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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77370 ***
+
+
+
+
+                           HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!
+
+
+
+
+By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
+
+
+_Yardley Hall Series_
+
+  FOURTH DOWN
+  FORWARD PASS
+  DOUBLE PLAY
+  WINNING HIS Y
+  GUARDING THE GOAL
+  FOR YARDLEY
+  AROUND THE END
+  CHANGE SIGNALS
+
+
+_Purple Pennant Series_
+
+  THE LUCKY SEVENTH
+  THE SECRET PLAY
+  THE PURPLE PENNANT
+
+
+_Hilton Series_
+
+  THE HALF-BACK
+  FOR THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL
+  CAPTAIN OF THE CREW
+
+
+_Erskine Series_
+
+  BEHIND THE LINE
+  WEATHERBY’S INNING
+  ON YOUR MARK
+
+
+_The “Big Four” Series_
+
+  FOUR IN CAMP
+  FOUR AFOOT
+  FOUR AFLOAT
+
+
+_The Grafton Series_
+
+  RIVALS FOR THE TEAM
+  HITTING THE LINE
+  WINNING HIS GAME
+
+
+_North Bank Series_
+
+  THREE BASE BENSON
+  KICK FORMATION
+  COXSWAIN OF THE EIGHT
+
+
+_Wyndham Series_
+
+  THE FIGHTING SCRUB
+  BASES FULL
+  HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!
+
+
+_Books Not In Series_
+
+  THE LOST DIRIGIBLE
+  FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS
+  KEEPING HIS COURSE
+  THE BROTHER OF A HERO
+  FINKLER’S FIELD
+  DANFORTH PLAYS THE GAME
+  THE ARRIVAL OF JIMPSON
+  FOR THE GOOD OF THE TEAM
+  UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN
+  BENTON’S VENTURE
+  THE JUNIOR TROPHY
+  THE NEW BOY AT HILLTOP
+  THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL
+  THE PLAY THAT WON
+  INFIELD RIVALS
+  FOLLOW THE BALL
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: TOM RAN THE RACE OF HIS LIFE]
+
+
+
+
+                           HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!
+
+                                   BY
+                          RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
+          AUTHOR OF “BASES FULL!”, “THE FIGHTING SCRUB,” ETC.
+
+
+                             [Illustration]
+
+
+                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+                       NEW YORK :: 1925 :: LONDON
+
+
+
+
+                          COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY
+                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+
+
+                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+                                   TO
+                             THE MEMORY OF
+
+                         PERCY DUNCAN HAUGHTON
+
+                   SKILLFUL PLAYER, INSPIRING LEADER,
+                 BRILLIANT COACH AND GALLANT GENTLEMAN
+
+
+
+
+                   CONTENTS
+
+
+ CHAPTER                                 PAGE
+      I. COACH AND PLAYER                   1
+     II. NEW QUARTERS                      11
+    III. WATTLES IS WELL                   25
+     IV. THE FIRST GAME                    36
+      V. CLIF MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE        51
+     VI. THE “HOUSEWARMING”                61
+    VII. OVER THE CROSSBAR                 75
+   VIII. SLOGANS                           89
+     IX. “NO DEFEATS!”                    101
+      X. JUST KITTENS                     115
+     XI. LEMUEL JOHN                      127
+    XII. A NEW MAN JOINS UP               139
+   XIII. THE BOY WITH THE FUNNY CHIN      150
+    XIV. WATTLES ON THE TRAIL             167
+     XV. THE TRIUMVIRATE CONSPIRES        179
+    XVI. RUN TO EARTH                     189
+   XVII. MR. BINGHAM IS STERN             202
+  XVIII. TOM HAS NERVES                   212
+    XIX. DEFEAT BY TELEPHONE              222
+     XX. THE CAMEL EXPLAINS               232
+    XXI. LORING TAKES A WALK              248
+   XXII. “HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!”             261
+
+
+
+
+                           HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+
+                            COACH AND PLAYER
+
+
+Clif Bingham paused in the doorway, clicked his heels together and gave
+a military salute.
+
+“Reporting by order, sir.”
+
+“No, Bingham, by request.” The football coach arose and strode across
+the floor, hand outstretched. “I can’t issue orders until the term
+starts. Well, how are you?”
+
+“Fine and dandy, Mr. Otis. Don’t I look so?”
+
+“Mm, a bit pudgy, I’d say. But we’ll work that off you. Sit here.
+Except Hanbury you’re the first of the gang to report. Couldn’t keep
+away any longer, I presume.”
+
+“Something of the sort, sir,” answered the boy, smiling. “But the whole
+truth is that it was so plaguey hot in Providence yesterday that I
+made up my mind to take the first train I could get this morning and
+reach here without sizzling. How have you been, sir?”
+
+“Oh, pretty fit, thanks. As you remarked, don’t I look so?”
+
+He did, and Clif said so. The coach was tanned to the color of saddle
+leather and the hair on the top――well, more properly on the back and
+sides――of his round head looked more faded than ever in comparison
+with his skin. Mr. George Gray Otis, popularly known as “G. G.” wasn’t
+handsome. In fact he was fairly homely, for his sturdy body lacked
+proportionate height and his somewhat bulletlike head seemed a size or
+so too large. He had keen brown eyes, a fighting chin, a mouth that
+could close to a thin straight line on occasion and a nose that was
+far too short and broad for beauty. In age he was a year or so under
+thirty, and while it is doubtless possible to experience much trouble
+in thirty years, “G. G.” didn’t look like one who had carried a burden
+of it sufficient to account for the pronounced bow of his legs. (There
+was a legend to the effect that Mr. Babcock, Physical Director at
+Wyndham, had once enticed Mr. Otis to the links to play golf and that
+there, casting one horrified look at the coach in knickerbockers,
+he had fled the scene!) You are not, however, to picture “G. G.” as
+a ludicrous figure, nor even an unattractive one, for in spite of
+such physical incongruities as I have mentioned he compelled respect
+and liking. Indeed, it would be no exaggeration to say that he was
+distinctly popular at Wyndham, and this in spite of a hard hand and a
+harsh tongue. On the field “G. G.” was pretty much the despot. Off it
+he was a kindly chap with a deep, hearty voice and a ready chuckle for
+a joke. Tradition had it that while at Wyndham School he had not won
+distinction at football although he had played on two of the teams.
+His only bid for fame had been made throwing the hammer, and at that
+feat he had excelled. However, at college he had come into his own as
+a brilliant plunging half-back, and the team he had captained in his
+senior year was still being used as a standard by which to measure all
+subsequent elevens.
+
+“You’ve got a corking tan,” Clif added in envious tones.
+
+“Good Lord, I’m fairly black!” protested the coach. “I had to appear
+in dinner clothes a couple of evenings ago, and when I had a look at
+myself in the mirror I almost got cold feet and stayed away from the
+party. The white shirt made me look like an Indian! You see, it wasn’t
+so apparent as long as I was in sea togs, but once ashore――” He shook
+his head ruefully.
+
+“That’s a sea tan, then,” said Clif.
+
+“Yes, a Long Island Sound tan, Bingham. I spent two whole months in
+dungaree, and particularly disreputable dungaree, too. We slipped into
+Providence once to get out of a blow, and I’d have looked you up if I’d
+known where you lived. Well, I could have found that out, I guess. The
+real reason I didn’t look in on you was that I was too lazy to shave
+and clean up!”
+
+“When was that, sir?”
+
+“Oh, about ten days ago; maybe the nineteenth or twentieth.”
+
+“You wouldn’t have found me, Mr. Otis. We didn’t get back from the
+other side until the twenty-second.”
+
+“Oh, abroad, eh? Lucky dog!”
+
+“Father and I went over in July. We had a sort of reunion in Paris in
+August. You remember Loring Deane, sir?”
+
+“Deane? Yes, indeed. You met him over there?”
+
+“Yes, sir, he and his folks; and Wattles, of course! We all went to
+Switzerland together and found Tom Kemble and his father at Neuchatel.
+It was a sort of a date we’d made in the spring. We were all over the
+shop together, sir, and had a grand time. Tom was more fun than a goat.
+It was his first trip across, and, of course, he’d never seen the Alps.
+But you simply couldn’t get him to enthuse. Oh, he was all tied up in a
+knot with it, but he wouldn’t let on once! The best you could get out
+of him was that the Jungfrau reminded him of Orange Mountain, whatever
+that is, and that Lake Lucerne wasn’t in it with Hopatcong, or some
+such place. I forgot to say that Tom comes from New Jersey!”
+
+“It wasn’t necessary,” chuckled the coach. “Did Kemble come up with
+you?”
+
+“This morning? No, sir, he didn’t, and he’ll probably be fit to
+be tied, when he gets to the junction and doesn’t find me there
+according to agreement. He’s coming up on the train that gets here at
+one-something. I just couldn’t face the trip in such heat as we had
+yesterday. It was fairly cold in England when we left, and cool coming
+back, and this weather is awful!”
+
+“Yes, it is hot. Guess we won’t do more than limber up this afternoon.
+You’d better go pretty slow, my boy, if you’re feeling the heat so.
+By the way, that reminds me of something I want to talk to you about,
+Bingham.” Mr. Otis took a leather-covered memorandum book from the
+table beside him, opened and glanced at it briefly and then gently
+ruffled the leaves while he went on. “You’ve put on several pounds
+since last fall, haven’t you? Seven? Is that so? Well, you’ll lose some
+of it, and――”
+
+“I was seven pounds heavier in July, sir,” explained Clif. “I’m a lot
+more than that now, of course, for I haven’t done anything for a month
+but sleep and eat. I guess those seven will stick by me.”
+
+“All the better. Fact is, Bingham, I’ve been wondering how you’d shape
+as a tackle.”
+
+“Tackle!” exclaimed Clif.
+
+“Yes. You see, we’re going to need tackles more than ends this fall.
+I was counting on Raiford, but he’s quit school, I hear. So there’s
+only Weldon, Cotter, Coles and Longwell to start with. Well, there’s
+McMurtry, too, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see him in the backfield.”
+
+“I guess ‘Blondy’ would make a good back,” said Clif reflectively.
+“Gosh, I’m willing to try, of course, if you want me to, sir, but I
+don’t know much about the position. It’s a lot different from end, I
+suppose.”
+
+“Yes, but you can learn it, Bingham. Anyhow, I’d like to try you out
+at tackle. Of course, if you don’t take to it, all right. I certainly
+don’t intend to lose a good end to secure a second-rate tackle.
+We’re sort of long on end material: Drayton, Couch, Adams, Williams,
+two or three others besides. None of them except Drayton what you’d
+call top-notchers, maybe, but Couch did well last fall. This is only
+tentative, you understand. I wanted to hear what you thought of it.”
+
+“Why, I’m willing enough, sir. It’s up to you, of course. If you think
+I can make good I’ll have a shot at it. Funny, though, that I’d been
+thinking of myself as a fellow who could never be anything but an end.”
+
+“Well, we’ll see. You’ve got the general build and weight for a tackle,
+Bingham, and you’re fast and you use your head. Hang it, give me a chap
+who knows his business and has two feet and a pair of hands and I’ll
+chance him anywhere in the line or back of it! Do you know what makes a
+good tackle or a good center or a good anything, Bingham?”
+
+“I don’t know any _one_ thing, Mr. Otis.”
+
+“I’ll tell you, then.” The coach’s lips set themselves straight and
+tight for an instant. “Practice, my boy! Hard practice and plenty of
+it. I’ll guarantee to take any fellow in school and, if he is willing
+to work and do as I tell him, make a football player of him――_if_ I can
+have enough time! It’s lack of time, Bingham, that makes hard sledding
+for a football coach. Think of it! I get hold of you chaps two months,
+almost to a day, before I have to trot you into the big game! It’s not
+so bad when you’ve played a couple of years, but when you haven’t,
+when it’s all practically new stuff to you, why, man alive, it’s work!
+That’s what puts white hairs in a coach’s locks. Or――” he ran a brown
+hand over his head and grinned――“takes ’em out altogether!”
+
+“It isn’t much time, is it?” reflected Clif.
+
+“It isn’t half enough. And that’s why college coaches get their
+men together a month beforehand――six weeks, sometimes――and get the
+preliminary stuff out of the way before the term starts. But that will
+be done away with before long, I guess. There’s a growing sentiment in
+favor of starting all teams off the mark together. Fair enough, too.
+Well, two months is all I have, Bingham, and I’ve got to make the most
+of it. That’s one reason I wrote and asked all you chaps to be on hand
+to-day. Even one day counts when there’s only about fifty of them in
+all! I’ve been looking over the schedule. Where’d I put it? Here it is.
+We’re down for a hard game two weeks from Saturday, I guess.”
+
+“Jordan, sir?”
+
+“Highland. Jordan comes the week after. Here, look it over.”
+
+Clif took the typewritten sheet and read:
+
+    Oct.  4, Freeburg High School, at Home
+    Oct. 11, Highland School, at Highland
+    Oct. 18, Jordan Academy, at Home
+    Oct. 25, Cupples Institute, at Cupples
+    Nov.  1, Minster High School, at Home
+    Nov.  8, Horner Academy, at Horner
+    Nov. 15, Toll’s Academy, at Home
+    Nov. 22, Wolcott Academy, at Home
+
+“What’s this Jordan Academy, sir?” Clif asked, returning the schedule.
+“Is she supposed to be good?”
+
+“I don’t know much about those fellows yet. We dropped High Point to
+make room for them because, as I understand it, one of the instructors
+at Jordan used to teach here and he’s been after Dr. Wyndham for two or
+three seasons to get a date with us. There’s politics, you see, even
+in football schedules! Highland, though, held us to nine points last
+year, Bingham, and I have an idea that they’re out to win this time. Of
+course the loss of an early-season game isn’t important; no loss is if
+you learn by it; but every coach has a sort of secret longing to get
+through a season with a clean score, even if he knows that the thing’s
+quite impossible, and losing an early game shatters his dream right off
+the bat. So I’d rather like to come through safe with Highland.”
+
+“I hope we do, sir. And wouldn’t it be wonderful if we did get through
+this season with a clean slate? You say it’s impossible, Mr. Otis, but
+you don’t really mean it, do you? That is, it _could_ be done if――well,
+if we proved good enough!”
+
+“Why, no, it isn’t impossible, Bingham. Let’s say extremely improbable,
+instead. We did about as well last season as we can hope to do this.
+We won seven out of eight games. Of course, it’s an easy matter to
+say that we should have won all eight, that if we had prepared a bit
+more for Horner, scouted her and got a line on some of those tricky
+plays she used, we’d have beaten her; tied her at the least. But
+somewhere in your schedule, at some moment during your season, you let
+up just a little. It’s natural. It’s like target shooting. You make
+nine bull’s-eyes and then at the tenth, when one more good shot will
+give you a perfect score, you miss. You don’t know any reason for it,
+either. You held just as steadily, aimed as before, but you missed.
+I guess it’s the old law of probability getting in its fine work,
+Bingham. Well, maybe we shouldn’t kick if we come through this season
+as well as we did last. And, after all, the big prize is the Wolcott
+game.”
+
+“Yes, sir, of course. But――gosh, Mr. Otis, it would be a wonderful
+stunt to get through without a defeat! Maybe we can, too. We’ve got
+a pretty good start, don’t you think? We’ve got six or seven fellows
+who started the Wolcott game last year back again, and a raft of
+second-string players; and Jeff Ogden will make a corking captain, sir.”
+
+“Yes,” answered Mr. Otis, “it looks promising. There’s not a bit of
+harm in setting out with a good big ambition, Bingham, either. The more
+you ask for, the more you generally get! So you and I, at least, can
+treasure the hope of an undefeated team. Going?”
+
+“Yes, sir, I’ll have to beat it, I guess. I’ve got some stuff to get in
+the village. Then I’ll have to be at the station when Tom arrives or
+he’ll never speak to me again!”
+
+Mr. Otis smiled. “Are you together in dormitory?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, we are this year. We’ve got Number 40 in West. It’s a corking
+room. Tom was with Billy Desmond last year and I roomed with a chap
+named Treat, but we thought we’d like to get together for this year and
+next.”
