taking what was thrust into them, putting it +out of sight as quickly as possible, while some one behind him was +fighting for his place, and then following the path of least +resistance, which led to the cashier's perch where the extent of his +hasty appetite was checked up in so many cents. + +After that Davies discovered himself once more in the rain, feeling +strangely alone and just a little bit dazed. It was early yet. He had +half a notion to go up to the locker room and see the boys. He had +done this in other years, had even sat in the dugout with them and had +thrilled at the imagining that his presence had inspired them; but +somehow, this day, Davies felt his inadequacy. It was a sort of +left-out feeling; more than that, a sensing that his sun had set, that +perhaps he had worn the halo of gridiron hero too long, and that his +friends might have been humoring him. + +It was such dampening, disconsolate thoughts as these that prompted +Davies to hail a taxicab and go directly to the stadium. He would +refrain from his usual haunts this year and, through this refraining, +see if he was missed. It was quite possible, did he not remind +Harvard, year by year, as to just who he was, that the old college +would forget him. He must remember that the world lived largely in the +present while he had been living largely in the past. + +The rain had abated somewhat when Carrington emerged from the taxi and +joined the wet line of Harvard and Yale enthusiasts crowding through +the main entrance. There was life here; the atmosphere of expectancy +that was bred by the very outline of the stadium, the concrete sides of +which had rocked with throat-tearing sounds, time on time. How could +one's blood help but warm, even under the pelting of rain, at the +memories intrusted to the historic amphitheater of sport in which so +many athletic classics had been staged? Davies' heart leaped as he +came inside the stadium and got his first glimpse of the green-sodded +gridiron, now spotted with pools of water, the goal posts looking sleek. + +Already the stands were alive with huddled humanity and bobbing +umbrellas. Yellow slickers, dotted through the field of black, made +Davies think of a checkered taxicab. He cursed himself for not having +brought his own raincoat along. In years gone by he could have been +wet to the skin and not minded it, but now he was conscious of a desire +for dry comfort. Certainly he couldn't be getting old! + +By game time the stadium was a howling, wet mass. The rain had +subsided to a spraylike drizzle, and Carrington, after a minute study +of the sky line, decided that this improvement was the best which could +be hoped for. + +The conditions underfoot were bad. The sod was soggy and slippery. +Punters, in practice, stationed themselves with great care before +getting off their kicks. Even then the punting experts were observed +to retain their footing, at times, with difficulty. Davies shook his +head forebodingly. There was nothing encouraging to the Crimson in the +outlook. + +The sons of Old Eli were cheering their steam-roller eleven to the +echo. As Davies compared the heavy Yale line with the noticeably +thinner Harvard wall, he shuddered instinctively as he thought of these +men taking the impact of what was due to come. He was seized with a +sense of futility at the very outset, and a ready sympathy for the +Harvard back field. He had been in just such a position years before +when it seemed as though he was battering his head against the side of +a brick building, and all for naught, it seemed, too--only that he knew +he should keep on battering, battering, just for the Crimson, the dear +old Crimson. + +Plunk! The hollow, wet sound of toe meeting pigskin and a +mud-spattered object turning end over end, with beneath it--jerseyed +figures charging! Harvard had kicked off! + +Davies rose spontaneously from his seat and added his puny voice to the +maelstrom of noise. On the Yale ten-yard line a blue-clad man pulled +down the mud-spattered object and, clutching it firmly against his +chest, took a few slipping side-steps to dodge an eager tackler. The +Eli succeeded in this, only to crash directly into the arms of a second +Harvard tackler, who bore him to the sodden earth on the Blue's +fifteen-yard stripe. Davies sank back into his seat with a sigh of +relief. The first prickling moment of the game was over. + +There were, though, further prickling moments to come. On the first +play Yale launched a line-smashing offensive, aiming her backfield men +at different points on the Harvard forward wall. It was +slip-slosh-bang, slip-slosh-bang! There were slow, heavy shiftings, +then a mud-smeared man with the ball diving through a hole for one, +two, three, or five yards--sometimes ten. Yielding, always stubbornly, +but always yielding, the slender Harvard line bent back and back under +the savage, relentless onslaught of unmuzzled Yale Bulldogs thirsting +for the blood of victory. Davies wore his voice to shreds trying to +stop Yale's advance. + +It was no use. This was one of those days when all the cheering that +could be martialed, and all the resistance that could be offered +against the foe, availed but little. Thwarted from a touchdown by the +Crimson's grim stand on their very goal line, Nixon, Yale's star +kicker, dropped back and booted the dripping-wet ball between the +uprights for a spectacular field goal which shot the Elis into a +three-point lead. + +In the second quarter, facing the same bitter opposition and impeded by +the slow, heavy conditions underfoot, Yale satisfied herself with +battering the Crimson eleven back until, clawing at one another on the +Harvard twenty-yard mark, Nixon mechanically duplicated his first field +goal to bring his team's score for the half up to six points. Yale +supporters shrieked their joy. The Harvard stands roared loyal +encouragement, then lapsed into mournful silence. + +During the intermission, Davies confessed to himself that he had never +seen a "fightinger" team except, perhaps, the eleven that had fought +that memorable battle back in 1905. Here were Crimson gridiron +gladiators who made the heart burst with pride; who, though being +slowly ground into defeat, were displaying Spartanlike valor; who, by +the inspired nature of their resistance, were putting gnawing lumps in +the throats of their ardent followers. Ah, this was a contest worth +watching, a combat which would go down in history, a story of how a +slight Harvard eleven, struggling against tremendous odds, had all but +wrested victory from one of the most powerful Yale machines of all time! + +When the teams reappeared on the field for the second half, Davies felt +the years fall away as in a strange dream. He began to wax exultant +about the weather, remembering with what grim satisfaction he had +rubbed his nose in the wet dirt behind Yale's goal line after his +sensational dash the length of the gridiron twenty years +ago--yesterday? No, twenty years---- + +A frenzied cheer brought Davies back to the present. Yale had kicked +off, and Harvard, receiving, had run the ball back fifteen yards. +First down on their twenty-one yard line! Broadhurst, slim-figured +Harvard quarterback, seemed a dynamo of pep from the way he was barking +out signals and urging the utmost from his men. Another cheer, more +frenzied than the first, burst out as a Crimson back slid around right +end for a four-yard gain. The next play netted seven yards around the +same end and a first down. Harvard rooters went crazy and Davies went +with them. + +Given cause for hope in the first worth-while ground gained against the +powerful Yale eleven, the Harvard team threw its whole remaining force +into the drive. For seven pulsating minutes it seemed as though the +Crimson could not be denied a touchdown. Yard after yard was torn off +on slipping end runs and slashing plunges through the line. Davies +forgot some of the sympathy he had felt for the team of his Alma Mater. +It was now risen to the heights of David against Goliath. + +Alas, though, with the ball on Yale's five-yard mark and the Harvard, +stands wildly intreating a touchdown, Broadhurst, trying to carry the +ball himself, fumbled! The pigskin was seen to strike the ground and +then to be swallowed up by a cloud of flying forms. When the referee +had dug through the confused mass of arms and legs, he found the ball +in Yale's possession, and Harvard's big glimmer of hope immediately +vanished. Broadhurst, who but a second before had been credited with +putting the driving force into Harvard's great attack, was now roundly +censured as the blunderer who had blown the golden opportunity. The +quarterback was a sophomore, Davies learned from the talk of some of +the more recent Harvard graduates near by. + +Overjoyed at having brought a stop to the one serious threat of the +enemy, the Yale team lined up on their four-yard mark and held like a +stonewall while the great Nixon got off a forty-yard punt from behind +his own goal line. + +With the punch gone from Harvard's attack, the Crimson made but a scant +yard in two downs; then the little Broadhurst threw a long forward +pass. The play was well screened; but an alert son of Yale, keenly on +the job, managed to intercept the ball. He was thrown in his tracks. + +It was growing dark, with the lowering clouds threatening a genuine +deluge. A chilling gust of wind whistled through the stadium. Some of +the less hardened "rooters" got up and began forcing their way toward +the exits. A gloomy silence hung over the field. + +Once more in swing, the Yale steam roller got under way. It took up +its old battering tactics--slip-slosh-bang, slip-slosh-bang. There was +nothing sensational in its movement, just methodical. And back--ever +back--though courageously resisting, went the Crimson line. A flock of +substitutes came running out now. The ball was on Harvard's +twenty-three yard line, four minutes more to play. The substitutes +brought a new, if hopeless touch of spirit to the Harvard eleven. They +were ambitious, almost pathetically so in the circumstances, to make a +good showing in their fleeting chance for glory. + +"Touchdown, touchdown, touchdown!" the Yale supporters began to chant +in monotonous fashion. It was not a question now of who would win, but +could Yale go over the goal line in the time that was left? Harvard +had put up a surprising battle against an eleven which had been favored +to defeat her by at least twenty points. And Yale was a bit miffed at +this, sternly desirous of adding to the score by hammering through for +a touch down. A victory won solely through the talented toe of the +great Nixon was hardly sufficient tribute to the supposed offensive +power of the team itself. + +There were two minutes left to play when Yale brought up on Harvard's +three-yard line for a first down. Behind the battered and tottering +Crimson wall a figure raved and ranted and roared, entreating his +teammates to stave off the Bulldog's advance. He stamped from end to +end in the churned up sod, prodding each player in a vicious manner. +But there was no visible stiffening of the Harvard defense at the +savage barking of its quarterback. The team was crushed after having +done its best to no avail. + +"Look at that bird begging his line to hold and he the one who made +that costly fumble!" cried a Yale supporter, who somehow had obtained a +seat in the Harvard sections. It was next to that of Davies'. "Wonder +if he thinks they'll pay any attention to him now?" + +Davies felt like making some hot retort to this, but he didn't. He +decided to salve his feelings in a cigar and to escape the agony of +watching Old Eli crush the Crimson under the added weight of a +touchdown. As Davies lighted up, the lowering clouds spread wide +apart, letting down sheets of driving rain. + +"A good thing it's almost over," he told himself. "About time for one +more play. Well, I don't suppose we could have expected anything +different, with the odds against us, and the weather, but if Broadhurst +had only----" + +Settling back in his seat, Davies was gloomily conscious of the hosts +of Yale rising to their feet with a stupendous din. His view was +blotted from the gridiron by flashing arms and wildly lurching forms. +But Davies was no longer interested. There was no use, he thought, in +getting excited over a Yale touchdown. + +While all was confusion about him, Davies sat still, puffing on his +cigar. + +But the cheering kept up! There was a different note in it now, a +great, heart-rending groan that was drowned out by an ear-bursting, +joyous roar. + +Davies looked up wonderingly. "Say, what's happening?" + +Just how Davies got to a standing position on his seat he never knew. +But he was suddenly and overwhelmingly conscious of a most unusual +sight. Crossing the Harvard thirty-yard line, running toward the +distant Yale goal with head down, straight into the driving rain, was +the slim-lined figure of the Harvard quarterback--the ball tucked under +his right arm. + +Behind the speeding man with the ball, trailed three desperate Yale +players, while another was cutting across the gridiron