+
+“I hope Kemble is going to show up finely this season,” said the
+coach. “He looked promising last fall. Well, three-thirty, Bingham. By
+the way, if you run across Owens send him to me, will you? He’s here
+somewhere, for he called me up from the school half an hour ago.”
+
+“Yes, I will. Well, see you at the field, sir.”
+
+Clif descended the stairway and passed through the empty lobby of the
+Freeburg Inn. On the wide veranda, well above the elm-shaded sidewalk,
+he paused and searched for the list he had made an hour ago. A locust
+in a near-by tree gave an imitation of a mowing machine, reminding Clif
+of the heat, and he tilted his straw hat back from his forehead and
+sighed as he found the scrap of paper. A green-painted rocking chair
+spread inviting arms toward him, but, after an instant of hesitation,
+he shook his head virtuously and proceeded on his mission.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER II
+
+                              NEW QUARTERS
+
+
+Freeburg, Connecticut is like so many other New England towns that
+to describe it would be a waste of time. A central street, broad
+and elm-shaded; two blocks of modest buildings devoted to business;
+old-fashioned residences, generally white, with green blinds, set back
+from the thoroughfare; a few more modern and much smaller houses tucked
+around the corners on the side streets; churches, schools, a town hall,
+a library, a fire house; irritatingly detached from the village proper,
+a railroad station at which trains bound northward for Massachusetts
+and southward for New York pause on their way. Not all of them, either,
+for there are at least two hoity-toity trains that go straight through
+with only a careless, half-contemptuous shriek for the little town.
+
+The one-seventeen from the south, however, wasn’t one of those. The
+one-seventeen slowed up cumbrously, sifting gray dust over Clif as
+he stood on the platform, and sighed pneumatically as it came to a
+halt. There were three parlor cars at the rear, and from these and
+the coaches ahead descended the first considerable contingent of
+Wyndhamites to a number close on a hundred. The late afternoon train
+would bring perhaps half as many more, others would come on the
+southbound express and not a few would arrive by automobile. By six
+o’clock there would be just short of two hundred of them at Wyndham,
+of which number two score or so would be junior school youngsters
+seeing Wyndham for the first time, round-eyed, shyly curious, a little
+bit homesick under a pathetic assumption of ease. Quite a few of
+these were already on the platform, alone or in charge of parents,
+clinging desperately to shriekingly new suit cases and staring avidly.
+The two school buses, new this fall and resplendent in dark blue
+paint and varnish, honked invitingly, free-lance taxis squawked, and
+the confusion grew. Up ahead trunks were being crashed and thumped
+desperately from baggage car to trucks. At the windows onward-bound
+passengers gazed down interestedly at the scene.
+
+For several moments Clif thought Tom Kemble hadn’t come, and just when
+doubt was becoming certainty he spied him. It was, Clif reflected with
+an affectionate grin, just like Tom to be the last one out of his car
+and then to descend as though there was all the time in the world!
+Clif pushed his way across the platform and made a grab at a battered
+suit case. “Porter, sir? Porter?” he inquired. Tom saw him then, cried
+“Alphonse! Alphonse!” in a voice that turned many heads his way,
+dropped the suit case and a bag of golf clubs and threw his arm about
+Clif, bestowing a resounding smack on the latter’s left cheek. But when
+he would have planted a similar salute on the other cheek the other
+cheek was out of range.
+
+“Tom, you blamed idiot!” fumed Clif. “Cut it out!”
+
+“_Ah, mon cher ami!_” cried Tom, still clasping Clif tightly. “_Mon
+petit chou!_”
+
+“Will you shut up?” cried Clif, struggling, amused but annoyed. “Don’t
+be an ass, Tom! Quit it, I tell you!”
+
+Tom quit it, grinning. The custom of embracing and kissing between
+Frenchmen had made a great hit with Tom during his visit to Paris, and
+later he and Clif had amused themselves considerably in Switzerland
+by staging meetings in such public places as station platforms and
+hotel lobbies. “_Ah, mon cher Alphonse!_” Tom would ejaculate in
+tones of delighted surprise. “_Mon cher Armande!_” Clif would rejoin
+ecstatically. Then they would rush together, embrace and kiss, to
+the great amusement of Loring Deane and the scandalizing of Wattles,
+his attendant. Sometimes Tom followed with the rest of his French,
+declaring fervidly that the view was magnificent, asking Clif how he
+did and ending up with the seemingly unconnected announcement that his
+window looked into the garden.
+
+Well, that sort of thing had been all right over there, away from home,
+where folks did pretty much as they pleased, anyhow; but being embraced
+and kissed on the station platform at Freeburg, Connecticut, U. S. A.,
+was quite another proposition, and Clif looked distinctly uncomfortable
+as he pushed his way around the corner of the station, followed by the
+amused stares of his schoolfellows and the excited piping of a newly
+arrived junior who asked in a shrill voice: “Dad, did you see that boy
+kiss the other one?”
+
+“You haven’t as much sense as――as I thought you didn’t have!” Clif
+declared irately as he tossed Tom’s suit case into a flivver. Tom
+chuckled and climbed in.
+
+“_Aller, cocher! Vit, vit!_” he directed. The driver turned a slow,
+inquiring gaze upon him over a shoulder.
+
+“How’s that? Ain’t you fellers for the school?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Clif. “West Hall. Don’t mind this chap. He’s nutty.” He
+leaned back and smiled at the nutty one. “Well, how are you?”
+
+“Never better,” replied Tom. “Say, what’s the colossal idea? Thought
+you were going to be at the junction, you rotter!”
+
+Clif explained while the taxi bounded schoolwards, and Tom accepted the
+explanation with a shrug. “Huh,” he said. “All right, but you only got
+what was coming to you back there on the platform, old son. I owed you
+that!”
+
+“Seen Loring?” asked Clif.
+
+“No, there wasn’t time. He telephoned yesterday, though. Wanted me
+to come up with him, but I knew there’d be a crowd in the car. He’s
+bringing a couple of fellows along, and, of course, his folks and
+Wattles. Besides, you’d said you’d be at the junction, and there wasn’t
+any way of getting word to you.”
+
+“That was sort of low down, my not keeping the date,” said Clif; “but I
+didn’t have the courage. Wasn’t it frightfully hot on the train?”
+
+“Hot? It was awful! Say, any of the crowd back?”
+
+“I haven’t seen any of them, but ‘G. G.’ says ‘Swede’s’ here. And Guy
+Owens. Some of them came up with you, didn’t they?”
+
+“Four or five. Treader and Sim Jackson and two or three more. How’s Mr.
+Otis?”
+
+“Hale and hearty. Looks like an Indian. All tanned up. Practice at
+three-thirty, so you’ll just have time to bathe and rest up a few
+minutes.”
+
+Tom groaned. “Practice on a day like this? Is the man not so well in
+his mind, perhaps?”
+
+“Says we can’t afford to miss a day, Tom. We’re out for big things this
+year. Going to clean up. Through the season without a defeat; that sort
+of thing, you know.”
+
+“He say that?”
+
+“We――ell, no; but he did say it would be worth trying. I think so, too.
+‘Wyndham’s undefeated eleven!’ Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? Say,
+what’s to keep us from making a stab at it?”
+
+“Stab all you please,” grumbled Tom. “But we’ve got about as much
+chance to do it as――” He hesitated, lacking a simile, and was spared
+further effort by the arrival of the taxi in front of the dormitory.
+
+Wyndham School is all under one roof, if we except the gymnasium.
+When Dr. John Wyatt Wyndham started the institution a quarter of a
+century ago it consisted of one building. Subsequently a larger hall
+was built to form an L, presenting a fine example of the tail wagging
+the dog. However, Wyndham School prospered exceedingly and not many
+seasons passed before the dog had two tails and the L had changed to
+an E, an E with the middle projection lacking. The old building is now
+but a connecting link between the new ones and is devoted entirely to
+recitation rooms. The original entrance remains facing a courtyard of
+sward and shrubbery and a graveled circle in which a sundial reigns,
+but it is no longer used. It is, in fact, of no more practical value
+than the sundial which, since it stands in shadow fully half of the
+day, owes its presence there solely to æsthetic principles.
+
+The school stands well back from the streets, from the principal
+thoroughfare of the town, Oak Street, which runs along the western side
+of the grounds, and from Elm Street which lies to the south. From Elm
+Street one looks across a gently rising expanse of excellent turf, and
+over a long bed of scarlet sage and white cosmos, straight into the
+little courtyard. On the right is the front end of East Hall, on the
+left the corresponding elevation of West. The old building is known
+now as Middle Hall. But one doesn’t approach from our present point
+of view. Instead, a curving drive, shaded by a double row of maples,
+leads from the junction of the two streets. Here a pair of stone posts,
+surmounted by globular lights, indicates the way. Up this graveled
+drive the rattling flivver had sped, to stop, as is the manner of such
+vehicles, with disconcerting suddenness, in front of the first pair of
+wide stone steps.
+
+Clif and Tom struggled out, Tom paid the driver――adding a ten-cent
+tip and the seemingly irrelevant statement, “_Ma fenêtre donne sur le
+jardin_”――and they went up the steps, occupied by several hesitant
+youths and a number of bags, and entered West Hall.
+
+“Welcome home,” murmured Clif.
+
+Tom grinned and led the way to the slate stairway beyond the empty
+reception room. Across the wide corridor was the recreation room, its
+great stone fireplace offering no appeal to-day. Leather-cushioned
+couches and easy chairs, a massive table and many smaller ones stood
+about on the warm-hued carpet. Back of the recreation room was the
+library. Then, opening from the latter, was the reading room. Across
+the corridor the corresponding space was occupied by the office. At the
+far end of the corridor a wide entrance, at present barred by heavy
+oaken doors, admitted to the dining hall.
+
+“Well, at that,” remarked Tom above the clatter of his shoes on the
+stone treads, “getting back doesn’t seem so bad, Clif.”
+
+“Bad? I’ll say it doesn’t! I was tickled to death to get here. Say,
+Number 40 is all right, Tom. You see for a thousand miles from the rear
+window!”
+
+“_Le coup d’oeil est magnifique_,” agreed Tom.
+
+They climbed two flights to reach Number 40, passed a dozen other
+rooms, turned finally to the left and were there. Tom slid his bag
+along the floor, Clif tossed the golf clubs onto a bed and they sank
+into chairs to mop their faces and inspect the new quarters. Clif
+had already taken possession of his half――first arrival had given
+him choice of sides――and his brushes and comb and soap box and other
+gimcracks were neatly arranged on the fresh white cover atop his
+chiffonier. There were two framed portraits there, besides; one of his
+mother, long since dead, and one of his father. Tom noted and sighed.
+
+“I’ve got to unpack, too,” he murmured. “The trunk won’t be along
+before practice, though.” He slipped out of his coat and unfastened his
+tie. “Say, I’ll tell you one thing, old timer; having two window seats
+is going to be expensive.”
+
+“Yes, I thought of that,” said Clif. “But they’re worth it. Each of us
+has his own, you see.”
+
+“Yes, but which is mine?” asked Tom suspiciously.
+
+“Well, I selected this side of the room,” replied Clif carelessly, “so
+I suppose you take the window seat nearest your bed.”
+
+“Sounds all right,” muttered the other; “but I’ll bet there’s a catch
+to it somewhere!” He studied the situation frowningly. Then: “Oh,
+yes,” he exclaimed sarcastically, “I get the north window, eh? Fine in
+winter, what?”
+
+Clif laughed. “Not so good in winter, Thomas; but think of the long,
+dreamy days of spring! And look at it to-day. Your window’s nice and
+shady and has a breeze――”
+
+“Breeze!” protested Tom.
+
+“――While mine’s got the sun full on it. You see, don’t you? You know I
+wouldn’t take advantage of you, old thing.”
+
+“No, you wouldn’t! What time is it? I’m going to have a ger-lorious
+shower right now! Say, did you get the stuff out of the storeroom?”
+
+“I did, sir. Everything’s attended to. You’ll find your togs hanging in
+your closet, your shoes on the shelf――By the way, Tom, I hate to tell
+you, but you need a new pair of brogans.”
+
+“Heck, do I? Life’s just one expense after another! All right. Got a
+towel? Mine are in the trunk. Thanks. Where’s your bath robe?”
+
+“In my closet. Any other little thing you need? Soap――sponge――wash
+cloth――”
+
+“Yeah, soap. Toss it to me. Atta boy. See you in five minutes, Clif.”
+
+The five minutes were nearer ten, and then Tom reappeared looking
+considerably refreshed, and, sketchily swathed in Clif’s bath robe,
+stretched himself on the bed. “You said you had a talk with ‘G. G.,’
+Clif,” he prompted. “What did he have to say?”
+
+“Well, for one thing, he said he wanted me to try playing tackle.”
+
+“Tackle! Tackle? My sainted Aunt Jerusha! What for?”
+
+“Says we need tackles more than ends. Raiford’s not coming back, he
+says.”
+
+“Well, what of it? He wasn’t such a much, was he? Think you can do it?”
+
+“I don’t know, Tom. I told him I’d have a try at it, of course. I
+suppose I can learn, eh?”
+
+“Why, yes, you can learn; but, heck, I don’t savvy the idea at all!
+You’re a thundering good end, Clif, and you mightn’t be a good tackle;
+not an awfully good one, I mean. You don’t suppose ‘G. G.’ has been
+exposed to the sun, eh?”
+
+“Well, I don’t have to keep on at it if I don’t show the goods.”
+
+“No.” Tom sought a new position and kicked one muscular leg free of
+the robe. “No, of course not. Oh, I guess you’ll make good at it. You
+generally manage to deliver. And with me to help you――Say, he didn’t
+happen to suggest making me into a guard or a center or anything, did
+he?”
+
+“Well, he said he had been considering it, but he guessed it wouldn’t
+be possible to make you into anything, and so he’s going to let you tag
+along behind the team as usual.”
+
+“Is that so? Don’t get fresh, young feller. I suppose Joe Whitemill
+will be back. Of course _he_ couldn’t be the one to quit school. Just
+the same, he wasn’t going so frightfully well toward the end of last
+year, and I’m out to beat that guy!”
+
+“I think you will, Tom. By the way, how’s your father? I meant to ask
+before.”
+
+“Top-hole, Clif. He’s on his way to the coast this minute. He’s got
+some sort of a deal on with some folks out there who make oil; refine
+it, I mean. If it goes through he will be off to England next month and
+I suppose I won’t see him for a whale of a time. I tried to argue him
+out of starting in business again. You know he’s been out of it ever
+since the War. But he says we need the money; says having a son is a
+bit expensive. Heck, I don’t cost him much. Still, there’ll be college
+after next year, and college educations do cost, I suppose.”
+
+“I’ll bet it broke your heart to let him make that trip alone,” laughed
+Clif. “Or has the wanderlust left you since you got back from abroad?”
+
+“No, that little trip just sort of whetted my appetite,” answered Tom.
+“Never mind, though. Summer will be around again before you know it,
+and I’m going to make dad take me to China.”
+
+“China? For Pete’s sake, why China?”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know. Why not China? For one thing, I want to see how they
+make it.”
+
+“Make what?” asked Clif.
+
+“China.”
+
+Clif launched himself on the other and several moments of rough-house
+followed, during which Tom managed to become so involved with the bath
+robe that he was eventually helpless. Clif applied punishment and
+resumed his seat, considerably warmed up, while Tom, with disgusted
+grunts and mutters, untangled himself.
+
+Tom was an extremely good-looking chap, with rather extraordinary
+gray eyes, hair that came close to the copper tone and a skin that
+in spite of its warm tan was remarkably clear. His chin was a wee
+bit aggressive, but it went well with a short, straight nose and a
+good-tempered mouth. He was a little heavier than Clif, while lacking
+an inch or so of height; but he invariably carried himself with such
+military erectness that it would have occurred to none that any
+advantage of height belonged to his companion. The two had known each
+other for just a year and in that time had become warm friends. Tom was
+seventeen years of age, and so was Clif, but Tom would see eighteen
+some six months before the other.