in the hope of +intercepting the Crimson runner from in front. Back near the Harvard +goal line, teammates on both sides, now completely out of play, yelled +encouragement to pursuers and the one pursued. + +Davies, eyes glued on Broadhurst, jabbed out an arm and grabbed the +Yale supporter by the shoulder. "Yea! How'd we get the ball?" the +hero of twenty years before demanded. + +"Let go my collar bone!" The Yale fan winced, trying to jerk away. + +"All right; but how'd we get the ball?" persisted Davies. + +"Nixon fumbled on your goal line. What's the matter, you poor fish! +Why don't you watch the game?" + +Davies _was_ watching it now for dear life. The slender Harvard +quarterback was being pressed from front and back. He had been forced +close to the side line in an effort to evade the tackler who was +lumbering at him across water-soaked sod. But, it was now evident that +Broadhurst must face this peril. The soggy condition underfoot had +made it impossible for him to evade the Eli even by keeping close to +the side line. There was no turning outward. To do so would carry the +ball out of bounds. And any hesitancy or slowing up would close the +distance between the Crimson runner and the three Yale men who kept +doggedly pounding along after him. + +Instinctively Davies stiffened his right arm and pushed it out +violently. For one heart-quaking second it seemed to him that the +years had rolled back and that he was carrying the ball. He sensed +acutely the sensation that must be Broadhurst's, and he suddenly found +himself shrieking: "Give him the straight arm! Give him the straight +arm! Give him the----!" + +And as if, from out that mad pandemonium of sound, Broadhurst had heard +and heeded, the Harvard quarterback ran directly at the oncoming +tackler; then, when it appeared as though Broadhurst must go down with +arms reaching out to encircle him, he jabbed a mud-stained hand +straight from the shoulder, catching the Yale man in the face. + +The impact almost threw Broadhurst from his feet, but he saved himself +by a quick jump to the side and, a slipping lurch which shook a foot +loose from the last frantic grab of the tackler as he dived head +foremost into a muddy sheet of water. + +"Atta boy! Atta boy!" cried Davies, no longer accountable for what he +might say or do. + +The man with the ball now had a clear field and was crossing the +fifty-yard line. The going was difficult, each step uncertain. +Several times he all but fell, the ground was so heavy and sodden that +it seemed almost as if Broadhurst were running in one spot, his feet +slipping under him. And with the tread-mill effect it looked as though +the three frenzied pursuers were gaining. + +In Yale territory now, the bleak goal posts looming up in front of him, +Broadhurst chanced a glance back over his shoulder. What he saw was +none too reassuring. The Yale stands broke into a roar of insane +entreaty. A Yale man was at Broadhurst's very heels, and Broadhurst +was crossing Old Eli's ten-yard line with a touchdown in sight! It was +but a matter of seconds. If the Crimson runner could be overtaken, +Harvard's last bubble of hope would be punctured. + +"Yea! He's got him!" yelled the Yale supporter, crashing Davies over +the head. + +"He hasn't, either!" the Harvard grad shouted, with a shove which all +but upset the rival rooter. "Look at that, will you?" + +At the four-yard line the Yale tackler left his feet in a frantic dive. +He struck the man with the ball just below the knees, and Broadhurst +crumpled forward, giving a tugging leap. It may have been due to the +fact that he was soaked to the skin and that the tackler's hands were +wet and chilled; at any rate, the Eli's grip slipped to one leg, and, +instead of going down, Broadhurst strained along, dragging his tackler +after him. As he reached the goal line the two other Yale men sailed +through the air and hit him. All four went down in a splashing fall. +Then every one in the stands went wild. + +With the strength of a team gone delirious with joy, the Crimson +players took their positions in front of the Yale goal and prepared for +the play which would give them a try at the extra point after +touchdown. The stands rocked with tributes of noise, bestowing upon +Broadhurst one of the most deafening ovations ever accorded a gridiron +hero. He had fittingly redeemed himself. His blood-tingling +length-of-the-field run in the last minute of play had tied the score +at six to six. + +Davies waited only long enough to see the water-soaked ball sail +between the uprights for the winning point. Then he clambered over the +seats and cut across the outraged gridiron in the direction of the +clubhouse, unmindful of the fact that the mud had sucked off both his +rubbers. + +At the clubhouse, Carrington Davies encountered unexpected opposition +in gaining admittance. It seemed that no one had known who he was and, +what was more, no one seemed to care after being informed. Such crass +ignorance irritated Davies greatly, but he held his patience. The +disregard shown him was only due to the prevailing excitement. If any +one of them had only stopped to think! + +At last Davies rushed to the door and slid past, picking a hole between +the burly door-tender and a rather uppish young substitute who C. R. D. +ardently hoped would never become a regular. + +Once inside, the going was easier. Players in different stages of +dressing, and others still under the showers, glanced at him curiously +as his eyes sought out but one individual--the Harvard quarterback. + +"Where's Broadhurst?" Davies asked of the Crimson man nearest him. + +"Other side of the lockers," the individual addressed answered gruffly. +Then, as Davies followed the direction, he mumbled: "Who let that bird +in?" + +The latest Harvard hero was lacing a shoe when the former All-American +quarterback came upon him. Davies paused a moment, looking down at the +slim-lined figure sitting on the bench. He watched the slender fingers +as they plucked feverishly at the shoe strings. + +Evidently the boy was in a great hurry, Davies thought. He probably +wanted to get out--to meet his sweetheart and to hear her tell him how +wonderful she thought he was. Davies felt a gripping pang. He knew +all about it. He had been there--exactly in Broadhurst's shoes--twenty +years before. + +After what seemed a dragging century, the young fellow finished lacing +the shoe, looked up, and started. "Oh! I--I beg your pardon. Did you +want to see me?" + +Now that his opportunity for congratulation had come, Davies for some +unknown reason, felt suddenly small and insignificant. He felt the +clear blue eyes of the new Harvard star boring into his with kindly +inquiry, and for once in his life old C. R. D. found himself stammering. + +He did manage to extend his hand. + +"I--I just wanted to tell you how much I--that is--it did me lots of +good to see---- Oh, hang it! Signals over! What I mean to say is +that I've followed Harvard football for over twenty years. You see, my +name's Carrington R. Davies." + +The Harvard quarterback continued shaking the stranger's hand politely; +but there was no sign of recognition at mention of the name, only a +slight frowning of the eyebrows. + +C. R. D. noted this and his stammering became several degrees worse. +"I--I--used to play quarterback on the Crimson, too." + +The other's eyebrows lifted at this. + +"And I--and I---- Well, of course you wouldn't remember; but it was +just such a day as this--twenty years ago--that I---- Perhaps you've +heard tell of it?" C. R. D. brought up lamely, loath to relate the +entire incident and hoping that Broadhurst would recall hearing of it. + +The Harvard quarterback shook his head, but there was an interested +gleam in his eyes. "Why, no. I'm sorry, sir; but I----" + +"Well," the former All-American quarterback broke in desperately, "I +made a ninety-five-yard run for a touchdown in the last minute of play +and won the game against Yale, much as you did--to-day." + +There was a deep-throated chuckle from young Broadhurst. "Then it's +you, sir, who deserve congratulations!" + +"No, no. That's not the point," insisted Davies, with a sense of giddy +bungling. "That's really not the point. I just mentioned it because +I--because I couldn't help thinking of it, that's all. I couldn't help +thinking of myself from the moment I saw you out there, free, with the +game at stake, making for the Yale goal. It was just like looking at a +moving picture of myself--twenty years ago. You'll pardon me, +Broadhurst, I know. Nothing's ever gripped me like that run of yours +this afternoon. Nothing!" + +Davies was in the swing of things now. He had recovered from his +embarrassment and was pouring out his feelings in a flow of words which +tumbled over themselves to get expressed. Broadhurst was the one who +was embarrassed this time. He looked down at the floor and shifted his +feet awkwardly and tried to draw away his hand, but the stranger only +gripped it the tighter. + +The Harvard quarterback shot a glance about the locker room, relieved +to see that no one appeared to be noticing them. Every one was +interested in his own business, anxious to get outside and join the +victory-crazed celebrators. + +"I was with you every step of the way," Davies went on. "When you +slipped, I slipped. When you straight-armed the Yale man, I +straight-armed him, too. Everything you did all the way to the goal +line, I did. It was almost uncanny. Even when they tackled you as you +went over for a touchdown and pounded you into the mud--that's just +what happened to me. So I have you to thank more than to congratulate, +Broadhurst, for we both know what it means to have done our best for +the good old Crimson. And you have helped me to live over one of the +happiest, most thrilling moments of my life!" + +The Harvard quarterback withdrew his hand. The stranger turned away to +hide eyes which brimmed with tears. + +"I--I'm glad, sir," was all that Broadhurst could think of to say. + +Davies stiffened, chagrined at himself for his show of feeling. He was +a silly, sentimental old fool, inflicting his childishness upon a +gentlemanly young fellow who was too kind and sportsmanlike to show +distaste or offense. But why should any one else be interested in his, +Carrington R. Davies' feelings, or the fact that, twenty years before, +he had scored a touchdown? + +"Well, I'm keeping you from going out. I'll be taking leave," remarked +the All-American quarterback, backing off apologetically. + +"Don't be in a hurry," Broadhurst said, reaching out for his dress +shirt, but obviously glad to be about his business. "I'll be through +in a minute and then----" + +Whatever else the Harvard quarterback may have said was lost upon +Davies. He was quite instantly, unexpectedly, and acutely made +conscious of something extremely coincidental. The arm that reached +out to take the shirt from the locker had the slip of a crimson bow +tied about the wrist. + +Davies rubbed a hand across his eyes and looked again. How he had +missed seeing that bow before he could not understand. But it was +certainly there. Infernally peculiar! It was certainly there. + +Broadhurst, noting the stranger's stunned expression, stopped, his +shirt half on, to inquire what was the matter. + +"Why--why nothing--only that bow. You--you'll probably think me +odd--but, do you mind my--my taking a good look at it?" + +The Harvard quarterback held out his arm with a slight gesture of +impatience. Davies took the hand and studied the bit of ribbon. Of +course, it wasn't--but didn't it beat the devil how everything had +worked out this day? Either that or he was suddenly losing his mind. +Perhaps that was it. He had brooded so long over the affair of his +youth that at last it had affected his brain. + +The ribbon was wet--and soiled--and--this, he thought, could easily be +his imagination--it was actually a trifle faded. But it did look +strangely familiar, strangely like the one that a dear, trusting girl +had tied about his wrist, and that he had sealed there with a kiss +twenty years before. It was infernally peculiar. That was all there +was to it. Infernally peculiar! + +Davies straightened up, to find the Harvard quarterback at the point of +exasperation. + +"I don't blame you for thinking me out of my mind," sympathized C. R. +D. "And I may be, for all I know. So many ungodly things have +happened to me to-day. But--if it's not being too personal--where did +you get that bow? From your sweetheart?" + +There was almost a contemptuous note in Broadhurst's voice as he +started to button his shirt. "No! My mother." + +Davies felt his knees give way beneath him and he dropped down heavily +upon the bench, staring up at the Harvard quarterback, unbelievingly. +"Your--your mother?" + +"Yes. What's wrong with that?" demanded Broadhurst, picking up collar +and tie. "It's a good-luck charm," he explained curtly; then he added +with a smile: "And it sure worked to-day!" + +"A--a good-luck charm?" echoed Davies weakly. "A good-luck---- Say! +Your mother--I mean, is your father--living?" + +The Harvard quarterback paused in his tying of a four-in-hand to shoot +a puzzled glance at the evidently insane stranger. "No, sir. He died +before I was born." + +"Oh, I see," Davies mumbled, conscious of his heart thumping in his +ears. "But your name--Broadhurst? Was that your father's?" + +This question was almost too much for the latest Harvard hero. He spun +his locker door shut with a bang. "Why certainly!" Then, wheeling +upon his questioner, he asked: "Why wouldn't it be?" + +"I--I thought perhaps your mother might have married again and that +you--you took the name of your--your stepfather," hazarded Davies. + +"See here. I don't know what you're driving at, but I don't like your +insinuations. My mother was married only once, and she----" + +"Listen!" broke in Davies excitedly. "If I'm not badly mistaken, your +real name's Carrington R. Davies. I mean--perhaps not Carrington +R.--but Davies anyway!" + +"You don't know what you're talking about. My name's Carrington +Nubbins Broadhurst!" + +"Carrington Nubbins. It is! Well, why didn't you say so? But you're +all wrong on the last name. Where's your mother? I've got to see her. +Why, confound it, old boy, I'm your father!" + +Five palpitating seconds of electrifying silence followed Davies' +fervent outburst. Then C. R. D. spoke again, in a voice that was husky +with pent-up emotion and the shock of it all. + +"Where's your mother? I've been twenty years trying to find her. Oh, +God, this is wonderful! You--my son!" + +Still the young man who went by the name of Broadhurst stood, +unspeaking, undecided as to what to make of this rabidly serious +personage who, not alone satisfied with claiming prestige for +performing a gridiron feat similar to his, was now trying to claim a +part in his parentage. + +"It was twenty years ago," explained Davies appealingly, "almost to the +day, when, just before the game with Yale, I met your mother--met her +in a secluded spot under the stands. There was a cold rain falling, +and I can remember how we pressed up close against the stands to keep +from getting soaked. And she took that little crimson bow from about +her neck and tied it around my wrist. I can even recall exactly what +she said. It was, 'Here, take this--it's your token of good luck.'" +Davies' voice broke at this and tears glazed the eyes of even the +Harvard quarterback. + +"I--I guess there must be something to it, all right," confessed the +youth who had been surnamed Broadhurst, the name his mother had taken. +"That's just what mother did this afternoon--insisted on meeting me +under the stands, and--and tied on this bow--and said those same words!" + +It was a peculiar sight--had any one been there to see it--a grown-up +man and a growing man clasping hands, their faces wet and streaked. + +"I'm taking mother to dinner tonight," said the younger man softly, +after what seemed like an hour of understanding silence. + +"No--you mean that I'm taking mother and you," corrected the old-time +player firmly. Then, leaning over, he touched the crimson bow +reverently and asked: "I--I wonder if you'd let me wear that to-night? +I want her to see me with it on. I want her to know that Davies played +the game!" + + + + +"BUTTER FINGERS" + +How did "Rus" Lindley get his nickname, "Butter Fingers"? Now _I'll_ +ask _you_ one! "Why did the guys call six foot Harry Tibbits, +'Shorty'?" Answer that and you've answered your own question about +"Rus." + +I guess, if you'd go into the science of nicknames far enough you'd +find that the name you can pick which comes the furtherest from fitting +who you're picking it for is the one that suits the best! There--how's +that for getting rid of an involved sentence? + +At any rate, if "Rus" really deserved to be dubbed "Butter Fingers" +then the moon is really made of green cheese and the cow really did +jump over it and all that stuff. Because if there was one thing that +"Rus" _wasn't_, it was _butter fingers_. + +"Rus" was a lean, lanky, long-armed, awkward, thin-nosed cuss that +you'd think, to look at, didn't have an ounce of ambition or a pint of +sense. The next minute you'd wake up to find the ounce a hundred +pounds of condensed lightning and the pint a couple of gallons of +trigger thinking. That's the kind of a surprise package "Rus" was. +And, brother, look out!! If "Rus" ever had occasion to lay hands on +you he didn't let go until he got good and ready. Try your _durndest_ +and you couldn't shake loose the grip he carried in those long, slender +fish hooks of his. "Butter Fingers"? + +What a laugh! "Rus" was never known to have muffed anything in his +life! + +It was "Butter Fingers" who climbed the greased pole and took down the +Senior colors his Freshman year. It was "Butter Fingers" who untied +the wet knots in the fellows' clothes the time we Sophies got caught +swimming in the Old Bend, thus saving us from a most embarrassing +situation. It was "Butter Fingers" who hung by his digits from a +window sill on the fourth story of our dorm when she was burning down +... hung there ten minutes till the firemen got a ladder under him +after he'd been cut off from the stairs. He saved seven roommates by +that sure-grip of his, swinging them from a window where they were +trapped and sending them down the stairs ahead of him before the fire +put the stairs out of commission. + +And who but "Butter Fingers" could have "human-fly-ed" it up the front +of the old stone chapel, clear up into the belfry? Of course he did it +on a dare but those wonder fingers of his just pulled him up, catching +hold of places that the ordinary person would tear their finger nails +on and cry thirteen bloody murders from the strain of hanging to +crevices by the finger tips. + +That was "Butter Fingers"! + +But, using the words of Al Jolson, "You ain't heard nothin' yet!" What +I've just got through telling you was just practice exercises for the +bird with the muscular mitts, the uncanny grip, the steam shovel hands +and the never-break-clutch. + +Say, I hope you're not getting this "Butter Fingers" wrong. He was +long, lean, lanky, awkward, thin-nosed and all that ... but he wasn't +built like a foundry. His hands weren't extra large, either ... +excepting that the fingers were extra long. He only weighed a hundred +and fifty-one pounds which isn't much when you're thinking in terms of +football and so much for so tall. That's where "Butter Fingers" had +you fooled. You had to see him in action before you'd believe what +"Rus" Lindley could do. + +Was he modest? He was so quiet and unassuming that you could hear his +watch ticking in his vest pocket! Was he athletic? Don't be +ridiculous! If he wasn't athletic anywhere but in his fingers he'd +have been athletic enough. As it was, he was the best end that ever +played on a football eleven representing Burden High! + +What makes you think "Butter Fingers" was a freak? He wasn't born +strong-fingered. Naw. He had to develop it. What made him do it? +Well, I don't know as I could answer that exactly. I remember "Butter +Fingers" saying once he'd gotten a kick out of chinning himself ever +since he was a baby. Sure! You don't chin yourself with your chin ... +you chin yourself with your ... anyhow it's mostly done with your grip! +You get a hold of a bar or something and pull your body up rigid! All +right, then! Why didn't you say you'd tried it? Ain't so easy, is it? +Especially after the tenth time! + +Can you imagine what sort of an end a guy with a powerful grip could +make? Can you figure what would happen to a football if "Butter +Fingers" ever laid his grapplers on it? And can you picture a runner +trying to get away from a tackle by a bird like "Rus"? A fly might as +well try to pull its feet off a sheet of sticky fly paper as a runner +to jerk loose from "Butter Fingers" once he's got him. + +Would you like to hear how "Butter Fingers" won his undying fame? Have +I got the time? No, but I'll take time. This story's worth it! + +Just make yourself as comfortable as possible. You'd better sit on the +edge of your chair, though, because that's where you'll be before very +long anyway. And I'll start right in at the beginning so you won't +miss any of the picture. + +First, you got to get a close-up of this fellow, "Rus" Lindley. He's +the kind they describe in the movies as "Oliver, who takes everything +seriously--including football." Before any of the guys nicknamed him +"Butter Fingers," "Rus" was just an ordinary, awkward candidate for the +team ... but while he was picking up bumps in practice he was likewise +putting on bumps of knowledge. "Rus" had one of them scientific slants +of mind and he always had to figure why he was supposed to do a certain +thing a certain way. Once he'd found out the reason he was satisfied. +Professor Tweedy, our "math" teacher, used to say that "Rus" was a +"natural born thinker." But geometry and trigonometry weren't the only +subjects that "Rus" approached from all angles. He used his bean at +all times and places. + +That's why, when "Rus" went out for football, he felt called upon to +exercise his gray matter. It was perfectly obvious to him, for +instance, after a careful study of the rudiments of the game, that the +weather might seriously alter one's style of play. + +"Take the difference between a dry field and a wet field," he says to +me, one afternoon, "I'm surprised the coach doesn't make us practice +with a wet ball and the field soaked down. The almanac indicates rain +three Saturdays this fall and the signs couldn't be any worse for +torrential precipitation on the Saturday we play Edgewood. What's that +going to mean? Simply that the luckiest team wins! But if the coach +used the little mechanism inside his bean it might mean that the +_smartest team_ would win. What made Napoleon great was his dry land +operations. But, oh boy, didn't he get _soaked_ at _Waterloo_! Of +course that's a rather far-fetched illustration. Just the same, you've +got to know how to handle yourself under all conditions or you're +practically sunk before you start!" + +I agreed with "Rus" not feeling equal to stacking my brain up against +his, and besides he has a way of making things sound darn logical. +Seeing as how the coach seemed to be overlooking a good bet, "Rus" +decides that he's going to get the training he should have anyway. So +we meet one night after football practice in his backyard. + +"This is what I'd call a laboratory experiment," explains "Rus" as he +soaks down the back lawn with the garden hose, "The other boys would +probably give us the merry ha ha if they saw what we're going to do but +if my theory's right we'll see the day when we can laugh up our own +sleeves!" + +When the lawn's nice and oozy and slippery from super-saturation, "Rus" +turns the water on the football and gets it just as wet as though it +had fallen in a lake. + +"All right, Mark," he says to me, "I'll hit the dirt first. This kind +of practice isn't exactly going to be pleasant but it has a good chance +of proving profitable. Now you stand over there and roll that football +across the grass. I'm going to try to fall on it!" + +It's easy enough for me to do what "Rus" directs. But it's not so easy +for "Rus" to do what he intends. We're dressed in our football togs, +of course, right down to the cleated shoes. But even at that the grass +is so sleek that the footing's as treacherous as a polished ball room +floor. On his first try, "Rus" slips and falls flat before he gets to +the ball and the pigskin rolls to the fence. + +"There went the chance to save the game!" he points out as he gets to +his feet. "Let's try her again!" + +Honest, you never saw anybody that's such a glutton for punishment! +"Rus" gets sopping wet and all grass-stained and dog-tired but he keeps +me throwing that football in all sorts of zig-zag bounces across the +lawn till it's so dark that the street lights come on. And then he +apologizes for not having traded off with me so's I could have got some +of the same experience. "I'm just as well satisfied," I answers. "You +don't need to feel bad about that!" + +"We'll do it again, every chance we get," says "Rus," not seeming to +notice my lack of enthusiasm, "I'm rotten! I missed at least half my +dives. And as for scooping the ball up on the run, wasn't I pitiful? +But that's what an end's got to be able to do and yours truly isn't +going to make a bad muff in a game if he can help it!" + +Being a friend of "Rus's" and practically a next door neighbor as well +as a team-mate, I can't really turn the serious-minded bird down. +Besides, I have to admit to myself that it's darn interesting watching +the vim that "Rus" puts into this secret practice. Some nights it's +mighty chilly and with the grass wet down it's enough to make your +spinal column wriggle, but "Rus" never seems to mind. + +"The most annoying part of this thing for me," says "Rus," "is 'Mom's' +objection to my draping these wet togs over her radiators. She claims +the house smells like a Chinese laundry every night. I tell her she +must be a good sport and put up with it for the good of the team!" + +Say, you'd be surprised, after a couple of weeks, to see how "Rus" +improves! It gets to be marvelous the way he can tear