+
+Clif Bingham――Clifton Cobb Bingham, to give him his full name――was a
+bit more slender than Tom, in spite of those added seven pounds of
+whose presence he had assured Mr. Otis, and had a wide-awake, alert
+appearance not so noticeable in the other. If you wouldn’t have thought
+of calling him very good-looking, at least you would have conceded an
+attractiveness of expression that answered fully as well. You would
+have liked the way his face lighted up when he smiled, and you’d have
+liked the smile particularly. It had made lots of friends for Clif.
+Both he and Tom were in the second class this year, a fact which had
+been of assistance to them in securing as good a room as Number 40.
+
+Corner rooms were ever in demand at Wyndham, and the new occupants
+of Number 40 considered themselves fortunate. Of course it was
+rather a nuisance to have to climb two flights of particularly hard
+stairs――slate held an advantage from the point of view of the builder
+whose thoughts were on fireproof construction, but it was rather
+deadly on the feet!――but the view made up for that. From the north
+window you had, as Clif had announced, a wide view of fields and hills
+near at hand and of the blue peaks and slopes of the Berkshires in
+the distance. From the west casement you could look across the side
+lawn and between the already yellowing maples that lined the road to
+a sloping meadow recently slashed by a new street along which, here
+and there, tiny and not unattractive two-story colonial houses were
+appearing. Beyond, topping the long hill, was a farm; the big red barn
+and the more humble white house, elm-shaded, just poked their roofs
+over the summit. By craning your neck a bit you could look toward the
+village proper, and at almost any time of the day or evening you
+could watch the automobiles whizz past. Sometimes they didn’t whizz.
+Infrequently one lessened its speed at sight of the ivy-clad buildings
+and curious occupants stared forth and debated whether what they beheld
+was a school or a hospital or――who knew?――an insane asylum!
+
+All the rooms, whether in East Hall, most of which was devoted to
+the Junior School, or in West, were much the same in size and shape,
+and Number 40 was consequently not very different from Number 34, in
+which Tom had resided last year, or from Number 17, which had been
+Clif’s. It was sixteen feet the longest way and fourteen the other.
+On each side of the door, accounting for the little passage beyond
+it, was a good-sized closet. Along the right wall were the two single
+beds, jutting halfway into the room, two slim chiffoniers and a
+straight-backed chair. The space between the foot of the beds and the
+opposite wall was rather thoroughly taken up by a study table, four
+chairs, two window seats and a radiator. Underfoot was a brown linoleum
+and on that rested three grayish rugs with blue borders. Brown was
+the prevailing color of the room, for the furniture was brown oak――or
+what passes for oak these days――and the walls were tinted a lighter
+shade of the same color. It was all extremely harmonious, as Tom
+remarked, but he favored “jazzing it up a bit” with a few touches of
+color. He suggested red silk curtains for the windows, but Clif was of
+the opinion that faculty didn’t allow one to recurtain――the present
+draperies were, of course, brown――and prevailed on Tom to confine the
+color to the pillows on the window seats and such wall decorations as
+the rules permitted.
+
+“You’ve got a couple of pillows somewhere, haven’t you?” he asked.
+
+Tom suddenly sat up with an exclamation of dismay. “Why, heck!” he
+cried. “I forgot to pack ’em! They’re over in 34 and I’ll have an awful
+time making Billy give ’em up.”
+
+Clif chuckled. “I’ll say you will; and Billy’s too big to lick! Never
+mind, I’m going to buy a couple I saw in the village this noon. Not
+half bad, although I don’t believe the stuff inside them ever grew on a
+chicken. It felt more like cotton batting.”
+
+“What good will your pillows do me?” demanded Tom. “Can’t keep shifting
+’em from one window to t’other! I’ll just have to go over some time
+when Billy’s out of the room and get mine.”
+
+“Who’s he got in with him this year?” asked Clif.
+
+“Jeff Ogden. And if he gets to sprawling his old carcass on those
+pillows they won’t be anything but pancakes! Say, what time is it?”
+
+Well, it was time to get into old canvas pants and blue jerseys and
+scuffed shoes and head for the football field, and Tom pulled himself
+off the bed with a deep sigh of resignation.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+
+                            WATTLES IS WELL
+
+
+It wasn’t quite so hot as it had been earlier in the day, and there
+was a perceptible movement of air across the field as Clif and Tom
+turned the corner of East Hall and made toward the running track and
+the gridiron enclosed by it. To their right the little pond was very
+blue, its surface ruffled only slightly by an occasional catspaw. In
+winter that same surface was scored by the steel runners of speeding
+skaters, brushed by whizzing pucks, and Clif recalled the fact somewhat
+incredulously as he fixed longing eyes on the shade of the sloping
+concrete grand stand ahead.
+
+There was a far-stretching rank of tall, straight poplars marking
+the eastern limits of the field and the school property and turning
+westward to continue as far as the garden, the old red barn and the
+newer buildings that housed the automobiles. The playing field was
+large, affording space for three gridirons and two diamonds and a round
+dozen of tennis courts, these latter well behind the buildings. The
+quarter-mile track of hard-rolled cinders glared heatedly at them as
+they crossed it, and the enclosure of still vividly green turf, not
+yet marked off with the white lines, was a vast relief to their eyes.
+In front of the stand some score of fellows had already assembled
+when they reached its welcome shade, and several minutes were spent
+in greetings, in handclasps, in asking questions and answering them.
+Captain Ogden was there, and Guy Owens, this year’s manager, and
+Billy Desmond, Tom’s former roommate, and Joe Hanbury, better known
+as “Swede,” and numerous others. A few were strangers to Clif and Tom
+save, possibly, by sight. Mr. Otis presently arrived, with half a
+dozen more players and Dan Farrell, the trainer. A handful of early
+arrivals sweltered in the stand, braving discomfort to see others more
+uncomfortable. At least, that is the way Tom put it to Clif as he waved
+a hand to an acquaintance there.
+
+Presently Mr. Otis called the candidates together and they gathered
+about the bench and listened, while in the stand behind comparative
+quiet reigned and the few spectators tried to hear what was being said
+down there.
+
+“Well,” began Mr. Otis conversationally, “here we are again, fellows,
+at the start of the race. In about five minutes the gun will go off and
+we’ll be on our way. It’s a long race, fellows, and a hard one, and
+some of you are going to get mighty tired of it, I suspect, before you
+reach the last lap. Some of you, for that matter, probably won’t stay
+in that long. If you don’t it’ll be your fault, not mine. I’ll set the
+pace, and I’ll make it as easy a one as I can for you, but you’ve got
+to keep on running and follow me all the way!
+
+“Well, dropping metaphor, what I especially want to say to you is this:
+This year’s team is going to be a hard working team. It’s got to be if
+it’s going to win from Wolcott. I know what I’m talking about. I know
+what we’ve got in sight here in the way of material, and I know what
+they’ve got, and I tell you frankly that they’re better off than we
+are. Another thing. Wolcott’s been practicing more than a week already.
+A week isn’t a long time, maybe, but it’s a seventh of the whole
+season, and a team that’s able to add an extra week of practice is in
+luck. Now I――”
+
+“I thought Wolcott wasn’t allowed to do that, sir!” protested Johnny
+Thayer indignantly. “Any more than we are!”
+
+“She isn’t,” said the coach dryly. “Officially she hasn’t. What she’s
+done is get about fifteen of her last season’s men together over at
+Stillwater Lake for a ‘camping party.’ The party began a week ago
+yesterday, as near as I can learn, and there’s been a lot more going on
+than just fishing and swimming!”
+
+“Gosh!” growled the big full back. “I don’t think――”
+
+“Shut up, Johnny,” said some one. “You’re out of order!”
+
+“But never mind what Wolcott’s been doing,” resumed the coach. “We’ll
+attend to our own affairs. As I said, this team is going to be a hard
+working team, and any of you who don’t like the sound of that are
+invited right now to step to the rear and fall out. I’ll put up with
+stupidity, but I won’t stand shirking. Most of you know that, and I’m
+stating it now for the benefit of the few who don’t. I’ll be easy with
+you to-day, and to-morrow, too, if the weather stays like this, but
+after that, fellows, every nose goes down hard against the grindstone,
+and I don’t want to hear any squeals if I turn it fast!”
+
+There were chuckles of amusement from the old hands, but some of the
+new candidates looked a bit uneasy and exchanged doubtful glances.
+
+“By to-morrow I want every one of you to own a copy of the football
+rules. Manager Owens will supply you, or you can get it in the village.
+I want you all to read the rules, right through, from beginning to
+end, and study them until you know thoroughly what they mean. What I
+don’t want you to do is read books on how to play your positions. I
+don’t care who the writer is. The stuff is all right, and I don’t care
+how much you read of it out of season, but in season you’ll get your
+instruction from me and those who assist in the coaching.
+
+“I said that Wolcott is better off than we are for material, and so she
+is. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t lick the sawdust out of her in
+November. It does mean, though, that we’ve got to work like thunder and
+realize every minute what we’re working for. We’re not in bad shape for
+the season, even if we might be in better. We’ve won before with less
+to start on. You’ve got a corking fine captain to lead you, you’ve got
+at least half a dozen veterans to rally to and you’ve got a coach who,
+whatever may be said of him, knows a certain amount of football and can
+get work out of you if any one can!”
+
+Again there was a ripple of amused appreciation from his audience. Mr.
+Otis’s grim mouth didn’t relax, however.
+
+“Now, one thing more and I’m through. You’re going to work hard and
+football is going to take up a whole lot of your time, but there’s
+going to be plenty of time left for studies, and any fellow who wants
+to stay on the squad will have to keep square with the office. I’ll be
+generous with cuts so long as they’re necessary, but any one who can’t
+play football and keep up with his studies at the same time will have
+to quit football. That’s all. Let’s have some balls, Dan.”
+
+Followed an hour of passing and receiving, a little punting and
+catching and some practicing of starts. There were frequent rests, and
+they were needed, for the material was soft and the later afternoon,
+while a slight improvement on the noon hours, was still exhaustingly
+hot and close. Afterwards, in the gymnasium, all candidates reported
+to Manager Owens and all went on the scales, Harry New, Guy’s first
+assistant, presiding at the ceremony. Showers felt extremely good
+to-day, and for once the cold water wasn’t cold enough. It was well
+after five when Clif and Tom went back to the dormitory, stopping,
+however, on the way to discover that Loring Deane’s room in East Hall
+was still untenanted.
+
+“Bet you the old ‘Rolled Rice’ cast a shoe,” said Tom. “Or maybe it
+just fell to pieces. That’s the trouble with those cheap cars; they’re
+always shaking apart. We’ll get dressed and go down and watch for him.”
+
+But getting dressed was a leisurely proceeding to-day, and by the
+time they emerged again from the West Hall entrance and looked
+speculatively down the driveway Loring Deane was already in possession
+of his quarters. It was Lou Stiles who apprised them of that fact.
+Lou, looking exhausted, was sprawled on the grass in the shade by the
+doorway. “Hi, Clif,” he called. “If you’re looking for Deane, he’s
+here. Came quarter of an hour ago, about. His folks have just gone off
+again.”
+
+So they walked across to East and along the first floor corridor, past
+the parlor and the office of Mr. Clendennin, Junior School head, and
+knocked imperatively at the first door beyond on that side. It was
+Wattles who opened to them, Wattles looking very, very warm in full
+attire of black serge. He could never be prevailed on to lay aside his
+waistcoat, no matter how warm the day might be. Wattles looked askance
+at negligée, recognized no compromise in the matter of a gentleman’s
+attire.
+
+“Hel-lo, Wattles, old skeezicks!” cried Tom, shaking the attendant’s
+hand warmly and at the same time thumping him cordially on the back.
+“How are you?”
+
+“Quite well, sir, thanks.” Wattles’ long and bony countenance relaxed
+in a restrained smile. “And you, Mr. Tom?”
+
+“Never better, old boy! Hello, there, Loring! Glad to see you again,
+sonny!”
+
+Clif, too, exchanged handclasps with Wattles and followed Tom inside.
+“Have a breakdown?” he asked as he greeted Loring.
+
+“Breakdown? Oh, no, but it was so pesky warm that we stopped on the
+way up at one of those wayside robbers’ dens and had cooling drinks
+and rested off awhile. I think it was the Bluebird Tea Room, but it
+may have been Ye Signe of Ye Olde Washe Tubbe. Well, how are you, you
+chaps? Tom, you look fat!”
+
+“Fat? Man alive, I feel as thin as an eel! We’ve just done an hour’s
+practice on Ye Olde Footballe Fielde. Yes, and worse still, listened
+to ‘G. G.’ speechify. Welcome back to the classic shades, Loring. The
+Triumvirate is again assembled!”
+
+“All for one and one for all!” proclaimed Loring.
+
+“Sit down. Wattles, lift that truck off this chair like a good fellow.
+That’s it. When did you come up, Clif?”
+
+“Got in about ten-forty-five or something. I don’t know how you fellows
+find this weather, but after nearly freezing to death in London for a
+fortnight it seems like Africa to me!”
+
+“Just comfortable,” murmured Tom. “I say, Wattles, don’t you find that
+black clothes attract the flies?” he asked.
+
+Wattles, busily unpacking a wardrobe trunk, looked around a trifle
+blankly. “Flies, sir? I don’t think I ever noticed, Mr. Tom.”
+
+“Fancy that!” said Tom. “Fancy not noticing! You see, Wattles, there’s
+something about black dye that flies take to enormously. I’ll bet that
+if you stepped around back and stood outside the kitchen door a few
+minutes you’d be fairly covered with ’em.”
+
+“Really, sir? Most interesting.” But Wattles didn’t show any desire to
+try the experiment. Instead, he went on extracting clothes and shoes
+and ties and books and various other things from the trunk. Wattles
+deserves a few lines to himself. He was rather tall and rather bony,
+was Wattles, and eminently respectable. In age he was about thirty,
+but he looked anything between that and forty. Although he had been in
+the United States for some ten of the thirty years he still betrayed
+his former nationality. I say former because Wattles was an American
+citizen and was proud of the fact, and you could not pain him more
+deeply than by mistaking him for an Englishman! Of course, he still
+retained a huge admiration for the old country, still read with
+unflagging interest the results of the English football games and races
+and was convinced that in certain matters, especially those concerning
+a gentleman’s dress and the deportment of a gentleman’s gentleman, the
+land of his adoption was somewhat behind the country of his birth.
+It was particularly Wattles’ speech that betrayed him, for, although
+he interspersed his carefully correct English with American idioms
+and even slang, and although he was an omnivorous reader of classic
+literature, the British pronunciation and the British manner gave him
+away.
+
+Mr. Sanford Deane, Loring’s father, had once likened Wattles’
+countenance to that of a faithful horse, and while the resemblance
+was faint it was still there, even to a set of rather prominent and
+particularly large teeth. Wattles’ eyes were of a kind of washed-out
+brown, and the lashes were faded yellow; his nose was large and long;
+his mouth was thin and straight and impressed one as being a misfit;
+his chin――but the less said of Wattles’ chin the better. It retreated,
+that chin, until you had to look a second or even a third time to see
+where it had got to. In other words, everything about Wattles’ face
+was prominent, or at least evident, from carefully brushed brown hair
+to mouth. Below the mouth Wattles kind of faded away. But if Wattles
+didn’t resemble a collar advertisement, he was there in so many other
+ways that one forgot it.
+
+Perhaps I have spent altogether too much time on Wattles, but then
+he isn’t likely to get in the limelight very often, and so we won’t
+begrudge him his moment. On the other hand, I’m not sure that Wattles
+doesn’t deserve all this attention and more, for, even if he was only a
+paid attendant, a combination of nurse, valet and companion, he was a
+mighty good one. Had Loring’s father possessed many more millions than
+he did――and he possessed a good many according to public report; too
+many in the opinion of numerous less fortunate citizens――he could not
+have secured a more faithful or devoted person than Wattles. Nor a more
+capable one for the position. Combining the duties already enumerated,
+even in the interests of so amenable a charge as Loring, was no slight
+task, and while Wattles doubtless drew down a very generous stipend it
+didn’t begin to pay for all that Wattles gave in return. You see, labor
+and ability may be purchased, but love and devotion are things that
+can’t be paid for. Not, at least, in any of the dollars that made up
+Mr. Sanford Deane’s fortune.