across the lawn, +reach down with those long fingers, scoop that slippery pigskin up and +keep right on going toward what he imagines is the enemy's goal! + +"Preparedness!" he'd smile at me. "That's one of the greatest words in +the English language! I want to be ready when the fumble comes!" + +Sometimes "Rus" would hit the lawn like an India rubber ball and almost +seem to wrap his lean, lanky frame around the pigskin, bouncing up on +his feet on the roll and untangling his legs from the knot to be +streaking away almost before you could tell what was happening. Once +he put so much steam behind it that he couldn't stop in time and plowed +into the back fence, busting two boards loose and bruising his shoulder. + +"Zowie! I ran into some real opposition that time!" he grinned. + +It isn't long before all this extra practicing that "Rus" is doing +begins to show up on the football field. In scrimmage he gets the +reputation of being "sure-fingered" because he drags down passes, +recovers fumbles and handles the ball so smoothly that it seems like he +can't miss getting hold of it no matter how wild it goes. In +comparison the rest of us look pretty sick, all excepting me ... and +I'm a little better than average because of my experience with "Rus." +Several times, while I'm playing my position at left half, there's a +poor pass back from center and I have to drop on the ball. Believe me, +I'm mighty thankful then for the special training I've picked up! + +"This game of football is just a matter of following the ball," "Rus" +airs to me one night, "I don't care what these wise birds say. There's +breaks in every game that, if we could take advantage of 'em, would do +more than all the fancy plays ever invented. Look at last week when we +played Madison. We have 'em down on their own ten yard line and we +break through and block the punt and two of our fellows dives for it. +Do they get the ball? Yes, they do not! A Madison back, who knows his +onions, shoots in--picks the ball up off his shoe tops after it's +bounced out of our fellows' arms--and runs forty yards before he's +stopped. That's what I call converting good fortune out of disaster! +Either one of our boys ought to have downed the ball on Madison's eight +yard line but both of 'em muffed it. On a dry field, too...! +Inexcusable!" + +"But you must realize, Rus," I argues, "that _your_ attitude on this +matter is very exceptional. You can't expect all football players to +pay the attention you've been paying to developing themselves to a fine +point on picking up loose balls!" + +"Razzberries!" retorts "Rus," "Then they're not worthy of the name of +football players!" + +And there the arbitration rests. But the season doesn't get much older +than "Rus's" mania begins to break out in a new channel. He's so +anxious to see all the boys proficient in the gentle art of falling on +the ball that he takes to ragging them every time they miss out. + +"Butter fingers!" he yells, and gets a glare in return for his trouble. + +"Butter fingers, yourself!" cries the guy who's just looked foolish. + +And the first thing you know, the name that "Rus" has branded his +team-mates with, comes back on him like a boomerang. So, the only +fellow who doesn't deserve the title of "Butter Fingers" is the one who +gets it! + +"That's all right," "Rus" says to me. "Let 'em call me 'Butter +Fingers.' I'll make 'em eat that word twenty times a day. And they'll +be trying extra hard to keep from being 'Butter Fingers.' You see!" + +Which makes it sound like "Rus" has decided to act the martyr to some +adopted cause! Now right here's where a complication enters my story +in the shape of Mr. Maxwell Tincup, dignified member of the school +board and a political power in the town. Among other things Mr. Tincup +is bitterly opposed to football as a sport that's "absolutely +barbarious." Football, in Mr. Tincup's exalted opinion, is a machine +which manufactures a lot of good-for-nothing rowdies. He's made the +air blue at many board meetings, voicing his protest against +continuance of the sport as an athletic activity at Burden High but +he's never quite been able to get a majority vote against it. Just the +same his attitude has stirred up considerable feeling and hasn't +exactly made him popular with the boys. + +"What Tincup needs is a dose of second childhood," "Butter Fingers" +prescribes one day. "He evidently didn't have any the first time!" + +Mr. Tincup's home is right on our way to school, a big old-fashioned +house that stands on a corner of the street, surrounded by a high +picket fence. We often see the anti-footballist's three year old son +hanging to the fence and peeking out as though he'd like to investigate +the outer world. + +"Look at the poor kid," points out Butter Fingers as we're passing one +afternoon. "They keep him as spic and span as a children's +advertisement. Maxwell Tincup, Junior's sure going to be a chip off +the old block if the old block has anything to say about it! I'll bet +some day he takes the tiddly-winks championship of South America!" + +"Are you sure Mr. Tincup won't consider that too strenuous?" I asks, +innocent like. + +"Butter Fingers" grins and shrugs his shoulders. + +It's not until the Monday before the big game of the year with Edgewood +that the something happens which changes the complexion of the whole +situation and brings Mr. Tincup's objection to football to a boil's +head. + +"Butter Fingers" and me are coming back from the athletic field after +an extra hard workout. I have a football and we're tossing it back and +forth as we're trotting down the sidewalk, me about fifty feet ahead of +"Butter Fingers" so we can have plenty of distance to pass. As we cut +across the corner toward Tincup's house I spot him out in the yard, +washing his front porch off with the stream from the garden hose. +"Hello!" says I to myself, "Mr. Tincup's getting industrious in his old +age!" + +Just then "Butter Fingers" lets loose an extra long throw. I can see +at a glance that the ball's going to be over my head unless I can take +it on the jump. Nope! I miss it by three feet, banging up against Mr. +Tincup's front fence trying to pull it down. + +"Look out!" I yells when I see what's going to happen. + +If "Butter Fingers" had took aim he couldn't have made a squarer hit. +The pigskin spirals over the fence and plunks Mr. Maxwell Tincup smack +on the side of the head. The blow's so unexpected it knocks the nozzle +of the hose out of his hands and before anybody can say "Ask me +another!" the hose squirms around like a snake and soaks him from head +to foot. Mr. Tincup begins yelling like he's in the middle of the +ocean, going down for the last time. It takes him a couple of seconds +to get on to what's hit him, but the minute he sees the football lying +on the lawn he lets out a bellow of rage and turns to us, shaking his +fist. + +"All right, young gentlemen!" he snorts. "That's the end of your ball +... and it's the end of _you_, for that matter!" + +It may be the end of us but it's not the end of our ball so far as +"Butter Fingers" is concerned. He's over the fence in a jiffy and +streaking for the pigskin as though he's on a football field. Mr. +Tincup doesn't suspect any opposition on picking up what "Butter +Fingers" regards as a free ball. He's too dripping wet and ripping mad +to suspect anything. As he stoops down to pick up the ball which is +also wet, it slips out of his fingers. To make matters worse he kicks +it accidently with his foot and it rolls along in front of him. It's +right then that "Butter Fingers" arrives. He takes a running dive +across the wet lawn, skids right under Mr. Tincup's nose, curls himself +around the pigskin, bounces up on his feet and keeps on going till he +comes to the fence which he hurdles. + +Mr. Tincup stares at the human cyclone, his mouth so wide open that you +can see all the gold in his teeth. + +"Come here!" he shouts, waving his arms. + +"I'm sorry!" calls "Butter Fingers," "We didn't mean to do what we did +but this is our ball and we got a right to it!" + +"You've got no right to be playing football!" raves Mr. Tincup, +beginning to shiver now as the air's kind of cold. "And I'm going to +see that you don't play football hereafter!" + +"Gee!" I says to "Butter Fingers," when we've beat it. "I don't know +as that was such a bright stunt--your rescuing that pigskin. We might +better have let old Tincup have it. Now he's going to raise a rumpus +for sure! He'll probably go to the board." + +"Butter Fingers" gives me the laugh. + +"Make your pulse behave!" he says. "Everybody knows Mr. Tincup's a +great guy to holler. He won't get any further than his echo. Say--I +don't hear you mentioning anything about that pickup I made. Speak up, +brother! Can't you recognize a masterpiece?" + +"Your masterpiece," I answers, "Wasn't the pickup. It was hitting Mr. +Tincup on the bean!" + +"Just the same," argues "Butter Fingers," "if the old boy'd only had +some football experience I'd never have gotten away with the ball. +That only goes to show the value of...!" + +"Oh, dry up!" I orders. "You're getting unbalanced on that subject...!" + +It isn't until the next morning that we get the glad tidings of bad +news. Ain't it the truth that everyone's glad to be the first to tell +you something sad? And what do you suppose has happened? + +That peeved Mr. Tincup has stirred up a special called meeting of the +school board and has gone and gotten us suspended from the team! He's +raised a terrific rumpus about football in general and has tried to get +the big game of the year with Edgewood canceled but he can't get away +with that. He's influential enough to put a crimp in the team, though, +and to put a crimp in us in particular, by getting the board to have us +kicked off the eleven just when we're needed most. I hope you won't +think I'm handing myself bouquets on purpose but I'm the best backfield +man the team's got and I've already told you how hot "Butter Fingers" +is as an end. Are we sore? Are we sick? So is most everyone else but +what good does that do 'em? The students get out a petition asking for +the school board to meet again and reconsider the matter but the school +board pays about as much attention as a deaf ear. + +"We're sunk all right," I says to "Butter Fingers" in the middle of the +week. "Leave it to Tincup to see that we don't play Saturday! He's +got it in for us for fair! And we're going to be treated to the +_exquisite pleasure_ of sitting on the sidelines and seeing our team +take a nice trimming from Edgewood!" + +"Edgewood's going to be plenty tough!" admits "Butter Fingers," +soberly. "We wouldn't have been any too strong with our best line-up +against 'em. Wouldn't this give you a pain? Especially after all the +extra work we've put in so's we'd be in tip top shape for that game!" + +"Don't cry on _my_ shoulder," I replies, "I got tears enough of my own!" + +Saturday comes. It's the one day in the fall that the almanac gets +absolutely right. There's a precipitous rain falling. The weather +sort of reflects our gloom. + +"It's just the kind of a day I've been dreaming about," moans "Butter +Fingers," "There's bound to be plenty of fumbles. I ought to be in +there to get 'em!" + +"Tell that to Tincup!" I answers. + +By noon a wind springs up and the clouds lift a little. The downpour +begins to let up. But the football field is already a young lake and +water is backed up in the streets. It's going to be a grand afternoon +for ducks and a splashing time for a gridiron battle. + +At one o'clock, an hour before game time, "Butter Fingers" says to me, +"Mark, there's one thing old Tincup can't keep us from doing. He can't +prohibit our going to the locker room and hanging around with the +fellows till they're due on the field. Maybe we can cheer the gang up +a bit!" + +"Not much chance of that," I replies. "But, I'm with you, +nevertheless...!" + +So we sets out. And of course our direction takes us right past the +house that's owned by the object of our affections! I suggests to +"Butter Fingers" that we make a detour but he growls that he'll be +darned if the high and mighty Mr. Maxwell Tincup is going to make him +take so much as an extra step. + +The rain has entirely stopped now and by the breeze that's blowing it +looks like the sky is through for the day. As we get near the picket +fence we discover something unusual. Mr. Tincup's three-year-old kid +is out by the curb trying to sail a toy boat in the water. And +standing on the front porch, staring at us with a satisfied grin on his +face, is the anti-football member of the school board himself! Mr. +Tincup looks at us as much as to say, "Well, how do you young rascals +feel now?" + +There's nothing we can do but swallow our medicine and parade past with +eyes front as though we haven't even seen him. This we start to do +when--all of a sudden--a strong gust of wind comes along and takes the +kid's hat off, rolling it into the street. "Butter Fingers" sees this, +and grins. + +"Dadda, look!" says the kid, pointing a finger at his hat which is +lying in a puddle of water in the middle of the street. We watch the +kid, laughing inside to think of anything happening which might affect +old Tincup's dignity. The kid runs along the curb, finds a place where +he can step over the stream of water and starts out on the street after +the hat. + +"Junior, come here!" yells Mr. Tincup, hurrying down off the porch. +"Papa'll get it for you!" + +But Papa doesn't have a chance. Things commence to take place after +that so fast that it leaves me dizzy. + +Just as the kid starts off the curb a big, heavy duty truck comes +thundering down the side street and turns sharp around the corner. The +driver catches sight of the kid, lets loose the klaxon and reaches for +the brakes. Seeing the danger, the kid tries to beat it back, slips on +the wet pavement and falls! I stop dead, looking on, petrified. I'm +so frozen that I don't even see "Butter Fingers" leave my side. My +eyes are glued on the kid and the truck, with the brakes set, skidding +right down on him! I hear Mr. Tincup scream. Then there's a swishing +sound and a body goes sliding along the pavement. It strikes the kid, +arms reach out, fingers grab a hold, the body does a roll ... and then +you can't tell which is which. Honest, I don't dare look for a second, +it's so close! But when I opens my eyes again I see the truck driver +crawling down off his seat, wiping perspiration from his forehead. +Over on the opposite curb there's a long, lean, lanky bird getting to +his feet and helping up a badly scared youngster that's all wet and +dirty. + +"Who says football doesn't fit you for something useful?" I hear +"Butter Fingers" mumble to himself. Then he stoops down. "How are +you, kid, all right? We took a nice, wet roll, didn't we?" + +The next instant an insane man races across the street and grabs the +kid in his arms and sits down on the damp curb and breaks into sobs. + +"Boy," said the truck driver, extending his hand to "Butter Fingers," +"that was the nerviest stunt I ever seen! Look how far that old wagon +skidded past where you were!" + +"Butter Fingers" looks. + +"Been a bad place for a fumble, wouldn't it?" he says, then glances +quick at me. "Say, Mark--we'll have to be legging it or we'll miss out +seeing the team!" + +"Just a minute!" says a choky voice from the curb. "Where you boys +going?" + +"To see the game!" I answers, rather short. + +"No, you're not!" raves Mr. Tincup, jumping to his feet. "You're going +to _play_!" + +He fumbles in his pocket, pulls out a calling card and scribbles on the +back. + +"Give that to Coach Spilman," he says, handing it to "Butter Fingers." +"I'll have to get in touch with the other members of the board before I +can get your suspension lifted but I'll do it, boys, if it's humanly +possible! Meanwhile, you get to the locker room and get all dressed +ready to go in at a minute's notice!" + +We're not reinstated till the beginning of the last quarter but it's +time enough for "Butter Fingers," with the score 13 to 7 against us, to +scoop up an Edgewood fumble on our seventeen yard line and run +practically the length of the field for a touchdown! Then I kicks the +extra point to make the score 14 to 13 which is the way it stands when +the game ends. + +As we're going off the field an overjoyed member of the school board +comes pushing through the crowd and compliments "Butter Fingers" for +his star performance, ending up with, "And young man, I can't ever tell +you how grateful I am for that other wonderful thing you...!" + +"Don't mention it!" says "Butter Fingers," breaking in modestly. "The +thanks are on _my_ side. I didn't have much practice this week and +picking up the kid just put me back in trim!" + + + + +FOR THE GLORY OF THE COACH + +"There's no use talking, Mooney. You've broken training rules and +you're through. That's final." + +For a pulsating moment Elliott University's star fullback stood facing +the great John Brown, acknowledged dean of all football +coaches,--facing him as though he had not heard aright. There was +stunned surprise evident in the attitudes of his team-mates, too. No +one had imagined that John Brown would have the nerve to cross Mooney +beyond the giving of a reprimand. Not and hold the reputation which he +had slaved so hard to preserve in turning out a winning eleven for +decadent Elliott his first year there. The great John Brown might +better have remained in permanent retirement, resting on his richly +deserved laurels, than risk his halo of "wizard" and "miracle man of +the gridiron" by failure to restore Elliott's former football +supremacy. The press had been free to predict, when Coach Brown had +finally consented to do what he could for Elliott, that this task would +prove his Waterloo. "Coach Severely Handicapped by Material and +Facilities," one headline read, while another had it, "Sun Now Hardly +Destined to Set on Triumph for John Brown," the articles going on to +decry the lamentable conditions surrounding Elliott's effort to attain +a higher athletic grade. The task was regarded as beyond that of even +a miracle man and John Brown was credited with having accepted the +crudest of tests. + +And now, after Elliott had risen toward glory by defeating Hale, first +of the Big Three, thus repudiating in part the commonly accepted +opinion that the University could not hope to win any of her big +contests that year--now, when all eyes were upon John Brown as never +before; when it seemed as though this wily old fox, in some uncanny +manner, had juggled another victorious eleven out of athletic +chaos,--the coach was cutting off his nose to spite his face by +dismissing Tim Mooney from the team! + +Why it had been Mooney who, almost single-handed, had accounted for +Hate's defeat. The backfield had been built around him; his experience +had been relied upon as a stabilizer for the entire eleven which was +comprised mostly of green, untried material. Removing Mooney from the +team was like jerking the center pole out from under a tent and +expecting the tent to remain standing upright. At least that is the +way members of the eleven felt about it. + +And the reason Coach Brown was kicking Mooney off the team was because +he had stayed out past midnight on several occasions with his co-ed +sweetheart, Ruth Chesterton. One of John Brown's rules was that every +football man must be in bed by ten and those acquainted with his +usually strict disciplinary measures had become accustomed to obeying. +But Mooney's case had somehow been regarded as different. Folks had +come to consider him, because of his outstanding athletic prowess, a +law unto himself. In fact, Tim had become obsessed with the same +impression. + +"You--you're not joking?" he asked, still unable to believe John +Brown's stern edict. + +"Joking!" blazed the coach, "What would I be joking about? I warned +you what would happen ... and the same thing's going to happen to +anyone else who wilfully violates rules. You're through, Mooney, and +you're through for good. Turn in your togs at the clubhouse!" + +A hurt expression crept into the eyes of Elliott's star fullback. He +took a step forward, intreatingly. + +"Aw, say, Coach ... honest, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd ... that +is, I ... I ... it won't happen again, sir." + +"No, you can bet it won't," said John Brown in a voice of quiet +coldness. Then, deliberately turning his back, "All right--first and +seconds out for fifteen minutes' scrimmage!" + +At Naylor College where Coach Brown had Inaugurated and made famous his +football system, he had been loved and respected by players as well as +student body. Resigning his seat of honor at Naylor had been one of +the hardest things John Brown had ever done. But, even though the +announcement of his resignation had been met at once by staggering +offers from big schools East and West, the noted coach had refused them +all. He had retired to gain what he felt to be a much needed rest from +years of strenuous yet highly enjoyed activity. And newspapers +throughout the land, devoting columns to his eulogy, extolled the +unbroken string of victories which his teams at Naylor had scored over +the most powerful elevens in the country. Quitting the game at the +zenith of his career, it was a widely known fact that Coach Brown could +have fixed his own price for services with at least six of the biggest +institutions of learning in America. Here was a man who had coached +football for the sheer love of it, immune to the earning possibilities +of his tutoring. + +But two years in retirement had done much to lessen Coach Brown's +resolve. It had remained for a small group of loyal Elliott alumni to +approach the coach on a new tack. These men believed that John Brown +might be landed if the proper appeal were made. They had studied out +that the other schools had failed in striving to outbid one another, a +point which seemed to prove that money to John Brown was no object. +All right then--the way to reach him must be through sentiment--if he +could be reached at all. + +For years Elliott had been embarrassed through its position as a +leading university and its inability to put winning athletic teams on +the field. This condition was particularly true of the football +elevens. The touch of a master hand was needed; the application of +such a system as John Brown had put into effect at Naylor; the guidance +of a coach who could command not only the respect of his players but +the enthusiastic support of the student body. + +Carefully planning their verbal assault, the committee of Elliott +alumni swooped upon Brown. They found the great coach apparently as +determined as ever not to re-enter the football limelight, but they +presented him with a picture, so graphically and despairingly setting +forth the sorrowful condition of athletics at Elliott, and so feelingly +playing upon his love for the game that John Brown, wavering, finally +consented to take charge of Elliott for _one year_! + +Immediately the press, so glowing in its accounts before, had leaped to +the conviction that John Brown, despite all he had said to the +contrary, had actually been a hold-out until some college had reached +the figure he demanded. This conviction had been given wings with the +rumor that Elliott University was to pay him the unheard of amount of +$50,000 for a yearns services although, it was grudgingly admitted, if +John Brown could bring Elliott out of the slough of athletic +degeneracy, he would probably be worth every cent of that sum. + +Thoroughly appreciating the huge job cut out for him, John Brown, in +taking over the reins of football government at Elliott, had signed up +Red Murdock, one of the stars he had developed in other years at +Naylor, to act as assistant coach. And one of his first official acts +had been to put into force a rigid rule of discipline. He knew that he +must demand the utmost in every way from whatever or whoever there was +at hand in order to even approach what he hoped to accomplish. But the +mere fact that Brown had come to the head of things at Elliott was +cause for the schools on Elliott's schedule to regard their +proverbially weak opponent with new respect and wonderment. + +The game with Hale had been a genuine eye-opener. Elliott's 20 to 6 +victory had hardly been looked for and neither had the startling +performance of one Tim Mooney whose open field running had made two +touchdowns possible and whose talented toe had kicked two field goals. +A new star had arisen to add to Coach Brown's constellation of +developed gridiron heroes. + +On the strength of Mooneyes work alone, football authorities were now +willing to concede Elliott a chance against Larwood, second of the Big +Three, which was to be met the following Saturday. But Delmar, last +and bitterest enemy of Elliott--a college noted for the consistent +power of its football elevens and this season rated as possessing the +greatest team in the country--was considered a good thirty to forty +points better than Coach Brown's aggregation at its strongest. + +"What! Mooney banned off the team!" + +When the news of Coach Brown's drastic action flashed through the +Elliott student body it was greeted by a storm of indignant and growing +protest. A petition was immediately drawn up and sent the rounds +asking John Brown to reconsider his expelling of Mooney. The petition +was as nearly one hundred per cent as a petition could be. But the +petition failed to move the coach. Those who reflected on his past +history reported gloomily that once the coach took a stand on anything +he was like several rocks of Gibraltar. + +Ruth Chesterton, the girl indirectly responsible for Tim Mooney's +dismissal, felt greatly upset over the whole affair. She had thought +Coach Brown's bed time regulation a silly old rule until it had +operated against her hero. Now she was one of the most rebellious in +her attitude toward the man whom many people referred to familiarly as +J. B. So, the petition had failed to do any good? Well, she knew what +she would do! She would go to him and tell him what she thought about +the matter and then what could he do but rescind his action? + +But when the irate Miss Chesterton came into the presence of the