+
+The trouble with Loring――you’ve already guessed that a trouble
+existed――was that his legs weren’t like yours or mine or Clif’s
+or Tom’s. Nature had done excellently by him until she had got to
+his lower extremities. (Loring called them his lower infirmities.)
+Then she had perhaps gone to sleep on the job. He was remarkably
+good-looking, with the sort of features one associates with Greek
+heroes, finely chiseled, almost perfect. His dark hair was brushed
+straightly back from a broad forehead, his eyes were almost black and
+held a sparkle of high spirits, his nose was――but, pshaw, he would
+utterly detest being catalogued like this! Briefly, then, he was a
+very good-looking boy――handsome if you like――of seventeen years with a
+clear skin and a general appearance of good health. Considering that he
+spent his days in a wheel chair, that healthful appearance was rather
+remarkable. The secret of it belonged to Wattles and the very eminent
+doctor who was in charge of the boy.
+
+That doctor, as well as many others who had preceded him at home and
+abroad, could give you a nice long name for Loring’s affliction, but
+in plain English the trouble was that the bones of his legs below the
+knees had never hardened as bones should. They were chalky, and, being
+chalky, weren’t to be depended on for the ordinary duties of legs.
+Some day, said the eminent physician a bit vaguely, Loring would be
+able to get about like other fellows, but just when that was to be or
+whether it would involve the use of a pair of crutches, wasn’t clear.
+Meanwhile, save that the wheel chair or Wattles’ arms served the
+purpose of legs, he was a perfectly normal boy, a brilliant student and
+quite as cheerful, quite as merry and high-spirited as either of the
+other members of the Triumvirate.
+
+Last winter in a frivolous moment some one――Tom, I fancy――commenting on
+the unfailing regularity with which the three friends congregated each
+evening after supper in Loring’s room, had suggested the formation of
+a club. Proceeding with the jest, after several unsatisfactory names
+had been suggested, Loring had hit on the Triumvirate. It would be,
+Loring had explained, a “strictly fraternal, non-partisan, offensive
+and defensive alliance! ‘One for all and all for one!’” After a week
+or so they had begun to take it quite seriously, and as time wore on
+the motto cribbed from Dumas’ masterpiece became a guiding rule. The
+offensive and defensive alliance had borne results, in fact. When three
+persons are animated by the same motive and set out to secure a common
+result they are very likely to succeed, and so the Triumvirate had
+discovered.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IV
+
+                             THE FIRST GAME
+
+
+“I’m sorry,” said Clif, “that I missed seeing your folks, Loring.”
+
+“I know. I tried to get them to stay up for supper, but dad’s got some
+sort of a meeting on for this evening, and so they beat it right back.
+They’re coming up again in a couple of weeks or so.”
+
+“That shover will have to do some driving to get back to New York in
+time for a meeting to-night,” observed Tom.
+
+“Oh, it’s only about a hundred miles. Of course, Edouard will have to
+take it slow through some of the towns, but he will make it by eight.
+There are plenty of stretches where he can do forty-five.”
+
+“_Mon cher Edouard_,” murmured Tom. “Say, your father doesn’t drive the
+car himself, does he?”
+
+“No, he says it makes him nervous, but the real reason is that he can’t
+smoke comfortably.”
+
+“I wish mine didn’t,” said Clif. “He’s a perfectly awful driver,
+but he doesn’t know it. He thinks he’s a regular wonder at it, but
+he’s forever getting into jams and busting something. I don’t mind a
+crumpled fender now and then, but I’m always afraid he’ll get hurt.”
+
+“I don’t see anything wrong with his driving,” Tom objected. “I felt
+a heap safer last year when he had the wheel than when you had it, old
+timer.”
+
+“Oh, he isn’t so bad when he has some one with him,” replied Clif, “but
+let him get in the car alone and all rules are off. He drives like the
+wind, takes blind corners at thirty and on the left of the road and
+thinks side streets aren’t used. Once I asked him why he didn’t sound
+the horn and he had to look all around for it! If he has a puncture
+he just sits in the car and waits for some one to come along and take
+a message to a garage. He hasn’t the slightest idea what’s under the
+hood of the car or why the thing goes when he puts his foot down on
+the starter.” Clif shook his head gloomily. “We had a chauffeur one
+year for a couple of months. Then dad fired him because he wouldn’t go
+down Waterman Street, in Providence, fast enough to suit him. Dad was
+late for the office and the chauffeur shifted to second and there were
+words!”
+
+“I’ve reached the conclusion,” observed Tom, “that the French are the
+only folks who really know how to drive a car. Look at those chaps in
+Paris. Why, heck, it’s an art the way they fly around and don’t get
+killed!”
+
+“I believe you’re right,” said Loring. “A Frenchman seems to have a
+genius for driving automobiles. They’re born artists at it. To watch
+Edouard take the car down Fifth Avenue is a liberal education. I’ve
+never seen him flustered in my life. How about it, Wattles? Have you
+ever known Edouard to get rattled?”
+
+Wattles straightened and looked thoughtfully at a handful of Loring’s
+cravats. “Well, sir, there was one occasion. I fancy it was about
+a year ago. You were not present at the time.” Wattles coughed
+delicately. “In fact, Mr. Loring, it happened to be my afternoon off
+and Edouard gave me a lift. We were proceeding downtown on Park Avenue,
+sir, at rather a lively gait when a taxicab drew away from the curb in
+front of us without warning. Oh, quite unexpectedly! There wasn’t room
+to swing past it on the left, and as the street was treacherous, sir,
+from a recent shower, it would have been impossible to apply the brakes
+with the desired result.”
+
+“Great stuff, Wattles!” Tom applauded. “Wonderful suspense! But what
+_did_ he do? Don’t tell me you woke up just then!”
+
+“No, sir.” Wattles smiled reminiscently. “The fact is, Mister Tom, I
+was most fearfully alarmed. I was sitting beside Edouard, sir, and――”
+
+“Wattles, for the love of Mike, get on!” exhorted Loring.
+
+“Yes, sir. I was about to do so. Edouard turned the wheel very suddenly
+and we shot up on the pavement――that is, the sidewalk――and went around
+the taxi, sir. Fortunately, the sidewalk was empty.”
+
+“I’ll say so!” exclaimed Tom. “How fast were you going, do you suppose,
+Wattles?”
+
+“About twenty-five, sir, I fancy. Possibly a bit more. I considered at
+the time that it was very skillful driving, Mr. Loring, for he had to
+pass between a hydrant and a light post on one side and a building on
+the other. Doubtless it required rather delicate calculation also, sir,
+to attain the correct angle between wheels and curb in order that the
+car should surmount the――ah――obstacle.”
+
+“You’re blamed right it did,” agreed Tom. “I’ll vociferate that, at
+twenty-five an hour, that was some stunt!”
+
+“And you say that Edouard was a trifle flustered on that occasion?”
+asked Loring with a chuckle.
+
+“Well, sir, perhaps I shouldn’t go that far,” replied Wattles
+cautiously. “He didn’t conduct himself in a manner suggesting it, but I
+did hear him say ‘_Sacre bleu!_’ as he went up on the pave――sidewalk!”
+
+“Imagine a New York taxi driver confining himself to ‘_Sacre bleu_’ in
+Edouard’s place,” laughed Clif. “Evidently he’s a man of few words and
+considerable self-restraint.”
+
+“Funny,” remarked Loring, with a wink at Clif, “that I never heard of
+that piquant adventure, Wattles.”
+
+Again Wattles coughed delicately. “I believe, sir,” he replied without
+turning from his task of arranging the cravats in a drawer, “that the
+incident was not mentioned.”
+
+“Well, all this is mighty interesting,” observed Tom, “but something
+tells me――” and he laid a hand on his belt buckle――“that the supper
+hour approacheth. What about a game of chess this evening, Loring? I
+haven’t seen a chessboard since last spring.”
+
+“All right, Tom,” Loring replied. “I’ll be ready for you.”
+
+Clif groaned. “I was hoping you chaps had forgotten that beastly game,”
+he said. “Got any new books? I’ll have to read, because I always fall
+asleep when I watch you play. I don’t know anything more――what’s the
+word?――sedative than waiting for Tom to move!”
+
+“Yes, I’ve got several new ones, Clif,” answered Loring. “One of them’s
+on football, too.”
+
+“That reading’s forbidden us,” said Clif virtuously. “Who wrote it?”
+
+“Come on,” commanded Tom. “I’m starving. Let’s make the most of our
+opportunities, Clif, before training table starts. See you after
+supper, Loring. ‘All for one and one for all!’”
+
+“‘All for one and one for all!’” echoed Loring.
+
+Fortunately for all concerned in the development of the football
+team, the hot weather disappeared by Thursday. After two sessions of
+extremely languid practice Mr. Otis hailed the chance to get some real
+work done, and on that afternoon the dummy was hitched into place and
+a pleasant half hour was spent in tackling and blocking. Pleasant,
+that is, from the point of view of the coach. And possibly the stuffed
+effigy enjoyed it. Those who launched themselves across the freshly
+spaded pit and clasped the swaying canvas legs soon tired of the
+entertainment. The weather was seasonable, but it still required but
+little exertion to bring a copious perspiration, and the soil in the
+pit tasted no whit better than it had a year ago!
+
+New candidates were unusually scarce this fall, and the summons posted
+on the bulletin boards in the gymnasium and halls had failed to produce
+an outpouring of eager and ambitious recruits. Guy Owens said it was
+the weather, but events proved him wrong, for the crop of neophytes
+that season never did approach the usual number. However, there was
+a bright side to that, for with fewer beginners to handle more time
+was left for the instruction of the old hands. Still, Mr. Otis wasn’t
+pleased, and during the first week of school the dormitories were
+carefully combed in the search for material. A coach has next year to
+think of as well as the present season, and a lack of beginners this
+fall indicates a want of veterans later. A handful of none too willing
+youths were added to the squad by twos and threes over a space of
+several days and then the supply ran out. However, the squad totaled
+more than fifty by that time, and while that was a smaller number than
+usual, it was still many more than would survive the final weeding.
+Mr. Hilliard, who taught modern languages to the upper classes and
+junior English to the lower school, and who was known as “Pinky,” was
+assistant coach. “Pinky,” however, wasn’t always available in early
+season, and the task of teaching kindergarten football was taken over
+by Captain Ogden and Joe Weldon during the first few days of practice.
+Jeff Ogden played full back, while Joe was a tackle, and both were
+beginning their third year of football at Wyndham.
+
+By Friday Clif was working with the tackles and making rather heavy
+going. Perhaps, oddly, he had never really considered a tackle’s duties
+before, and now he made the illuminating discovery that a tackle was,
+to fall back on metaphor, “soldier and sailor, too!” That is, while he
+was at times essentially a linesman, at other times he held the roving
+commission of an end. Fully as much speed was required of Clif as last
+year, and, or so he began to think, his duties in the new position were
+more numerous. He became discouraged with himself frequently during the
+first fortnight of the season and wouldn’t have been surprised at any
+moment if Coach Otis had relegated him to his former job. But “G. G.”
+appeared to have faith and Clif toiled on.
+
+The first game, that with the local high school team, was no more than
+a brisk practice, since high school had been at work only a day longer
+than Wyndham. Mr. Otis used nearly three elevens in the course of
+forty minutes of actual playing and some weird performances were seen.
+Possibly Clif’s performance during the fifteen minutes or so that he
+occupied the position of left tackle was as weird as any. His efforts
+to reach the rear of the opponent’s line and pick off interference on
+defense were not exactly crowned with success. Of course, he had his
+lucky moments, but, on the whole, an intelligent observer wouldn’t have
+picked him as an ideal tackle. Wyndham appeared, during the last two
+periods, to be doing all in her power to present the adversary with
+the game, and would probably have succeeded but for two things. One
+was that she had accumulated twenty-three points to a mere six for the
+opponent, and the other was that you can’t give a thing away unless
+some one is willing to accept it, and Freeburg High resisted nobly!
+As a football contest, even as a first one of a season, that game was
+a good deal of a joke, and the audience knew it. However, it was
+interesting if only for its humor.
+
+In the first period, and well into the second, with what might have
+been called her regular line-up on duty, Wyndham played fair football.
+All positions save two were looked after by veterans of last year’s
+team who, either as first- or second-string players, had won their
+W’s. Drayton at left end was an experienced hand, Weldon and Cotter
+at tackle, Desmond at right guard, Carlson at center, Houston at
+quarter, Kemble and Sproule at half and Ogden at full had all played
+against Wolcott for longer or shorter periods. There was plenty of
+ragged work, to be sure, but the power was there and even if it was
+frequently wrongly applied it bored the high school line and whittled
+off the high school ends for two touchdowns and a field goal. The real
+comedy of errors began when Coach Otis started to use his substitutes.
+The second period was half gone then. Pat Tyson, relieving Carlson at
+center, signalized his appearance by passing the ball at least four
+feet over the head of “Swede” Hanbury, who had taken Jeff Ogden’s job
+at full back. Followed a frenzied race for the runaway oval in which
+some twenty-two youths participated. That was greatly appreciated by
+the audience, which howled and applauded gleefully as, time and again,
+the ball eluded the pursuers. By the time Jeff Adams, Wyndham end, had
+at last captured the pigskin it was a good twenty-eight yards nearer
+the dark blue’s goal than when it had begun its adventures. There was
+no more scoring in the half, for by the time Hanbury had booted the
+ball away from such dangerous proximity to the Wyndham goal line there
+was only time for high school to run off a few plays before the horn
+sounded.
+
+High school made her lone score a few minutes after the third period
+had begun. An intercepted forward pass gave her a good start, and when,
+a minute or two later, Couch was neatly boxed, a fleet-footed half
+skirted Wyndham’s right end and went over for a touchdown at the corner
+of the field. But high school’s try-for-point was spoiled by Greene,
+the blue-stockinged right guard. Just how Greene got through high
+school’s line as speedily as he did was a mystery, but there he was,
+looming large and forbidding, fairly on the heels of the ball, and the
+high school kicker hadn’t a chance to even swing his leg!
+
+Following that incident, Wyndham, greatly assisted by penalties,
+went down the gridiron to the enemy’s thirty-two and there heaved a
+surprisingly finished forward pass, Hanbury to Whitemill, that was
+caught on the eight yards and carried over. Wyndham added another point
+by kicking goal. That ended all scoring for the day. Subsequently,
+with the home team composed almost exclusively of second and third
+substitutes and the visiting eleven freshened――and apparently
+weakened――by new men, the game became farce pure and simple. High
+school, unable to puncture the line, essayed the end with scarcely
+better luck and then resorted to desperate passing. The pigskin shot
+hither and thither and frantic defenders rushed wildly about in pursuit
+of it. Once or twice high school completed a pass, but almost always it
+either dropped harmlessly to earth, well out of range of friend and
+foe alike, or went to Wyndham. It didn’t go to Wyndham often, though,
+for Wyndham had a bad attack of butter fingers. High school worked as
+far as the home team’s twenty-two yard line on one occasion, only to
+lose yardage on a penalty first and then possession of the ball on a
+fumble. McMurtry, playing his first game at full back in the final
+quarter, stood on his nineteen yards and attempted to punt. High school
+broke through and McMurtry thought better of punting and ran. He ran
+straight across the gridiron and might not have stopped his crablike
+progress then if he hadn’t tripped on the edge of the cinder track and
+allowed an opponent to grab him. A facetious youth in the stand offered
+the explanation that McMurtry had thought he heard the horn and was
+taking the ball back to the gymnasium.
+
+The task of punting was next assigned to Treader, and Treader made
+a somewhat better job of it. At least he got the ball away, even if
+it didn’t go more than twenty yards! High school tried a fair catch,
+missed it and chased the ball to the side line. Then, or soon after, it
+occurred to some one to stop the game.
+
+Not a very satisfactory start for a successful season you’d have
+thought, but “G. G.” didn’t seem at all perturbed. Indeed, he even
+found a word or two of commendation for several of the players who had
+taken part in the comedy which had ended the entertainment. Clif was
+one of the commended. Just for a dreadful instant he suspected “G. G.”