great +John Brown she suddenly quailed. She couldn't tell exactly why she +quailed but she found it exceedingly difficult to look into the +crystal-pointed blue of J. B.'s eyes and say the things she was going +to say. Instead, she felt somehow like a foolish little girl who had +been used to having her own way at all costs and who had now met up +with a man who knew her better than her own father. + +She was conscious almost at once of the smooth tufts of silvery hair +about this man's temples and the great furrowed line across his +forehead, the firmly set mouth, the broad shoulders--the trace of a +smile as he leaned toward her and said, in a kindly inquiring manner, +"Well?" + +And that one word, peculiar as it may seem, had unnerved her or +disarmed her, she didn't know which. There crept over Ruth Chesterton +a sense of guilt. She found herself stammering and stumbling. + +"Please, sir ... I'm the girl that Mr. Mooney went out with when he +broke the rules." + +"Oh--you are?" + +"Yes, sir." + +An embarrassed pause. + +"Well--what of it?" + +"Why, I ... I thought perhaps you'd like to see me." + +That wasn't the right thing to say. Ruth knew it the moment she had +uttered it but she had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. + +"Me--like to see you? Why should you have thought that?" There was a +trace of ironic amusement in the coach's voice. + +"Why--why because I was sort of responsible for Mr. Mooney's breaking +the rules." + +"Did he send you here?" + +This question did much to bring Ruth back en her feet. + +"No, sir! I came of my own free will. He doesn't know anything about +it. He isn't that kind, Mr. Brown. He's taken all the blame--and it's +really more my fault than his--lots more. I--I encouraged him to--to +go out with me those nights ... I didn't think it would do any harm ... +and you'll have to admit yourself that ten o'clock is pretty early," +Ruth added, as she gained courage. + +"Sorry, young lady, but the question of time is not debatable. Mr. +Mooney broke the rules and that ends it..." + +"But, Mr. Brown ... won't you ... I mean ... the team ... or rather, +the game with Larwood. Won't he be needed?" + +The coach nodded, frankly. + +"I shouldn't be surprised." + +"Then perhaps--well, maybe if folks understood just how he came to +break the rules... I'd be glad to..." + +John Brown raised his hand in a waving gesture. + +"It's done now--and what's done cannot be helped. The time for you to +have thought of the consequences was before you tempted your friend to +ignore the restrictions." + +Ruth, sensing that she was getting nowhere, decided to throw herself +entirely upon John Brown's sympathy. + +"Mr. Brown ... if I tell you that I'm awfully, awfully sorry and that +I'll never, never interfere with anyone keeping rules again, would +you...?" + +The coach shook his head, giving a sharp, deep-throated laugh. Then +the lines in his face hardened, the furrowed crease +stiffened--ridge-like--and he leaned forward compellingly. + +"You are not sorry because Tim Mooney's loss to the team may mean the +loss of the game--or games. You are sorry only for Mr. Mooney and the +limelight his playing might reflect upon you. Pardon my frankness but +I know your type well. You are a disciple of this individual freedom +cult which has swept the world. You have regarded rules as being made +only for the thrill and pleasure of breaking. It has pleased your +vanity that Mr. Mooney should have chosen your company rather than the +observance of football regulations, A loyal Elliott girl, having a +friend on the team, would have insisted on keeping training rules with +him. But, not you! You've been a thoughtless traitor to your college. +And now perhaps your joy will be complete when I tell you that your act +may come close to costing me the ambition of my life. Good day!" + +Shocked by the sudden, burning reprimand and the blunt abruptness of +her dismissal, Ruth sat for a few prickly seconds staring at the coach. +Then she arose and, in place of being indignant, walked sobbingly from +the room! + +The following Saturday, minus the services of Tim Mooney, Elliott went +down to a bitter, heart-rending defeat at the hands of Larwood, losing +by the hard-fought score of 7 to 0. Five times during this +blood-tingling conflict, Elliott drove the ball down inside the enemy's +ten yard line but somehow, every one of these times, just missed the +punch which would have taken it over. Throughout the game, and +especially at the moments when Elliott was in possession of her golden +scoring opportunities, the stands had madly implored for Mooney. + +"Mooney! Mooney! Give us Mooney!" they had chanted. + +And after the game Elliott fans took occasion to warmly denounce Coach +Brown for the discipline he had employed which had deprived Elliott +University of what would have been one of her most notable victories in +years. The press of the nation was full to overflowing of newsprint +that day either attacking or defending the great John Brown. Most +sport writers were of the opinion that the famous coach had only +himself to blame for the defeat, poking much fun at his ten o'clock +law. A few of the more orthodox ones, however, credited John Brown +with having put law and order above victory, and lauded the personal +sacrifice he had made in so doing. But Elliott, crazed at having been +given a taste of athletic fruits after so long a time of starving, +could not reconcile herself at not having been able to eat the whole +apple. As time ticked on, Larwood's defeat of Elliott seemed more and +more uncalled for ... and the abuse of John Brown grew and grew. + +What Coach Brown's thoughts were on the situation no one knew. He had +scarcely been seen since the game and he had stayed so close to his +room--it had been reported--that he had even had his meals sent up to +him, refusing all interviews as well as callers. This in itself was +unusual--but that was John Brown. Eccentricity was expected of a man +who had been in the habit of accomplishing such astounding results with +raw human material and a football. To those who flattered themselves +that they reasoned, it was decided that John Brown, incurring popular +disfavor, had taken the simplest and most effective course of curbing +drastic comment by giving his antagonists no object to shoot at. After +all, right or wrong, Coach Brown was in charge of the team and it had +been through his efforts solely that Elliott had been able to even give +Larwood a fight. + +Every Monday, following a game, it was a custom among coaches to review +the previous Saturday's struggle, calling attention to the errors of +omission and commission as well as stressing the strong points of play. +Coach Brown's analyses of games had been regarded by many as +classics--some even called them scholarly treatises--but, at any rate, +the Monday hour in the Elliott clubhouse was recognized as the +education period par excellence of the entire week in football circles +and everyone who could possibly command a right to attend was there to +hear the contests cussed and discussed play by play. + +"Wonder what thunderbolt J. B. will have up his sleeve for us this +time?" every Elliott football man was asking himself as he headed for +the clubhouse the Monday after the Larwood battle. + +It was certain that John Brown would say something distinctly +significant. His stone silence over the week-end would indicate that. +Whatever his reactions to the boiling pot of criticism which had been +stewed over him, the team could expect to get most of these reactions +in the form of sharply defined lightning thrusts at weaknesses +which--to Coach Brown--had been responsible for Elliott's failure to +win. Team members instinctively knew that, so far as Tim Mooney was +concerned, John Brown would regard him as though he had never lived. +The coach would chalk up the defeat--not against Mooney's absence from +the line-up--but against the team individually or collectively failing +to come through in some particular. They knew this because John Brown +had emphasized, in some outstanding past instances, that "Games are +never won by the men on the sidelines but by the eleven on the field." + +At the clubhouse the hands of the old wooden-faced clock pointed to +five minutes after four. This was fifteen minutes past the time that +the Monday talk usually began. Players, lounging in the locker room, +looked at one another in silent wonderment and then strolled toward the +windows and gazed out down the walk which led through a lane of trees +to the campus. As the clock droned the quarter hour, Red +Murdock--assistant coach--got up, with an air of uneasiness, and +sauntered to the door and stood, peering. An unnatural quiet fell upon +those present. Coach Brown had never been late before. Punctuality +had been one of his iron-clad rules. And now he had kept them sitting +there, in growing impatience and suspense, some twenty-five minutes! + +Suddenly the assistant coach straightened up and stepped from the door. +Automatically the players changed from lounging positions to attitudes +of expectant attention. And every face cried to heaven of the +exclamation, "Ah,--he's coming!" + +There followed the sound of feet on the sidewalk--a firm, measured +tread which grew methodically nearer until it stopped abruptly at the +threshold. A moment more and a figure filled the doorway. But such a +figure! John Brown to be sure--yet a different John Brown, an older +John Brown; a sadder John Brown. His face looked white--not so white +as the chalk lines on the gridiron--but unusually white. And there was +a drawn quality about it with a certain weariness under the eyes. All +this no one could help but notice as he stood in the doorway, facing +them. Yet, when the face relaxed into the smile that everyone had +grown to love, its white, drawn weariness was forgotten. The coach was +himself again. + +"Well, boys, you've got one on me this time. Sorry to have kept you +waiting." + +John Brown advanced into the room, nodding a greeting to Red Murdock. +He lifted a foot and placed it upon the empty end of a bench on which +some players were seated, leaning over to rest his elbow on his +upraised knee and his chin upon the palm of his hand. He stood thus, +the thumb of his other hand run in under his belt strap, his cap pulled +well down so that the band of the rim seemed almost to press against +the furrowed line of his forehead. Just a simple, unaffected pose +perhaps--but somehow, this tardy Monday afternoon, it held a touch of +the dramatic. + +"Team--I have a little surprise for you to-day," said the great John +Brown. "We're not going to discuss Saturday's game with Larwood, The +game itself has been discussed enough by everyone who saw it. But I +would like to say to you and let it be heralded as coming from me, that +I never hope to see a more perfect game of football than you men of +Elliott played against Larwood!" + +Could the roof have crashed in unexpectedly at that instant it could +have caused no more profound astonishment than this most surprising of +tributes from the lips of John Brown. Was he suddenly gone crazy--or +was he about to perpetrate some biting joke? + +A substitute, anticipating a sarcastic follow-up, let out a mirthful +cackle. + +"All right, you're through for the day." The coach gave the order +without raising his voice nor even looking at the culprit. He waited +until the chagrined disturber had slunk out before resuming. + +"I mean it, men. My idea of perfect play Is when a team performs +strictly as it has been coached to perform ... following a system +through to the very last regardless of the breaks of the game or the +preconceived notions of the individual players. That is team-work in +the fullest--that is genuine football. That you failed to win does not +alter the fact that you gave a faultless exhibition insofar as your +experience and training permitted. Saturday you were by no means the +greatest team I have ever coached, but you were by all odds the +fightingest, willingest bunch of grid warriors that, in my estimation, +ever wore moleskins!" + +The coach paused and shifted his position to the other knee while the +Elliott men sat like a group of badly fussed and dumbfounded school +boys. Even Red Murdock could not conceal a look of frank bewilderment. +What on earth was the great John Brown driving at? He had never heard +the coach extol an eleven before. This was a most radical departure.... + +"A comparatively green line and a green backfield and yet you held +Larwood to one touchdown and threatened her goal five different times! +There is victory enough for me in that achievement...." + +Forgetting their embarrassment at the praise which was being heaped +upon them, a change began to creep over the team members--a sort of +magical change which stiffened spines and raised heads with a growing +pride. Gone was the inward despondency which had gripped them since +their gruelling loss to Larwood. And in its place...? + +Quick to note this rousing transformation, Red Murdock--assistant +coach--fought back a smile and the simultaneous inclination to kick +himself. + +"Strike