+of sarcasm, but apparently the coach spoke in good faith. What he said
+was: “Not bad, Bingham. When you learn to use your hands more you’ll
+be useful.” Perhaps that doesn’t sound like praise, but for “G. G.” it
+was almost fulsome!
+
+By the first of the following week Number 40 West Hall was more to
+Tom’s liking. The north window seat was almost hidden by four fat,
+frilled pillows purchased in the local stores. One was covered with
+brown leather on which was painted a blue canoe floating on yellow
+water. A lady of surpassing beauty reposed in the bow, one hand
+trailing in the vivid stream. A handsome youth occupied the stern, a
+paddle across his knees and a large W on his white sweater. At one side
+was a very green tree and above was a purple moon. At least Tom said it
+was a moon while Clif held out for having it a toy balloon. Then there
+were two red pillows, one undeniably crimson, the other verging on the
+magenta. The magenta one was adorned with an Old English W. The fourth
+and last artistic effort was Tom’s special joy. It was formed, as to
+one side, of cigar ribbons of various hues of yellow and red. The other
+side was less beautiful, being merely a square of pink sateen. Tom had
+obtained that pillow at a real bargain in the village stationery store
+conducted by an American citizen named Poppidalopous. “Poppy” as, for
+evident reasons, he was known, informed Tom that the elegant article
+had been made by Mrs. Poppidalopous’ own fair hands and that the task
+had required several months. Tom, who was aware that “Poppy” was the
+proud father of some six round-faced Greek-American children, could
+easily believe that “Mrs. Poppy” would find it difficult to attain
+such a noble result in less than several months without boarding the
+children out! He paid the modest sum of two dollars and eighty cents
+for the prize, inducing “Poppy” to knock off twenty cents because he
+had failed to receive two Sunday papers last term.
+
+Tom got a great deal of pleasure reading the inscriptions on the cigar
+ribbons in moments of relaxation. At such times, luxuriously imposed
+on the crimson and magenta cushions――one didn’t lean against the
+leather pillow on account of the painting――he placed the Poppidalopous
+masterpiece against his knees and perused it, turning it around as
+he proceeded. Since he generally read aloud, this was a form of
+entertainment enjoyed more by Tom than by Clif. Clif declared that
+he could stand it better if it wasn’t for the constant recurrence of
+the word “Aurelia.” He didn’t like “Aurelia” in the first place, he
+said, and it didn’t improve, in his judgment, for being reiterated. He
+suspected that “Aurelia” was a cheap cigar, possibly a five center, and
+that Mrs. Poppidalopous had cheated in putting so many “Aurelias” into
+the pillow cover. They had long and heated arguments on the subject.
+Tom was certain――or said he was――that the “Aurelia” cigar was a very
+excellent and high priced article and that Mrs. Poppi――well, Clif knew
+what he wanted to say!――had so generously included the ribbons solely
+to enhance the value of the pillow and, as it were, lend it class
+and distinction. Tom challenged Clif to produce any one who had ever
+purchased a genuine “Aurelia” for less than thirty-five cents!
+
+Photographs were also liberally displayed in Number 40, and a large
+blue banner bearing the word “Wyndham” in white letters hung from
+the molding along one wall. Three pictures adorned as many sides of
+the room, a pair of snowshoes were crossed above Clif’s chiffonier
+and a pair of almost unsullied boxing gloves dangled above Tom’s.
+Incidentally, it may be confided that Tom could use the boxing gloves
+quite as scientifically as Clif could manipulate the snowshoes, and as
+Clif had almost suffocated in a snow bank last winter before assistance
+had reached him and disentangled his shoes you may fairly assume that,
+while Tom was always cheerfully willing to scrap, as a boxer he was no
+great shakes. Tom was highly pleased with the appearance of the room
+and gave it as his opinion that it was pure selfishness not to share
+its attractions with others. It would, he suggested, be a charitable
+act to hold a housewarming some evening and allow less fortunate
+fellows to see what genuine luxury was. Clif agreed to the suggestion
+and the following Friday evening was settled on for the event. They had
+some difficulty in drawing up a list of guests because Tom objected on
+general principles to Clif’s nominees and Clif objected to Tom’s. But
+they finally agreed on eight fortunate fellows and then took up the
+subject of refreshments. As Tom had spent nearly all his last allowance
+money on pillows for the window seat, he was in favor of something
+modest in the way of food.
+
+“Crackers and some of that zippy cheese that Danforth carries ought to
+do,” he said. “And, of course, some pop; ginger ale for choice; only it
+costs more. You see, Clif, ostentation in the matter of refreshments
+is vulgar. The best people are going in for simplicity, old timer. I
+guess some of that sympathetic orange juice will be better than ginger
+ale; Orange Slush, you know, or whatever they call it.”
+
+“The last time I drank that stuff,” replied Clif distastefully, “I
+nearly passed out. Only had three bottles of it, too. No, sir, no
+synthetic fruit juice for this affair. We’ll have ginger ale, and the
+best sort, too. And crackers and cheese may be the proper caper in New
+Jersey, Tom, but where I come from a housewarming calls for real chow.”
+
+“Well, what do you call real chow?” asked Tom anxiously.
+
+“Hot dogs and rolls, olives, ginger cookies, bananas and ginger ale,”
+replied Clif triumphantly.
+
+“That what you get at parties in Providence?” inquired the other
+incredulously. “Heck, that sounds like a village picnic! No――no
+restraint! No taste! Why――”
+
+“Taste? You’re crazy! That stuff’s full of taste! We’ll have plenty of
+mustard for the hot dogs, and――or do you prefer sauerkraut?”
+
+“Help!” yelped Tom. “Say, who’s going to pay for this banquet? I’m
+mighty near broke.”
+
+“Fifty-fifty,” answered Clif. “I’ll foot the bill and you come across
+next pay day with your half. We might leave out the olives, I suppose,”
+he added reflectively. “Lots of fellows don’t care to waste time on
+them.”
+
+“That’s right. Olives are scratched. And aren’t bananas a bit heavy
+after hot dogs, Clif? I’ve got my digestion to think of, old timer. It
+isn’t what――” Tom stopped abruptly and his jaw dropped. “Why, you crazy
+loon,” he exclaimed, “we’ll be at training table by Friday and can’t
+eat that mess!”
+
+“Gosh, that’s so! Table starts Wednesday, doesn’t it? Bananas are
+scratched, too, Tom!”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+
+                       CLIF MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE
+
+
+Last year Clif had roomed in Number 17 on the floor below with Walter
+Treat. They had got along exceedingly well together and Clif had a
+real liking for Walt. So far this term he hadn’t seen Walt for more
+than an instant, and then merely to shake hands hurriedly and exchange
+greetings. He wondered whether his former roommate resented his leaving
+him for Tom. Last spring, when he had announced his intention of
+pairing with Tom in the fall, Walt had been as nice as pie about it,
+but somehow since coming back Clif had acquired the notion that Walt
+had felt a trifle hurt and that he wasn’t going to be as friendly as
+before. All along Clif had meant to stop in at Number 17 and make a
+call, but life had been very busy, and then, too, the suspicion that
+Walt might not care a great deal about seeing him had made it easy to
+postpone the visit. Now, however, since Walter Treat’s name was down on
+the list of guests for the housewarming, it was indubitably up to Clif
+to call and deliver the invitation in person. So on Wednesday, after
+practice, he parted from Tom in the hall below and made his way to
+Number 17.
+
+He had tried to prevail on Tom to accompany him, but Tom had presented
+one excuse after another. As a matter of fact, Tom held much the same
+doubt as Clif did regarding Walter’s sentiment toward them. He liked
+Walt, although there had been a time when he couldn’t abide the other’s
+somewhat high-brow manner. Later, finding that it was no more than a
+manner and that, even if one did hail from Boston, one could be quite
+human, he had accepted the other without reservations. Still, he was
+willing that Clif should make the overtures and determine Walt’s
+attitude. After all, he told himself extenuatingly, it wasn’t his
+funeral. Just the same he felt a bit traitorous as he climbed the next
+flight, and would have gone back had Clif made another plea.
+
+Clif’s knock on the portal of Number 17 was answered by a strange voice
+and he entered to find the well-remembered room in possession of a
+startlingly large youth who, seated at the study table, was observing
+him with grave inquiry. This fellow, Clif reflected, was, of course,
+Walt’s new roommate, and, although he didn’t know the chap’s name,
+memory connected him with a momentary glimpse of an astoundingly broad
+pair of shoulders obtained in the corridor of Middle Hall a day or
+two before. The large chap had a pleasant voice, and Clif found his
+drawling enunciation and odd accent interesting.
+
+“Walt’s out,” replied the fellow in reply to Clif’s inquiry. “Maybe you
+can see that for yourself, though. Guess he’ll be along in two, three
+minutes, stranger. Have a seat.”
+
+“No, I’d better come again,” said Clif. “It’s getting toward six
+o’clock. Just tell him, will you, that Clif Bingham called, and that
+I’ll drop around later.”
+
+“Sure will.” The big chap’s sun-burnt and freckled countenance broke
+into a wide and engaging smile. “You’re the Bingham that’s on the
+football team, ain’t you? Pleased to meet you. My name’s Parks.” The
+speaker arose cumbrously from his seat and held out a broad hand.
+Accepting it, Clif discovered that Mr. Parks had a mighty grip and that
+the inside of the hand had something of the quality of a board.
+
+“Thanks,” responded Clif, opening and closing his fingers in an effort
+to restore circulation. “Very glad to know you, Parks, too. Well, I’ll
+drop in again.”
+
+“Shucks, better stay and wait for him.” Parks seized a chair and swung
+it around on one leg with a mighty thud. “Sit down and talk a minute,
+won’t you?”
+
+“Well――” began Clif again. Then he found himself in the chair, induced
+partly by Parks’ friendly grin and partly by a big brown hand.
+
+“Can’t get folks to talk to me here,” proceeded the host, returning to
+his own seat and lowering himself into it with slow, awkward movements.
+“Seems like every one’s too busy to sit down and pass the time with a
+fellow. Out where I come from folks is――are more neighborly.”
+
+“Where’s that?” inquired Clif.
+
+“Wyoming. That’s my state. Ever been to Wyoming?” Clif shook his head.
+He had been through it on a train, but he knew that Parks wouldn’t call
+that a visit. “You ought to,” the other drawled on. “Finest state in
+the union. Providence is my town.”
+
+“What?” exclaimed Clif.
+
+“I said Providence was where I live――or did live.” Parks looked a bit
+wistful after the correction.
+
+“Well, I live in Providence, too,” laughed Clif. “That’s why I was
+surprised. Providence, Rhode Island, though.”
+
+“You don’t say? Rhode Island? That’s the smallest state there is, ain’t
+it? Course size ain’t a heap important, though.”
+
+“No, and so I guess your Providence is quite as nice as mine,” replied
+Clif. Parks grinned. Then he chuckled, and when he chuckled he had an
+odd trick of pressing curved fingers against his generous mouth, as
+though laughing was an indiscretion. “Shucks, I’d like for you to see
+my Providence, Bingham. There ain’t nothing there but about thirty
+houses. Wasn’t, anyhow. Guess it’s built up some now, maybe. Probably
+you can’t see the house no more for the oil rigs.”
+
+“Oh, it’s oil country, eh?” asked Clif interestedly. “I’ve always
+wanted to see an oil field.”
+
+“Guess there ain’t much to see,” said the other gloomily, “but a heap
+of dirt. Derricks ain’t awful pretty, and once those oil fellows get
+in, a place just goes to pot. I get sort of homesick for Providence now
+and then, but, shucks, I guess I wouldn’t want to go back there if I
+was to see what it looks like now.”
+
+“Are you――I mean are your folks interested in oil wells, Parks?”
+
+“Yeah, some interested. It was like this. Pop owned a mighty nice half
+section out yonder and we was――were, I mean――doing right well on it.
+Had one of the finest houses in the country. Pretty, too, Bingham.”
+The voice sounded wistful. “You could stand on the front porch and see
+about eighty miles any direction. There was Big Butte, looking like you
+could throw a clod and hit it, and the Wind River Range over yonder――”
+Parks’ voice trailed away into silence.
+
+“It must be fine,” agreed Clif after a moment.
+
+“Well, I don’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t admire it so much. You got to
+be born out thataway, I guess. Anyhow, it was a mighty nice ranch until
+that ornery oil man came along.” Parks pulled one big foot across a
+knee and eased further down in the chair. His face was rather square,
+and the fading light from the windows behind him left it in a warm
+shadow that blurred the features. Just then Clif felt embarrassingly
+alien to the big youth. “That was last spring,” Parks went on. “He told
+pop he figured there was oil on the ranch and wanted to sink a well.
+Pop told him he’d better figure how to get off the place before he went
+in for his shotgun. But the fellow come――came back in a little while,
+and he was a good talker and pop finally said he could go ahead and
+dig over in a corner of the eighty where the alfalfa was. Pop didn’t
+put much stock in the fellow’s talk, you see. Course there’d been oil
+discovered plenty of places before that, but none of ’em was nigh us.
+Well, they drilled and first thing we knew there was oil spouting all
+over the alfalfa field! Plumb ruined the crop before they got the cap
+on.”
+
+“Gosh,” said Clif. “That must have been exciting!”
+
+Parks viewed him dubiously. “I don’t know. Yes, it was exciting, I
+guess, but pop wasn’t so pleased. We needed that hay, for one thing,
+and then, of course, a lot more oil fellows came piling in on us with
+papers all ready to sign. Pop tried to shoo ’em away, but they was like
+flies――_were_ like flies, I mean――round a sugar barrel! You could swat
+a few, but others would come instead. They were milling around thick
+pretty soon, and derricks was going up here and there for miles around.
+Finally Pop seen――saw there wasn’t any use trying to farm a piece of
+land that had oil under it and he give――gave up. Say, it’s sort of hard
+learning to talk grammatical, ain’t it? But maybe you was brought up to
+it.” Parks sighed and shook his head. “Me, I’m having one awful time!”
+
+Clif laughed. “I like the way you talk, Parks,” he answered. “However,
+you needn’t worry. They’ll have you speaking like all the rest of us in
+a month. Which, to my thinking, will be a shame.”
+
+“Yeah? Well, I don’t know. Ma’s strong for having me talk proper, like
+eastern folks. That’s why I come here. So―― Say, I said ‘come’ instead
+of ‘came’ again, didn’t I? Shucks, I’ve got a memory about as long as a
+piece of wire! Well, let’s see. Where was I?”
+
+“You said your father had to give in finally.”
+
+“Oh, yes! That’s sure right. There wasn’t any sense trying to live
+there and fight off oil fellows every minute, so pop gave in. He sold
+half the ranch. They wanted it all, but he wouldn’t do it. Ma’s got a
+sister living in New York state, place called Albia, and she wanted
+us to come east and spend the summer. Said we could go back home in
+the fall and pop could look around for another ranch. Pop said he’d be
+switched if he’d do anything of the sort.”
+
+The narrator arose, walked to the door and turned the light switch.
+“Guess all this is sort of tiresome, Bingham. So long since I got a
+chance to do any talking I don’t know when to quit.”
+
+“It isn’t tiresome a bit,” protested Clif. “I want to hear it. But
+doesn’t Walt talk? He used to.”
+
+“Yeah, he talks.” Parks grinned. “I said _me_.”
+
+“Oh,” Clif laughed. “You mean Walt wants to do all of it.”
+
+“Well, I don’t know as I ought to say that exactly. I guess what I mean
+is that we don’t like to talk about the same things. He’s a pretty nice
+fellow, though, ain’t he? Well, as I was telling, we hopped a train
+long in June――”
+
+“But you weren’t! You said your father refused to leave.”
+
+“Yeah,” agreed Parks dryly; “but ma didn’t. Ma generally gets her way.
+So we come――gosh ding it, _came!_――east in June and visited Aunt Lida.
+Pop was so blame homesick, though, you’d pity him, and it wasn’t long
+before he went off to New York City and got him a job. Course he didn’t
+need it, because――” Parks hesitated and shot a doubtful glance at his
+audience――“well, you see, with them wells shooting their heads off and
+pop getting so much on every barrel, it wasn’t necessary he should.”
+
+“In other words,” said Clif, smiling at the other’s embarrassment,
+“you’re disgustingly wealthy now!”
+
+Parks grinned apologetically. “That’s about it,” he acknowledged. “Got
+more money than we know what to do with. Kind of a shame, too, for we
+don’t need it. Pop gets right worried at times, it piles up on him so.
+Said the other day he wished the tarnation wells would give out. But
+they ain’t doing it. They’re getting worse! Ma, she seems to like being
+rich. Says she don’t care if she never sees Wyoming again, but I guess
+that’s just talk. Still, at that, a woman has a pretty dull time of it
+on a ranch, and works pretty hard, too. Maybe she’s got a good right to
+like living in a New York hotel for a while.”
+
+“You said your father got a job, Parks. What sort of a job was it?”
+
+“Well, he found a man had a harness store over on the east side――or
+maybe west side――no, east side’s right――and he got a job with him.
+Then, long in August, he bought the man out. Fellow was glad enough to
+sell, I guess, for the harness business in New York’s about as dead as
+the ice business in Greenland. Pop got stung, I guess, and he’s sort of
+sore about it, too. Don’t hardly make his rent, and that’s worrying him
+like anything.”
+
+“But if he has so much money already――”
+
+“Yeah, but pop don’t like the idea of taking hold of a thing and not
+making it pay, you see. That’s what’s eating him. Shucks, seems like
+he’s done more worrying since we left Wyoming than he ever did before,
+long’s I’ve known him!”
+
+“How long is that?” asked Clif.
+
+“Eighteen years. Kind of old to be in the second class here, ain’t I?
+I told ma I was, too, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s dead set on having
+me gentled. Some lady she met at the hotel told her about this school
+and nothing would do but for me to come here. And here I am, a regular
+longhorn!”
+
+“Oh, you’ll like it after you’ve been here a while,” Clif assured him.
+“It’s a corking good school.”
+
+“Guess I like it all right now,” replied Parks reflectively. “Question
+is, does it like me? I ain’t properly broke to harness, Bingham, I
+guess. Fellows here are sort of――sort of――now what’s the word I’m
+after?――sort of clannish, aren’t they?”
+
+“Mm, well, yes, I dare say, Parks. I suppose they are at all schools.
+But that doesn’t mean that you can’t join the clan. Fact is, old man,
+you’re just about the sort that goes big with us effete easterners. We
+get kind of tired of our own sort, you see.”
+
+“Yeah? Well, I don’t know. Maybe I can horn into the herd after a
+spell. I’m sure obliged to you for letting me talk to you, Bingham. I
+was getting scared my tongue would get stiff in the joints from lack of
+exercise. Say, I don’t know what’s keeping Walt. He went out more’n an
+hour ago.”
+
+“Never mind,” replied Clif, rising. “Just say I was here and that I’ll
+be back this evening some time. I haven’t had a talk with him since I
+got back.”
+
+“You and him was together here last year, weren’t you?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+The big fellow sighed. “Guess you were more his style. Well, I’ll tell
+him you were asking for him.”
+
+“Thanks.” Clif lingered, his hand on the knob. Then: “By the way,
+Parks,” he announced, “my roommate and I are having a little shindig
+next Friday evening. Tom――Tom Kemble――calls it a housewarming. I came
+to ask Walt to come to it. He may not want to, but, whether he does or
+doesn’t, I wish you’d come, Parks.”
+
+“Me?” Parks looked startled. “Shucks, you don’t want me to your party,
+Bingham! I――I wouldn’t know what to say!”
+
+“Oh, it isn’t a party at all. Just half a dozen――well, eight or nine
+fellows, you know, and something to eat. About nine o’clock, or as soon
+as you get through study. We’re going to get permits to run the show
+until ten-thirty. Don’t forget, now!”
+
+“Well, I don’t know,” drawled Parks, shifting his weight to the other
+foot beside the table. “Maybe if Walt goes, though――”
+
+“Righto! I’m counting on you.”
+
+Outside in the corridor Clif had a moment of regret. After all, Parks
+didn’t know any of the others, save Walt, and perhaps he had been silly
+to ask him. However, it was done.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VI
+
+                           THE “HOUSEWARMING”
+
+
+Tom was almost irritable when Clif confessed that he had asked Parks to
+the party, and Clif’s description of the chap didn’t seem to reassure
+him. “Sort of a queer specimen,” detailed Clif as he hurriedly prepared
+for supper. “About two sizes larger than ‘Big Bill’ Fargo was last
+year. Has a lot of hair that stands up on top and makes him look
+taller. Slow moving, like an elephant, and just about as――as ponderous.
+Not bad looking. Broad across the forehead, an indication of brains
+unfortunately lacking with you, Tommy. What sort of got me, though, was
+his――well, kind of helplessness. He’s a bit uncouth――no, that isn’t
+just it, either. He reminds you of a piece of homemade furniture;
+strong and dependable, you know, and not bad to look at, but lacking
+finish. Rough around the corners. And the grain showing――”
+
+“Oh, shut up,” said Tom. “Who cares? What I want to know is――”
+
+“Nice eyes and a big mouth that――”
+
+“――is why we have to be saddled with him? He doesn’t know any of the
+others, does he?”
+
+“Don’t believe so,” answered Clif cheerfully. “Don’t believe he’s――what
+were his words now?――‘horned in’ yet. That’s one reason I asked him.
+He’s going to be quite a hit when he gets known, and you and I, old
+son, will get the credit for introducing him to society.”
+
+“You’re plumb crazy,” said Tom in plaintive disgust. “Oh, all right,
+only don’t expect me to hold his little hand. He’s your guest,
+remember.”
+
+“Fair enough! You’ll like him, though, when you get to know him. All
+set? Let’s go, then.”
+
+Clif didn’t have to return to Number 17 that evening to extend an
+invitation to Walter Treat, for, as luck had it, Walter was in the
+corridor when Clif and Tom came out from supper and joined them.
+
+“Hello, Tom,” he greeted. “How are you?”
+
+“First rate, thanks,” replied Tom, shaking hands and viewing the other
+appraisingly. “How’s yourself?”
+
+“Fine, I think. Fact is, I’ve been on the go so much since I got
+back that I haven’t had time to consider that important question. My
+roommate said you called, Clif, and left word you wanted to see me. Saw
+you coming out and thought I’d wait.”
+
+“Why, yes.” Walt’s manner was so cordial that Clif felt vastly relieved
+and even grateful, and the fact induced an enthusiasm that may have
+surprised the other. “Tom and I are having a kind of blow-out Friday
+night in our room, Walt, and we want you to be sure and come. Just a
+sort of housewarming, as Tom calls it, with six or seven fellows and
+some eats. How about it?”
+
+“Glad to,” answered Walt. “By the way, what’s the number?”
+
+“Forty. On the corner, just around from where Tom was last year. About
+nine o’clock. And, by the way, I asked Parks to come.”
+
+Walt smiled. “Did he accept?”
+
+“Well, sort of. Conditionally, as you might say. If you came, he seemed
+to think he would.”
+
+“Really? Well, that’s odd. You must have charmed him, Clif. He’s the
+shyest chap for his size and age I ever ran onto. I’ve tried to pull
+him about, but he won’t stir for me. Did he happen to tell you his
+name?”
+
+“Yes, Parks.”
+
+“I mean his first name. It’s Lemueljohn.”
+
+“It’s _what_?” demanded Clif.
+
+“Lemueljohn,” chuckled Walt. “At least that’s the way it sounds. Of
+course, it’s really two words.”
+
+“Sounds like a breakfast food,” commented Tom boredly.
+
+“He explained that he’s named after his father and that in order to
+differentiate, so to speak, he has always been called Lemuel John. But
+as he says it, you’d swear it was all one name! Well, I’ll bring him
+along if he will come, fellows. Thanks. See you again.”
+
+“Lemuel John,” muttered Tom, as Walt went on toward the recreation
+room. “He must be a prize!”
+
+Football grew strenuous by Thursday of that second week of school.
+The Highland game was due on Saturday, and in Highland would be found
+an opponent vastly different from the local high school. Coach Otis
+more than half expected a defeat, although he didn’t say so, unless to
+Captain Ogden or Quarter Back Houston. But he didn’t intend to accept
+defeat without struggling against it, and so on Thursday a hastily
+organized scrub team made its bow and offered some fair opposition. The
+scrub was coached by Mr. Babcock, the Physical Director, familiarly
+known as “Cocky.” So far, however, “Cocky” hadn’t had time to impart
+much wisdom to his charges, and if the first team hadn’t been as
+ragged as it was the scrub wouldn’t have provided very good practice.
+As it happened, though, Mr. Babcock’s aggregation did very well for
+themselves, especially on Friday when, during a single fifteen-minute
+scrimmage, Mr. Otis loaned the enemy a center and a left tackle in the
+persons of Pat Tyson and “Wink” Coles. Clif played opposite “Wink” that
+afternoon and, although they were extremely good friends, was used
+quite brutally. Afterwards “Wink” seated himself by Clif in the locker
+room and imparted advice.
+
+“Listen, Clif,” said “Wink,” chastely attired in a large but rather
+soiled bath towel, “you’ve got to use your hands more, son. I got to
+you lots of times to-day. You don’t want to let the other guy into
+you on defense, see? Keep him off with your hands. Like this, see?
+Shoulder――head――this way――swing him aside――pull him down!” “Wink”
+illustrated with quick gestures. “You’ve got to be shifty, too. Don’t
+let the other fellow find you flat-footed. Keep moving. Keep him
+guessing. Another thing, too. On attack, now. Don’t charge the same way
+twice running. You use your shoulder too much. Lots of times you can do
+better by slipping around your man. If you can’t, give him a straight
+arm for a change, or bust square into him and go on over. If a guy’s
+looking for a shoulder and gets set for it he can’t stop a straight
+charge so easy. See what I mean? Don’t get stuck on any one style, old
+son. Variety, eh? Spice of life, Clif!”
+
+“I’ve got a heap to learn about playing tackle,” answered Clif
+ruefully. “Much obliged, ‘Wink.’”
+
+“That’s all right. Glad you aren’t peeved at me trying to give you
+tips. Tackle’s new to you, and there’s little things you don’t catch
+onto right off, see? Thought I’d just mention it, you know.”
+
+“Mighty decent of you,” answered Clif. “Especially as we’re both after
+the same job!”
+
+“Wink” shrugged. “I don’t expect to make it this year, Clif. You and
+Weldon have both got the call on me. Still and all, I’ll give you a
+dinged good run for your money!”
+
+“Come a-bustin’, old chap! By the way, don’t forget the blow-out
+to-night.”
+
+“Not so’s you’d notice it! I’ll be on hand. As the fellow with the hare
+lip said: ‘Iyawyawyawfluller!’”
+
+“What’s it in English?” laughed Clif as the other hurried toward the
+showers.
+
+“‘I’m all of a flutter!’” translated “Wink.”
+
+The “housewarming” went off very well that evening, although not much
+in the way of entertainment was provided by the hosts aside from a
+free and untrammeled opportunity for indulgence in conversation. Seven
+guests attended, all that had been invited, filling Number 40 from
+side to side and end to end. Football was well represented by Billy
+Desmond, “Wink” Coles, “Swede” Hanbury, Jeff Adams and, of course, the
+hosts. Literature attended in the person of Walter Treat, this year an
+assistant editor of the school monthly, _The Lantern_. With Walt was
+Lemuel John, looking a bit bigger than Clif remembered him. Lemuel John
+had donned an intensely purple shirt for the occasion. Loring Deane
+completed the list, his wheel chair backed up alongside Tom’s bed so
+that, in case the party got a trifle rough, he would be out of danger.
+
+Lemuel John was not the only sizable youth present, for both Desmond
+and Hanbury approached six feet. Billy was in the first class this year
+and was certain of the right guard position on the eleven. “Swede”
+Hanbury――his real name was Joe――would have been the logical first
+choice for full back if Captain Jeff Ogden hadn’t changed from half to
+full last year. It’s a fairly difficult feat to beat the captain out,
+and Joe was resigned to being a second-string player this season. But,
+as large as Billy and Joe were, Lemuel John still had it over them
+for size. He was possibly a half inch taller than Billy, a full inch
+broader than “Swede” and many pounds heavier than either.
+
+Jeff Adams was an end candidate and at the present time was giving
+Drayton a hard fight for the left wing position. Jeff and “Wink” had
+served with Clif and Tom last season on the second team, the “Fighting
+Scrub,” as it had been called, and were consequently more than mere
+friends. As Tom put it, the four had “fit, bled and died together!”
+Jeff’s appearance was misleading. He looked stodgy and sleepy and moved
+and talked as he looked――until the whistle blew. Then Jeff was quite
+another person. “Wink” was a snapping-eyed youth with red cheeks and a
+general air of “go-get-it.”
+
+Conversation didn’t really flow well until the “eats” had been set out,
+and, since they had but an hour and twenty-odd minutes at the most
+for the party, Clif and Tom didn’t keep their guests waiting long. Of
+course the original menu had been painfully cut down. There were no hot
+dogs, no bananas, no “zippy” cheese. As valuable an article of diet as
+cheese may be, it doesn’t sit on the stomach very quietly when partaken
+of at around ten o’clock at night. The same may be said of bananas,
+while as for “wiennies”――well, a certain amount of physical exercise is
+necessary to subdue those delectable viands. However, if such things
+were taboo, football training, so far as the diet was concerned, was
+fairly lenient, and sandwiches of chicken and of minced ham, plenty of
+ice cream, vanilla wafers and unlimited ginger ale answered very well
+indeed. The hosts made up in quantity what was lacking in variety, and
+the guests did full justice to the repast.
+
+It was during a comparative lull in the conversation that Billy
+Desmond, who had been regarding Lemuel John furtively for some time,
+inquired: “I haven’t seen you out on the field, have I, Parks?”
+
+“I’ve been there three, four times,” answered Lemuel John.
+
+It appeared that others had been curious on the subject, for there
+was almost a complete cessation of voices in the room as Lemuel John
+answered. The answer was followed by an exchange of inquiring looks.
+Then Billy said, puzzled: “Three or four times? Why don’t you come out
+every day? What are you trying for?”
+
+It was Walt who explained. “He thought you were asking if he watched
+practice, Billy. He doesn’t play.”
+
+“He doesn’t!” Billy stared at Lemuel John in unconcealed amazement. “He
+looks like he ought to. Haven’t you ever played, Parks?”
+
+“No, I never saw much of football until this fall. I saw a game at
+Cheyenne once, but I didn’t understand it very well. It’s sort of
+interesting, ain’t it? I guess I saw you playing it one day, didn’t I?”
+
+“You might have,” replied Billy soberly. “Wink,” however, chuckled
+audibly, and Lemuel John, whose shyness had somewhat diminished with
+the arrival of food, looked embarrassed and twisted one foot around the
+leg of his chair until the wood creaked alarmingly. Tom went to his
+rescue. “Mean to say, Parks, that they haven’t been after you?”
+
+“Who’s that?” asked the other.
+
+“Well, Guy Owens or some of the football fellows.”
+
+“Oh, asking me to learn the game? Yes, a fellow named――named New, I
+guess, was around bedeviling me the other day. He said he was the
+manager. He said he’d like for me to play――”
+
+“He’s assistant manager,” corrected Walt rather unnecessarily.
+
+“Still, he might have called himself manager, at that,” laughed Clif.
+“Steve’s feeling his oats a bit this year.”
+
+“What did you tell him?” demanded Tom.
+
+“Oh, I said I didn’t know anything about the game. He said it wouldn’t
+take me long to learn. Said the coach could teach me quick enough.
+But, shucks, I knew better. I don’t learn that easy. Why, I was all one
+winter learning how to play chess!”
+
+“Keno!” exclaimed Loring. “You’re mine, Parks!”
+
+“Huh?” Lemuel John faced this new distraction with a blank expression
+on his big countenance. “What did you say, stranger?”