me for a dumb-bell! J. B. sure knows his stuff. He realizes +he's dealing with practically new and little seasoned men ... and he's +trying to save their morale and bolster it up for the biggest game of +the year--against Delmar. Criticism at this stage of development would +eat their hearts out. He's feeding them... but oh, aren't they eating +it? They've turned to putty in his hands right now!" + +This much Red Murdock told himself while Coach Brown was pacing +impulsively across the room and back. The wily old fox still! And the +Elliott men leaning forward breathlessly, hanging upon his every word. + +"But what you _have_ done is nothing as compared to what you _can_ do! +This week you are going to learn how to beat Delmar ... and next +Saturday you are going to do it!" + +An involuntary gasp escaped the lips of John Brown's listeners. + +"You are going to do it because I have faith in you and I am going to +see you through. I..." + +The face of John Brown returned suddenly back to its chalk-like white; +the flash sunk out of his eyes, leaving weary rings; the drawn quality +took hold of his cheek muscles--and his foot slipped off the bench to +the floor as he clutched impulsively at his shirt front. + +"I..." + +A dozen hands caught the great John Brown as he slumped forward and +fell. + +There was the mad moment of bringing water, of applying restoratives, +of sending out a rush call for Doctor Landon. Then the quieter, more +chilling moment when the doctor had come ... and had looked up ... and +shaken his head. + +Newspapers were kindly enough now. They told how the great John Brown +had been stricken down at the height of his brilliant career. They +intimated that the strain of developing a winning team at Elliott had +taken its toll, together with the loss of the Larwood game and its +attendant _unjust_ criticism. Colleges throughout the country went +into mourning. Football practices were curtailed as a mark of respect +and memorial services were held. At Naylor there was talk of a +monument to place in their Hall of Fame. The sporting populace at +large sincerely grieved over the passing of this nationally revered +figure who had contributed much to football in particular and all +athletics in general. + +But it was natural that Elliott should take Coach Brown's passing +hardest of all. A difference of opinion sprung up at once as to +whether the last game of the season should be played. Some argued that +the game should be cancelled as a tribute to John Brown's memory, while +others--who claimed to know J. B. the best--wondered if this were the +sort of tribute that the famous coach would have appreciated. Had he +not left his body with the message to "carry on" on his lips? Had not +his dying words been a fervent exhortation to the team to buckle down +to the strenuous task of preparing to meet and, if humanly possible, to +defeat Delmar? In the light of Delmar's imposing season's record, the +coach's last talk may have seemed preposterous for the colossal faith +he was seemingly placing in his system and his ill-experienced but +fighting team. Yet John Brown had died with his face to the +front--ready to meet his biggest test head-on, and--under these +circumstances it would be a good thing for Elliott and the entire +football world if the game were gone through with on schedule. + +There were two individuals at Elliott who mourned as one--a big-framed, +well proportioned fellow and a slender-lined, sweet-faced girl. Their +sorrow over J. B.'s loss had been made all the more inconsolable +because of certain previous events now stamped indelibly upon their +minds and magnified to the point of causing them much remorse. Perhaps +they should not have taken the happening quite so much to heart but Tim +Mooney and Ruth Chesterton somehow felt as though they had been +condemned in the eyes of the coach and his demise now offered them no +opportunity to redeem themselves. + +When the Elliott board of control, after a special called session of +great solemnity, announced its decision to permit the looming contest +with Delmar to be played there was much sober rejoicing. The athletic +world figuratively wore a mourning band on its arm but there had been +born a sense of thrill in its heart such as the prospects of no other +gridiron battle had aroused. The demand for seats at the Elliott +stadium became unprecedented. Authorities, harassed from all sides by +the frenzied petition for pasteboards, ordered the construction of +temporary stands but the clamor soon outgrew all bounds of +accommodation. + +It was estimated that some fifty thousand fans must be denied the +spectacle of Coach John Brown's last team meeting the tartar of all +football elevens in Delmar. There was little doubt as to what would be +the outcome of the game but the conditions under which the game was to +be played were such as to raise interest to the highest human pitch. + +It had been decreed that there should be no vying of rival cheering +sections with one another--a rather foolish decree, some +thought--finding it hard to imagine a football contest devoid of the +familiar and on-spurring "Rah, rahs." But this was an idea that the +faculty had devised as a mark of respect and no one could criticize the +spirit which had prompted the formulation of the decree. No, if the +game were to be played the proper tribute to John Brown must, at the +same time, not be lost sight of. And what could be more significantly +impressive than a crowd numbering upwards of seventy thousand, watching +a football contest in profound silence? + +Wednesday night, after Red Murdock had got back to his room from the +services held for his beloved leader, he was surprised by a tap on the +door. + +"Don't wish to be disturbed," he said. + +"But I--it's very important, sir," intreated a voice from the other +side. + +"Can't help it!" he snapped, his irritation being due to the enormous +responsibility which had fallen upon him. "See me tomorrow." + +For answer the doorknob turned and the door swung inward. The +assistant coach raised his head, about to make angry protest, but the +protest melted on his lips at what he saw. Standing in the hallway was +the grim and resolute figure of Tim Mooney. + +"I beg your pardon, sir--but I've just got to see you tonight!" + +"Well,--all right. Come in." + +The former Elliott fullback stepped through the doorway and pushed the +door shut after him, nervously. He came over toward the man who had +been forced into the unenviable role of trying to fill Coach Brown's +great shoes, and stood--fumbling with his cap. There was an awkward +moment, broken finally by Red Murdock. + +"You said you had something important. Let's get it over quickly. I +don't feel like...." + +Tim Mooney crumpled the cap in his large right hand and raised the fist +in an appealing gesture. + +"It's just this, sir... I didn't have to--being off the squad--but +I've kept every regulation since. And I want to go in. I'd give my +right arm to go in. I--I--somehow I feel like I'd been partly +responsible for J. B.'s death!" + +"You shouldn't feel that way, Mooney." + +"Perhaps not ... but I can't help it.... If we'd only won from +Larwood. But we can't lose to Delmar, Mr. Murdock. We can't! No +matter how strong Delmar is we've got to beat 'em ... for J. B.'s sake. +Please, sir ... won't you reinstate me just for this game? After that +I'm through. I'll never play again so long as I live..." Mooney +choked. "I guess there's no flowers our coach would like better than a +victory over Delmar. Won't you let me help try to give 'em to him?" + +There was something in Tim Mooney's appeal that was heart-rending. +Tears glistened in the former Elliott fullback's eyes and found their +reflection in the eyes of John Brown's assistant coach. + +"Mooney," spoke Red Murdock, with difficulty, "I know just how you +feel. I played for J. B. once and I'd have given as much for him in +life as you're now willing to give to him in death. I can't refuse +you, boy. You play. Report for practice tomorrow night!" + +Outside the brown-stoned house and across the street from the place in +which Red Murdock had his room, a girl paced up and down, taking care +to keep within the gathering shadows. Every once in a while she would +stop, just opposite the house, and gaze anxiously at the entrance. The +time of her waiting seemed a young eternity to her though in all it +could not have been more than ten minutes. And then the figure she had +been looking for emerged. He glanced about, saw her, and both started +toward each other. + +"What did he say?" she cried, breathlessly. + +The former Elliott fullback did not attempt a verbal reply. He simply +reached out and gripped the hands of the girl, as they met, and nodded +his head. + +"Pm so glad," she murmured, tears splashing down upon his rough +knuckles. "I really think J. B. misjudged me ... and I haven't any way +of making up to him ... except through you.... It's our chance, Tim +... to make good!" + +He smiled and patted her arm and the two of them went off, hand in +hand, through the dusk. + +No one saw the sun rise the morning of the momentous day as Saturday +dawned behind a bank of dark, somber-looking clouds. Highways early +became choked with lines of automobiles and railway schedules slowed +under the running of football specials. The vicinity about Elliott +University soon resembled a vast ant hill, swarming with sport-crazed +humans. By noon the little college town was transformed into a huge +outdoor garage with every available space, even front lawns, taken up +by autos, many of which bore licenses from distant states. The throng +milled up and down the streets, impelled by a restless curiosity. +Delmar students, on hand six thousand strong, felt almost lost without +the tuneful services of their famous band. An uncanny absence of +boisterous sound prevailed as though everyone was impressed with the +peculiar nature of the occasion. And because of this strained sort of +reverent silence the atmosphere was gradually being made so tense as to +be almost unbearable. + +Members of the Elliott team, confined to their rooms until noon by +order of Red Murdock, reflected--to a much more trying degree--the +feelings of the multitude. Outside they could hear the tramp and +shuffle of feet and occasionally an outcry, but their ears recorded no +blare of music or outburst of jostling gaiety. And, as minute crawled +after minute, their irritation grew so that they took to pacing up and +down--up and down--figuratively frothing at the mouths to be out and +clawing into Delmar ... anything to get the torture of waiting over! + +By fifteen minutes before game time every possible nook and cranny of +Elliott field was jammed with heart-palpitating humanity. The great +stadium was packed, aisles and all, with the greatest crowd its +historic confines had ever held. And thousands more stormed the gates +outside, beseeching entrance. + +In the clubhouse, eleven Elliott men--the choice of Red Murdock to +start against Delmar--sat in a rigid circle while their assistant coach +delivered his last admonitions. + +"And one word more," said Red, as the shrill whistle of the referee +called impatiently for Elliott's appearance on the field. "It was just +last Monday that John Brown stood in this room, precisely as I am +standing now, and voiced his confidence in you. He declared that +Saturday you were going to beat Delmar. He said you were going to do +it because he was going to see you through. Outside there, to-day," +with a wave of the hand toward the stadium, "There are eighty thousand +people, one of the greatest football gatherings that ever attended a +game in America, hushed and waiting to see what account John Brown's +team gives of itself. Throughout the country telegraph keys will click +your every play and radios will tell the story to countless thousands. +To-day you hold within your palms the opportunity for achieving +Elliott's greatest athletic triumph and at the same time immortalizing +the name of Coach John Brown. Does John Brown live ... or does John +Brown die...?" + +Another urgent blast came from the referee's whistle. A motion from +Red Murdock and eleven grim-jawed men shot from the club-house. A +great murmuring hum arose as the team burst upon the field--then an +involuntary cheer as the game got under way with Delmar kicking off. + +Highly strung and nervously eager, Elliott took the kick-off on her +seven yard line and advanced the ball, under splendid interference, for +nineteen yards before being downed. The man with the ball had been Tim +Mooney and the stands echoed his name though the cheering sections were +dumb. On the first play, as a price for her over-anxiety, Elliott was +penalized five yards for being off-side. The next play netted but two +yards, an attempt through Delmar's sturdy line. Then the ball was +snapped to Elliott's star fullback and Mooney--every nerve pulsating +with the desire to give his all--fumbled. A mad commotion of flying +legs and arms ... a moment of breathless suspense as the arms and legs +were untangled ... a mighty groan of disappointment from the +crowd--scarcely three minutes of play over and Delmar in possession of +the ball but twenty-three yards from Elliott's goal! + +The recovered fumble was too good an advantage for Delmar to pass up. +Employing a crushing style of attack, directed furiously and +unmercifully at the lighter Elliott line--Delmar commenced her first +march toward a touchdown. It took just five plays to put the ball +across despite the most heroic efforts of Elliott to resist Delmar's +steam roller offensive. Delmar added the point after touch down by a +kick from placement, giving her an early lead of 7 to 0. + +Convinced now that they were in for the witnessing of a massacre, the +stands sat dejectedly considering how foolish it had been to hope that +the late John Brown's eleven could possibly prove a match for +Delmar--cream of the country's football teams. There were some who +even callously began to remark, as Delmar launched her second +ground-gaining onslaught against Elliott, that Providence had been kind +to John Brown in calling him home, thus saving the great coach from the +ignominy of seeing his last efforts crowned by a crushing and +devastating defeat. + +But passing such quick judgment upon Elliott was hardly fair in the +light of the terrific strain under which the eleven was playing. +Temporarily shot to pieces by the disheartening fumble, it was not +until Delmar had swept into Elliott territory again that John Brown's +team found itself enough to brace and rock the stadium with the thrill +of stopping Delmar's smashing advance by taking the ball on downs! +Even this sudden flare-up of spirited defense was lightly regarded by +the stands who saw in Elliott's improved play but the last spent effort +of a dying ember whose light is always brightest before it fades into +oblivion. And Tim Mooney's fifty yard punt, putting Elliott out of +danger for the time being, was the ember at full glow. Delmar would +soon get going once more and Elliott would be beaten back until the +team, burning itself out against a mightier foe, became as so many +ashes underfoot. + +But oh, how that ember clung to the light ... and life! All through +the first half it persisted, shining brightest when fanned most by the +tempest, and standing out as a bulwark which Delmar, with all her +relentless battering, could not surmount. Time upon time Delmar +pounded dangerously near Elliott's goal yet each time the Elliott spark +of resistance was somehow equal to the occasion with Tim Mooney's toe +doing Herculean work toward driving the invaders well back into their +own territory from whence they were forced to begin all over again. + +Gradually there stole upon the eighty thousand humans the throbbing +realization that they were witnessing a sample of raw-handed courage +such as men display only when under some great, compelling +influence--an influence inspired by a necessity equalling a Marne or an +Argonne to them--an influence which cried out above the bruising tide +of battle, "They shall not pass! They shall not pass!" + +Between halves the stands arose and stood two minutes, with heads +uncovered and bowed, as a tribute to Coach John Brown's memory. The +tribute was of involuntary nature, started by students in the Elliott +section and quickly copied by the crowd. + +"You're a great team today, boys," was Red Murdock's greeting as the +Elliott warriors lurched drunkenly into the clubhouse for their +precious ten minutes of rest. The players eyed him soberly, chests +heaving, shirts mud-grimed and torn, bodies sore and weary from +blocking the path of the Delmar tornado. And Red Murdock, looking them +over, felt how hollow would be the saying of another word. He devoted +attention instead to treating their various minor hurts and giving an +encouraging slap here and there to the back of a man whose shoulders +inclined to droop. + +Furious at having been held to one lone and practically fluke +touchdown, Delmar opened the second half with a drive of even greater +power, calculated to put Elliott speedily to rout. The cream of the +country's football teams had hammered steadily enough at Elliot's line +to have worn it to shreds by now. No other eleven had stood up so long +under Delmar's terrific charging and John Brown's team must crack wide +open soon. But all through the third quarter, calling upon an almost +uncanny reserve force, Elliott managed to stave the enemy off. True, +whenever Elliott came into possession of the ball she found herself +unable to launch an offensive of her own. This was due to a Delmar +line of equal stone-wall quality--a line which had not permitted a +touchdown to be scored against it that season. And Elliott was not +going to be the first team to do it either. There was humiliation +enough for Delmar in the fact that victory was being won by so small a +margin. + +Going into the last quarter, the stands could notice a perceptible +wilting of the Elliott team. There were no expressions of surprise at +the sight, only wonderment that John Brown's eleven had withstood the +gruelling attack that long. A wave of sympathetic feeling passed over +the stadium. The crowd did not care to see the pathetic spectacle of a +team which had acquitted itself so nobly in the face of odds, crumbling +in the final fifteen minutes of play and falling a helpless, exhausted +victim to the ravages of a foe already maddened at having been so +bitterly repulsed. + +Now, as the vast throng looked through half-closed eyes, it saw the +mighty Delmar slowly corning into her own. Taking the ball on her +forty-two yard mark, Delmar sent her backfield men galloping through +holes which began to yawn open in the Elliott defense. Five, ten, +fifteen yards were reeled off on every play. Time was called while the +Elliott line was patched up by three substitutes. But with play +resumed, the Delmar steam roller continued unaffected on its way, +rumbling and pounding over the ground which separated it from the +Elliott goal. Six minutes of play remained as the country's leading +football eleven drew up for a first down on their stubborn opponent's +ten yard line. + +"Touchdown, Delmar!" called its six thousand rooters, uttering the +first real blast of sound which had come from the stands all day. + +Up in the Elliott section a white-lipped girl strained forward, +silently intreating. Her face was tear-streaked. There was something +desperately compelling about her attitude. The spectre of defeat to +her was as grim as the spectre of death. Almost unconsciously her lips +parted and she started to sing in a low, wavering voice: + + "John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave ..." + +Spectators on either side of her looked at the girl queerly as if they +thought she had suddenly gone out of her head. + + "John Brown's body lies a mould'ring in the grave," + +Now some of the people near her became conscious of a strange, tingling +sensation that seemed to cut to their very marrow as the voice, gaining +in strength so that it carried out over the stand, repeated once more: + + "John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave," + +And, in a magnetic sort of way there arose a spontaneous response of +voices from all parts of the stand, joining in on the next line: + + "His soul goes marching on!" + +Down on the gridiron, their bodies weary from battle, crouched the +battered Elliott eleven. The players glanced up curiously as the first +swells of the song reached them. Then they were seen to stiffen as the +chorus, gaining volume, chanted out to them: + + "Glory, glory hallelujah! + Glory, glory, glory hallelujah! + Glory, glory hallelujah! + His soul is marching on." + + +The Delmar line crashed forward and the man with the ball dashed around +the end. But he got little more than started when it seemed as though +the entire Elliott team had torn through and nabbed him. There was a +roar in the stands and the great crowd was on its feet, men with their +heads uncovered, while the song leaped to the lips of all and welled +into a mighty dirge as the girl--lifted to the shoulders of those +nearby--led by a waving of her arms. + + "The stars of heaven are looking kindly down, + "The stars of heaven are looking kindly down, + The stars of heaven are looking kindly down, + On the grave of old John Brown." + + +A great cheer went up as Elliott, suddenly transformed into men of +steel, took the ball on downs and snapped into its first play. Another +cheer as Tim Mooney tore through the hitherto invincible Delmar line +for fourteen yards. On the next play Mooney charged through for five +more. + + "Glory, glory hallelujah...!" + + +As though there had come into each Elliott player a superhuman force, +the Delmar team was pushed back and back, resisting stubbornly but +ineffectively. It was a driving offensive against time. If Elliott +could go over for a touchdown in the three minutes left and kick goal, +it could at least earn a tie with the mighty Delmar. On its seventeen +yard line Delmar braced desperately. Thirty valuable seconds were +taken in two setbacks for a four yard loss. Then Mooney broke through +for a run that carried the ball over the goal line. Feverishly the +teams lined up for the kick after touchdown. + + "He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord, + He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord, + He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord, + His soul........" + + +And Mooney missed the attempt at goal after touchdown! The song broke +into a great heart-broken moan. Score--Delmar 7; Elliott 6. The one +stupendously inspired chance gone. + +The teams lined up again for the kick-off with Mooney sobbing like a +baby at his failure. Delmar kicked ... and the ball settled into +Mooney's arms. He started down the field with a grimness born of +despair. Past chalk mark after chalk mark he ran while the words of +the song, now sung in frenzied fashion, roared in his ears: + + "Glory, glory hallelujah!' + His soul is marching on ..." + + +At Delmar's forty yard line Mooney was stopped. He was thrown heavily +after having completed the longest run of the game--fifty yards. The +time-keepers consulted their watches. Mooney shouted hysterically at +the quarterback ... the quarterback barked a signal ... Mooney lunged +back and planted his feet in the rough sod, holding out his hands... + + "John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back, + John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back, + John Brown's knapsack is strapped upon his back, + His soul is marching on!" + + +Standing on Delmar's forty yard line, as charging Delmar linesmen broke +through and plunged at him, Mooney's toe swung up and booted the ball. +As the ball took the air there came the shrill shriek of the +time-keeper's whistle. + +Then the throbbing notes of the song, swelling on in a burst of fervent +hope as the ball turned end over end, straight for the goal posts.... + + "Glory, glory hallelujah! + Glory, glory, glory hallelujah!" + + +A moment more and the Elliott players fell upon Mooney, hugging and +kissing him with mad joy, while the song roared into a mighty harmony +of heart-bursting sound: + + "GLORY, GLORY HALLELUJAH!" + + +And then, as if with a sudden thought of overwhelming reverence, the +voices died into a soft refrain: + + "His soul is marching on!" + + +The eighty thousand spectators poured from the stands with a solemnity +which bespoke their attendance at a memorial service. They had just +looked upon and been party to a miracle. The last second field goal +from the forty yard line had given Elliott a 9 to 7 victory over the +great Delmar eleven. + +At the corner of the field a girl cried happily, her head unashamedly +against Mooney's shoulder. + +"Whatever made you think of that?" Mooney asked her, tenderly. + +"I--I don't really know," she answered, looking up at him with just a +trace of embarrassment, "but somehow ... you'll think I'm foolish for +saying this ... I had the feeling it was John Brown!" + + + + + **** + + + + +ALL AMERICAN SPORT SERIES + +Harold M. Sherman, one of the most popular authors of boys' books needs +no introduction to the vast majority of young readers. + +To boys who like, as every red-blooded boy must, these high type sport +stories, we dedicate this series. + + FOOTBALL . . . . . INTERFERENCE + FOOTBALL . . . . . ITS A PASS! + FOOTBALL . . . . . OVER THE LINE + BASKETBALL . . . . UNDER THE BASKET + ICE HOCKEY . . . . DOWN THE ICE + BASE BALL . . . . STRIKE HIM OUT + TENNIS . . . . . . THE TENNIS TERROR + FOOTBALL . . . . . CAPT. OF THE ELEVEN + + +The Goldsmith Publishing Co. + +CHICAGO + + + + +Books by + +HAROLD M. SHERMAN + + + IT'S A PASS + INTERFERENCE + DOWN THE ICE + OVER THE LINE + STRIKE HIM OUT + UNDER THE BASKET + THE TENNIS TERROR + CAPTAIN OF THE ELEVEN + TAHARA--BOY MYSTIC OF INDIA + TAHARA--AMONG AFRICAN TRIBES + TAHARA--BOY KING OF THE DESERT + TAHARA--IN THE LAND OF YUCATAN + THE FUN LOVING GANG--IN WRONG RIGHT + THE FUN LOVING GANG--ALWAYS UP TO SOMETHING + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Interference and Other Football Stories, by +Harold M. 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