+
+“I said you were mine,” laughed Loring. “If you play chess you’re the
+man I’m looking for. You see, Parks, most of these dubs don’t know
+the game. All they can master is football or baseball or one of those
+low-brow sports. I suppose they lack the mentality for chess.”
+
+Lemuel John’s gaze passed leisurely over Loring and came to rest on the
+rug that covered him from the waist down. “You a crip?” he asked rather
+gently.
+
+There was the sound of a gasp from some one, and an uncomfortable
+silence endured for a brief instant. Then Loring answered, smiling:
+“Yes, something of the sort. I can’t use my legs. That’s why chess is
+the most strenuous sport I go in for.”
+
+Lemuel John nodded. “Yeah, I see. Well, I’ll be glad to play with you
+any time. I ain’t much good at it yet, but I’m learning. I guess it’s
+pretty tough not to be able to walk around.” He continued to gaze at
+Loring, his rather light blue eyes puckered in thought. Then: “You
+don’t look very heavy,” he added. “Guess I could tote you easy if there
+was some place you wanted to go any time.”
+
+“Thanks,” answered Loring gratefully. “I’ll remember that.”
+
+“Yeah, I’d be glad to,” said Lemuel John.
+
+“Big boob!” murmured Walt in Clif’s ear. Clif looked over at Tom,
+expecting to find that youth signaling “What did I tell you about
+asking that guy up here?” Instead, though, Tom was regarding Lemuel
+John rather kindly, and “I’ll fetch him over some evening, Loring,” he
+announced. “And I sure hope he licks the stuffing out of you!”
+
+Jeff Adams swung the conversation to football the next moment. “Who’s
+taking the trip to-morrow, Billy?” he asked lazily.
+
+“To Highland? I haven’t heard, Jeff. Guy said there’d be about
+twenty-five of us, though. That lets us all in, I suppose.”
+
+“Well, it lets you in,” said “Wink,” “but it’s a dollar to a bean that
+I don’t get there.”
+
+“Sure you will,” said Tom. “Who’s going to keep the water bucket
+filled?”
+
+“Sit on a tack,” responded “Wink” graciously. “And toss me a couple of
+cookies, while you’re up.”
+
+“I’m not up,” said Tom; “but when hospitality calls I respond with
+alacrity. Clif, attend to the gentleman’s wants.”
+
+Clif passed a box of cookies and then busied himself with ginger ale.
+“Mighty few of the fellows going along, I guess,” said “Swede,” who,
+stretched at full length of Clif’s bed, accepted a new bottle and
+tilted it over his mouth. “Too far, probably.”
+
+“Too expensive,” said Walt. “It’s all right for you fellows, making the
+trip in nice, comfortable automobiles, but the rest of us――”
+
+“Say, we’ve got the new buses, haven’t we?” exclaimed “Wink.” “Gee, I
+hope I get to go!”
+
+“You wouldn’t go to a game if it was in the next village, Walt,” said
+Clif. “You’ve no more patriotism than a worm.”
+
+“Patriotism,” began Walt indignantly.
+
+“He’s going to-morrow,” announced Lemuel John calmly. “I told him I’d
+pay the fares if he would.”
+
+There was a gleeful howl at that, through which Walt declared
+defiantly: “Sure, why not? Think I’ve got enough coin to go traipsing
+all over the country? Do you know how much it costs to get to Highland
+and back?”
+
+“You should worry,” chuckled “Swede.” “At that, I dare say you’ll turn
+in the expense to _The Lantern_!”
+
+“A fat chance!” said Walt. “Gosh, I even have to buy my own typewriter
+ribbons!”
+
+“Who’s going to win, Billy?” asked Loring.
+
+“Wyndham,” replied the right guard.
+
+“I’ll bet we don’t,” said “Wink.” “Highland’s laying for us this time,
+Billy.”
+
+“Let her lay,” retorted Billy untroubledly. “She’s beaten already. Know
+why? Because she’s scared of us, ‘Wink.’ Got so she thinks she always
+has to lose to us. Psychology, kid.”
+
+“Psychology my eye!” said “Wink.” “What about last year?”
+
+“We won. Nine to nothing, wasn’t it?”
+
+“Sure, we won! I didn’t say we didn’t. But we had one gosh-awful time
+doing it, didn’t we? Got a lucky field goal in the first half and then
+couldn’t do a thing until the game was nearly over. If Highland had
+had any sort of an offense――”
+
+“If,” said Billy dryly. “She didn’t have. She won’t have to-morrow. Or,
+if she does, then she’ll be weak on defense. We’ll win, kid. Something
+like twenty to nothing. Well, allow Highland a field goal, if you like.”
+
+“‘G. G.’” said Clif, “was pretty doubtful about to-morrow’s game a week
+or so back.”
+
+“He has a right to be,” declared “Wink.” “Billy can talk like that if
+it gives him any pleasure, but I’m telling you we haven’t got the steam
+to run up any twenty points against Highland. Our back field’s as slow
+as cold molasses!”
+
+“That’s right, blame it on the back field,” said Tom. “What about a
+line that can’t open a hole for you to squeeze through because they’re
+dead on their feet? That doesn’t make any difference, eh?”
+
+“Oh, I’m not saying much for the line, either,” answered “Wink.”
+“The truth is that the whole team is just about a week behind. And
+Highland’s been practicing for nearly a month, I’ll bet. Maybe we’ll
+beat ’em, but you guys won’t be on the long end of any twenty-nothing
+score!”
+
+“Just so we win,” said Clif. “That’s all I’m hoping. What I’d like
+to see is the old team come through the season with a clean slate,
+fellows.”
+
+“Some one kill him while he’s happy,” suggested Tom. “We’ve got as much
+chance of doing that as――as I have to get through left guard to-morrow!”
+
+“You’ll get through left guard all right, Tom, if you don’t fall over
+your feet,” said Billy comfortably. “But I can’t keep the hole open for
+you more than five or six minutes.”
+
+“I don’t see that it’s impossible,” said Clif earnestly. “Our
+schedule’s no harder than usual and we’re well fixed for players this
+year. I’ll bet that if we really set out to do it we could.”
+
+“Maybe so, Clif,” said “Swede,” disposing of his empty bottle by
+tucking it under the pillow. “Maybe so if Otis would let us. But he
+won’t.”
+
+“How do you mean? Why won’t he? I said the same thing to him and he
+talked like he thought it would be fine!”
+
+“Sure enough, but here’s the point, young feller, me lad. ‘G. G.’ won’t
+point for any game but the last one. If we set out to win every contest
+we might do it. I mean if ‘G. G.’ set out to do it. But he won’t. He
+will use every game as a step toward Wolcott, not caring much whether
+we win or lose as long as we’re a bit further along. See what I mean,
+Clif? Take to-morrow’s game. If we were to get through the season
+without a licking we’d have to take the Highland game, of course. That
+would mean doing a bit of preparation. Learning what Highland has and
+finding a way to stop it. Going up with a few ground-gaining plays
+instead of the rag-tag of last year’s stuff that we have. Same way with
+the Jordan game and the Cupples and all the rest of them right through
+the fall. We’d have to point for each game as it came along and not use
+it just as a practice stunt to put us in trim for Wolcott. Gosh, I’m
+dry. Any more of that ginger pop?”
+
+“Just the same,” began Clif as he arose to find another bottle.
+
+“Wolcott’s our meat,” said Jeff. “I don’t care how often we get nipped
+if we can just get our teeth in her when the time comes. What do you
+say, Deane?”
+
+“I think, as Clif does, that it would be a wonderful stunt to have an
+undefeated team this year. Wouldn’t it look corking in the papers?
+‘Wyndham School Completes Season Without Defeat!’”
+
+“Yes, it would look mighty nice,” agreed Jeff. “But I’d hate to have
+the team work so hard winning the first seven games that it would lose
+the last one! I guess I’m with ‘G. G.’ Point for Wolcott is my motto.
+Say, for the love of mud, what time is it?”
+
+“Swede” glanced at his watch and rolled off the bed, and the stampede
+began.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+
+                           OVER THE CROSSBAR
+
+
+“Swede” Hanbury’s prediction that the Wyndham cheering section would
+be small at Saturday’s game proved correct. The trip over the border
+into Massachusetts was long and costly and only about thirty fellows
+followed the eleven to the lair of the Highlanders. Those that went
+were well repaid, if a hard, fast contest that was in doubt to the end
+of the fourth period could make up for the combination of discomfort
+and bankruptcy. The team started in mid-forenoon and were in Highland
+in time for luncheon, but those who traveled by train missed their
+dinner, consumed sandwiches en route, swallowed a good deal of dust and
+smoke and finally arrived at their destination just too late to reach
+the field in time for the kick-off. Walter Treat remarked querulously
+to Lemuel John as they footed it along a hot highway that he couldn’t
+see why any one should want to build a school in an out-of-the-way
+place like Highland. Lemuel John, less perturbed, looked around at the
+surrounding hills, the green, sloping meadows and the tree-bordered
+trout stream that gurgled and splashed under an old stone bridge, and
+mildly replied that perhaps it was because the place was so pretty.
+Walt, digging a gnat out of his ear, sniffed in a tone suggesting that
+in his opinion the explanation was pretty poor.
+
+Thirty boys――there may have been thirty-three or -four――can make
+quite a good deal of sound if they set out to do it, and so the dark
+blue’s prowess did not go unacclaimed. But Highland opposed over three
+hundred to Wyndham’s handful and the odds were much in her favor. It
+was evident from the first that the Massachusetts school had set her
+heart on wiping out old scores this afternoon. The cheering and singing
+were well organized, and there was an intensity――and something of
+vindictiveness, too――in the shouts that arose from across the field
+that told of grim determination. Highland had more to cheer for than
+the Wyndham devotees had in the first half of the game, for, although
+there was no scoring by either side, it was Highland who held the upper
+hand and who twice threatened the opposite goal.
+
+That the home team was farther along in season experience than the
+visitor was soon apparent. Whether, as “Wink” surmised, Highland had
+been practicing longer than Wyndham is not known to the narrator, but
+it did seem that such smooth, even polished playing could never have
+been developed in twelve days. Highland possessed a valuable asset in
+a long, rangy left half back who could outpunt Ogden five or six yards
+every time and, besides, get much better direction than the Wyndham
+captain. It was Talley’s punting that finally yielded Highland’s first
+chance to score.
+
+Houston misjudged one of Talley’s efforts and had to chase it back to
+his twenty-six yards. An attempt to regain some of the lost territory
+was disastrous, for a determined Highland end stayed with him across
+the field, and at last, trying to reverse, Houston slammed squarely
+into the arms of a tackle and went to earth on his twenty-three. Ogden
+very promptly punted, but he was hurried and the pigskin went high
+and only to midfield. Highland, with her supporters yelling like mad,
+ripped off eight yards inside Couch, and then, failing on a similar
+try at the other end, again punted. This time Houston was fairly under
+the kick and snuggled it to him on his seven yards. But a Highland end
+allowed only two strides, and Jeff Ogden strode back to the goal line
+and held out his arms.
+
+“_Block that kick! Block that kick!_” chanted Highland.
+
+Well, she couldn’t quite do that, but the left side of the Wyndham line
+did buckle badly and Ogden was hurried by a frantic tackle who somehow
+leaked past Sproule. He got the ball away, but it slanted to the left,
+barely topping upstretched arms, and was momentarily lost in the crowd
+along the Highland side. When it reappeared a heartless referee paced
+it back close to the twenty-yard line, waved an arm toward the Wyndham
+goal and announced: “First down! Highland!”
+
+Highland shot a back outside tackle on her left, but the play was
+expected and only a two-yard gain resulted. Preparing as for a field
+goal, Highland used deception and sent the full back smashing into
+Billy Desmond. Billy gave, but only to the extent of another yard.
+Again came kick formation, with the performer standing just short of
+the twenty-seven. But Wyndham didn’t believe all she saw, and when the
+play resolved itself into a running forward pass the receiver missed
+the ball by yards. Finally Highland was forced to kick, and the pigskin
+passed harmlessly under the bar.
+
+Some three minutes before the first half ended Highland again
+threatened. Then a brilliant run straight through the whole dark blue’s
+team, by the Highland captain and left half, put the ball down on
+Wyndham’s eighteen, and there is no reason to suppose that a try at
+a goal from the field would not have scored easily. But Highland had
+shifted her tactics. A fresh quarter back had recently arrived on the
+scene and possibly he brought instructions to accept a touchdown or
+nothing. In any case, the mere three points which would have accrued
+from sending the pigskin over the crossbar were scorned and Highland
+set about smashing through the opposing line. That, however, was
+easier said than done, for, although the small gathering of Wyndham
+adherents couldn’t find much cause for enthusiasm, the Wyndham line
+was largely composed of veterans, and, if they hadn’t found themselves
+yet, at least they had bulk and strength. Highland used up two downs
+getting four yards through Smythe, tried a crisscross outside Couch
+that resulted in the loss of a half a yard and finally, on fourth down,
+heaved the ball across the line squarely into the hands of Tom Kemble.
+Gloom descended on the Highland cheerers, but, across the gridiron, a
+tiny but valiant band of visitors yelled ecstatically.
+
+Tom didn’t make the mistake of trying to run with the ball from behind
+his goal, for the enemy was clustered deeply about him. He touched
+it to earth instead and a few seconds later play was resumed on the
+dark blue’s twenty-yard line and, possibly as an award of merit, Tom
+was sent smashing, fighting through a gaping hole on the left. He got
+a scant four yards and then Ogden faked a pass and Drayton, coming
+around, took the pigskin and went to the thirty-three and made it first
+down. Wyndham worked to the middle of the field, or very close to it,
+and the half ended.
+
+Lemuel John had been a close and absorbed spectator, and as the two
+teams walked off the field he turned to Walt and said: “That fellow who
+was up to the room the other day said it wasn’t hard to learn to play
+football. He said the coach could teach you right quick. Do you think I
+could learn, Walt?”
+
+Considering that Lemuel John was the host and had expended nearly
+three dollars for the sake of Walt’s companionship, it would have been
+graceful of the latter had he expressed faith in Lemuel John’s ability
+to imbibe knowledge, but Walt was in no optimistic mood. A ham sandwich
+which he had eaten hurriedly at a lunch counter was feeling like a lump
+of lead, the forced march under a hot sun had left him wilted and the
+conduct of the Wyndham School Football Team had failed to gladden his
+heart. He observed his companion almost coldly and said briefly: “No, I
+don’t.”
+
+Lemuel John nodded quite as though the decision had been anticipated
+and eased his long legs so that the back of the seat in front of him
+would impress itself in new localities in the region of his kneecaps.
+A close observer, however, might have detected a faint indication of
+disappointment in Lemuel John’s countenance. For some three-quarters
+of an hour he had allowed his imagination free rein and had been out
+there on the sun-smitten field performing heroic deeds. Now Walt’s
+reply dispelled the dream and Lemuel John landed back on earth with a
+slight shock. Doubtless Walt was right and the manager fellow had been
+stringing him. Lemuel John hadn’t thought much about athletics prior to
+his arriving at school, but since his arrival, noting that almost every
+other chap he encountered engaged in one sport or another, he had been
+wondering if there might not be some place for him in the ranks of the
+athletic.
+
+The trouble was that he had never tried anything save baseball, and
+then only to the extent of taking part now and then in an impromptu
+game among the few boys of the village. Golf was only a name to him, as
+were lacrosse and soccer. Hockey he had seen played after a fashion.
+Basket ball, too. He thought he would like basket ball if he wasn’t
+too big and clumsy for it. Perhaps he could go out for the track team
+and try shoving that big ball of metal away from his shoulder as he
+had seen some fellows doing only yesterday. He guessed that wouldn’t
+be very difficult. Then there was another ball fixed to the end of a
+length of steel wire, or something, which you swung around your head
+and let go of with remarkable results as to distance. But what Lemuel
+John really wanted was to take part in a real game; where there were
+other fellows about; where he could run and fall around, and whoop
+if he wanted to, and so expend some of the stored-up energy that
+had accumulated since life on the ranch had been interrupted by the
+pesky oil men. So, on the whole, seeing that football wasn’t among
+the possibilities he guessed he’d just sit tight until they began to
+play basket ball. Maybe he’d fit in somewhere then. If not, there’d be
+baseball in the spring. They were even playing it now, but he guessed
+they weren’t looking for any green hands at present.
+
+His communings――Walt was apparently sunk in a discouraged lethargy and
+offered no conversation――were here interrupted by a stirring of the
+fellows about him and by the sudden ending of the singing which had
+been going on across the field. Over there four boys in white shirts
+scurried to positions in front of the seats and uttered unintelligible
+sounds, and marvelously the occupants of the seats comprehended them
+and responded with a burst of measured cheering. At about the same
+instant Lemuel John found himself on his feet, following the example
+set by his neighbors, saying “Rah!” at intervals and then, having
+indulged himself in one more “Rah!” than the others, shouting “Wyndham!
+_Wyndham!_ WYNDHAM!” After the final shout he eased himself back to
+the seat, ran a finger around the inside of his wilted collar and
+discovered to his surprise that the empty gridiron had become again
+populated and that hostilities were about to go on.
+
+Mr. Otis had started the game with his best foot forward, which is to
+say that the whole string of regulars had been used: Drayton, Weldon,
+Smythe, Carlson, Desmond, Cotter, Couch, Houston, Kemble, Sproule and
+Ogden. Toward the end he had made several substitutions, however, and
+these were still in force. Breeze was playing left guard, Longwell was
+at right end and Sim Jackson was in Houston’s place. Clif had rather
+expected to play, but evidently “G. G.” didn’t consider him as yet
+well enough versed in the duties of his new position, for Weldon had
+started at left tackle and was still in when the third period began.
+Clif had “Wink” Coles for bench neighbor, and “Wink,” who should have
+been filled with gratitude because, contrary to his expectations, he
+had been allowed to ride in the new bus, was in a most captious frame
+of mind and growled and snarled continuously.
+
+“What’s he think I’m here for, the old robber? If I can’t play tackle
+better than Longwell I’ll eat my pads! That dumbbell wouldn’t say ‘boo’
+if you slapped his face! He’s got about as much fight as a dicky bird!
+‘G. G.’ gives me a sharp pain, if you want to know it.”
+
+“Shut up, you silly coot, or he’ll hear you,” admonished Clif, grinning.
+
+“Let him! What do I care? I’ve got a sight more business playing tackle
+than Longwell, and I don’t give a whoop who knows it! And the same
+thing goes for you. You could do twice as well as that Miss Nancy.”
+
+“Sounds as if you didn’t particularly admire Longwell,” said Clif.
+
+“I don’t. Not as a football player, anyway. What the dickens did Otis
+bring me along for if he doesn’t let me in? He needn’t think it’s any
+treat to sit and watch this rotten game!”
+
+“He’s saving you, ‘Wink,’” laughed Clif. “Keeping the best for the
+last, you know.”
+
+“He is, eh? He’s a piece of cheese. Bet you anything you like he’ll
+let Highland cop the game. He’s kept his first string in and he’s got
+nothing to fall back on if we get in a jam. Coach? Say, that queer
+couldn’t coach a team of performing seals! Who was it was talking about
+us getting through the season without a licking? There’s one coming
+right now!”
+
+“Oh, no, not as bad as that, ‘Wink.’ Cheer up and see the old team
+march down the field.”
+
+“Yeah, look at it march! Sproule got ahead of his interference and
+we’re set back two yards. A swell march we’ll make!”
+
+Nevertheless there was a march, and if it didn’t reach Highland’s
+goal line it got within scoring distance, and if Heard, hurried in to
+displace Sproule and kick a goal, had put more force into his swing
+there might have been a score then and there. But the ball fell a few
+yards short and the advance was turned back. The third period ended
+with the pigskin on Wyndham’s forty-four yards in Highland’s possession
+and the score board still unsullied.
+
+Mr. Otis began to use his substitutes in earnest now. “Wink” growlingly
+pulled off his sweater and relieved Longwell, Ellison went in at center
+and Hanbury took Captain Ogden’s job at full back. Later, one by one,
+those who had started came out until, with the last quarter half gone,
+Wyndham presented a substitute team with the single exception of
+Houston, back at quarter. Clif was one of the last to find employment.
+
+A scoreless tie seemed certain when Clif pulled his head-guard on
+and took his place in the line. Less than five minutes of time
+remained――ten-minute periods were being played――and both teams――alike
+made up almost entirely of substitutes――seemed to have passed the
+possibility of scoring. Between the thirty-five-yard lines the battle
+raged, the second-string players eager but generally futile. So soon
+as either team was pushed back well into its own territory its defense
+stiffened and the opponent was forced to punt. Forward passes were
+taboo, it appeared, with both contenders, and probably for the same
+reason. The chance of a throw being intercepted by the enemy was too
+great. Yet it was, in the end, a forward pass that decided the contest.
+
+It came when there was something under two minutes left. Hanbury,
+who had been doing the punting since Captain Jeff’s retirement, had
+steadily been distanced by the Highland kicker. Now, however, standing
+on his thirty-four yards, he punted high and far and the pigskin came
+to earth on Highland’s twenty-six, dropping straight through the arms
+of the quarter back. “Wink” Coles failed to arrive on the spot in time
+to contest possession of the ball, but he did nail the enemy before,
+having scooped the bobbing pigskin up, he could get away. By this time
+Highland had ceased hoping for that long-deferred revenge and had made
+up her mind to be satisfied with a tie; willing perhaps to accept a
+tie as a nominal victory. There had been more than one fumble within
+the last fifteen minutes, and Highland had decided not to risk another
+so close to her goal. Consequently, her punter stalked back to the
+sixteen yards and booted. It looked from the side lines as if the ball
+reached him before he was ready for it. At all events, the kick was a
+feeble one and the ball arched away to the left. Lou Stiles, coming up
+fast from down field, managed to get under it on his forty-eight and,
+swinging to his left, plunged squarely into a mob of players. Impetus
+carried him past the first tackler, and then a hurried interference
+gathered ahead of him and he fell in behind and went to Highland’s
+thirty-six. There he was fairly smothered but held on to the ball.
+
+Wyndham asked for time, and, with the frantic shouts of the small but
+devoted band of rooters almost drowning the opposition cheers, held
+a conference. Houston, acting captain, hoped only to get the pigskin
+forward another ten yards, from where, if fortune favored, Whitemill
+could kick a goal. When the whistle blew again he tried “Swede” on a
+quick slam at the right of the enemy line, and “Swede” got a scant
+three yards. On a play that started like the first, “Swede” again
+thrust at the guard-tackle hole, but this time it was Whitemill who
+carried and who swung outside of end. But a Highland half back had
+sensed the deception and stopped Whitemill after a two-yard advance,
+and it was third down and five to go.
+
+McMurtry came on from the bench and sent “Swede” out. McMurtry was a
+drop kicker of some ability, and Houston knew that Mr. Otis had sent
+him in to try a field goal. But there was still a down to be spared,
+and every yard gained made McMurtry’s attempt more feasible. Houston
+called for a shift that sent the left end across to the other side,
+took the ball from center on a long pass and started to the left.
+Clif’s play was to block momentarily and then go around to a position
+about eight yards behind the line of scrimmage. The opposing end
+triumphantly swept him aside and tore through only, however, to run
+foul of Stiles. Clif circled back, the Highland secondary defense
+moving to its right, and found position just as Houston, having paused
+and turned, swept the ball away an instant before the enemy leaped upon
+him. The pigskin came straight and Clif got in unchallenged. He even
+made his start toward the goal before the adversary threatened. Then he
+had his hands full. The play called for a straight journey, for it was
+designed to secure only a short gain, but Clif’s progress was barred
+in front and he swung perforce to the right. He eluded the Highland
+full back and angled toward the side of the field, a fleet-footed end
+close on his heels and the safety man coming across fast to intercept
+him. He had already secured first down and might have considered his
+task completed, but the goal line beckoned and only three trampled
+white marks lay between. Realizing that he would be run out of bounds
+if he kept on his present course much further, he suddenly swung to the
+left, escaped the end by the length of a finger and headed straight
+toward the nearer goal post. For a few strides Breeze kept him company.
+Then Breeze went down and the safety man sprang. At the same instant
+a second desperate Highlander launched himself at the runner from the
+left. Clif tried to side step, but his race was over. The next instant
+he was fairly buried.
+
+He got up at last, rather dizzy and winded, to find the nearer goal
+post but twelve yards away, Houston jabbering impatient commands and
+the tiny Wyndham cheering section beside itself with delight. But there
+was anxiety in that delight, for the remaining seconds numbered only
+twenty-odd. The ball was to the right of the goal, making the angle
+fairly difficult for one of McMurtry’s kicking ability. But Houston
+didn’t dare risk a play to center it for fear that the fast-ticking
+seconds would run away. So McMurtry went back to the twenty-two yards,
+decreasing the angle considerably, and, amidst a sudden silence, took
+a high pass from the center, stepped forward as the Highland players
+charged, and swung a scuffed shoe.
+
+Perhaps the ball knew that time couldn’t be called until the play was
+completed, for surely no pigskin ever took longer to sail twenty yards
+through almost breathless air! McMurtry had sought to put it high,
+impressed at the moment of kicking by a sudden realization that the
+goal was dangerously close, and he succeeded. Up and up went the lazy
+ball, turning slowly over and over. Clif, watching spellbound, thought
+it would never start down! But it did at last, and doing so it seemed
+to be possessed by a strong desire to see what the right-hand post
+looked like at close quarters! Afterwards McMurtry declared feelingly
+that that infernal ball had taken ten years off his life and that he
+wouldn’t be surprised to awake in the morning and find that his hair
+had turned white!
+
+The ball tried its best to reach that post and cross outside of it,
+it seemed, but it couldn’t quite make it. It floated leisurely down a
+scant two feet inside, and then, as though angered by its failure,
+hurried its flight and fell to earth halfway between goal line and end
+line. And a man in a gray running shirt who had been regarding its
+progress from behind the goal raised both arms for a moment before he
+made after it.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VIII
+
+                                SLOGANS
+
+
+Sunday evening the Triumvirate gathered as usual in Loring’s room. Tom
+looked rather disreputable with his left cheekbone a queer mixture
+of purple and yellow. Clif declared he could also discern tinges of
+green and pink there, too; but Tom didn’t act very elated at the
+announcement. Instead he fingered the discolored surface gingerly,
+frowned and remarked with apparent irrelevance: “Wig!”
+
+“Won’t do,” said Loring. “Middle letter’s _E_, I told you.”
+
+“_E?_ I thought you said _A_.”
+
+“Well, you don’t spell ‘wig’ with an _A_, do you?”
+
+“Sure he does,” said Clif. “Or an _O_! You don’t know Tom’s abilities
+in the spelling line. Why――”
+
+“Shut up,” remarked Tom, concentrating frowningly on the problem.
+“Three letters, you said. Middle one’s _A_.”
+
+“Oh, give me patience!” sighed Loring. “Here, look for yourself,
+imbecile! _E! E! E!_”
+
+Tom accepted the book and looked. “Yes, that’s right,” he announced
+calmly. “Middle letter’s _E_.” Clif howled and Loring shook his head
+sadly. “Might be――‘kepi’! Bet you that’s it! ‘Kepi’! _K, e, p_―― Gee,
+there’s too many letters!”
+
+“Tom, as a cross-word puzzle solver you’re a perfectly wonderful half
+back,” laughed Loring. “Give me the book, moron.”
+
+“Well, it says, ‘Head covering,’” muttered Tom, “and if it isn’t ‘hat’
+or ‘cap’ or ‘wig’ what the dickens is it?”
+
+“That’s what we’re supposed to find out,” replied Loring dryly. “What’s
+the matter with your brains, Clif?”
+
+“I never could wrestle with those crazy things,” answered Clif. “They
+give me a headache. Or they would if I’d let them.”
+
+“Middle letter’s _E_,” murmured Tom, a far-away look in his eyes.
+
+“Never mind,” consoled Loring. “We’ll get some of the others first.
+Wattles is the humdinger at this game, fellows. We did this other one
+yesterday afternoon and Wattles spent most of his time trotting back
+and forth to the library. ‘Wattles,’ I’d say, ‘what are “dried insects”
+in six letters, beginning with _K_ and ending in _S_?’ ‘I’ll find out,
+sir,’ Wattles would say, and off he’d go. At first he used to get as
+far as Middle and forget what he was going to look up and have to come
+all the way back again, but after he’d done that a few times he put it
+down on a slip of paper. And he always got what he went for, too. No
+cross-word contraption can bite Wattles and live!”
+
+“What _was_ the six-letter word meaning fried insects?” inquired Tom
+interestedly.
+
+“Dried, Tom, not fried. It was――here it is. ‘Kermes.’ I don’t just know
+how you pronounce it, but――”
+
+“Pshaw,” said Tom, “that’s not a dried insect, that’s a sort of a
+dance. No, it isn’t, either. It’s some sort of milk folks drink when
+they’re sick, or something.”
+
+“You’re thinking of ‘kumiss,’ Tom. This particular word means an insect
+that’s used to make cochineal of.”
+
+“What’s cochineal?” asked Tom.
+
+“For Pete’s sake,” laughed Loring, “don’t you know anything at all?
+Cochineal’s a red dye that’s used to color things with; like ice cream
+and candy and――”
+
+“_What!_ Mean to say I’m eating dried insects when I have red candy?”
+
+“Well――”
+
+“_Fez!_” exclaimed Clif explosively.
+
+“Huh?” asked Loring. “What did you say?”
+
+“_Fez!_” repeated Clif triumphantly, pointing at the book.
+
+“Fez? By Jove, that’s it! Clif, you’re a wiz!” Loring seized his
+pencil. “How did you happen to think of it?”
+
+“I don’t know. You said ‘red’ and it――it just popped into my head.”
+Clif looked as self-conscious and proud as if he had won the Boynton
+Prize in English! “That’s it, eh?”
+
+“Yes. Funny we couldn’t think of it!”
+
+“What’s it mean?” asked Tom.
+
+“That makes this word ‘Mizpah,’” continued Loring unheedingly. “Let’s
+see. Yes, that’s right! And this one――”
+
+“What’s a mizpah?” asked Tom doggedly.
+
+Clif placed a pillow firmly against Tom’s face and kept it there in
+spite of protests until the latter had promised smotheredly to ask no
+more questions!
+
+Later, peace having been restored and the puzzle book laid aside,
+Loring said: “I’ve been thinking about something that was discussed in
+your room the other night, fellows.”
+
+“Proud to know,” remarked Tom, “that the conversation in our _salon_
+was worthy a second thought, Mr. Deane.”
+
+“You remember some one――wasn’t it you, Clif?――said he’d like to see the
+football team end the season without a beating.”
+
+Clif nodded. “Yes, I said it, and got sat on by the crowd.”
+
+“Well, I’d like to see it, too,” resumed Loring earnestly. “Wouldn’t it
+be possible?”
+
+“You heard what ‘Swede’ said.”
+
+“Yes, but I didn’t think so much of it, Clif. No one was suggesting
+that we make any changes in the――the conduct of affairs. As I
+understood it, the question was simply whether it couldn’t be done
+under present conditions. I was looking over the scores of last year’s
+games yesterday. We won every one except the Horner game, and usually
+by a good margin. Highland crowded us a bit, and, of course, the
+Wolcott game was no cinch.”
+
+“Well, eight to three wasn’t so worse,” protested Tom.
+
+“What I’m getting at,” went on Loring, “is this. If we got through last
+year with only one defeat, why isn’t it possible to keep the slate
+clean this year, especially as it seems to be generally agreed that
+we’re starting off with a better gang?”
+
+“Why, if that’s all you want to know,” replied Tom, “I’ll answer you,
+old son. Ever try to say ‘Nebuchadnezzar’ twenty times?”
+
+“No, and I don’t propose to. Talk seriously a minute, Tom.”
+
+“I am serious. You asked a question and I’m trying to answer it so
+you’ll understand it.”
+
+“What’s ‘Nebuchadnezzar’ got to do with it?”
+
+“Say it twenty times and you’ll see.”
+
+“Meaning that I can’t do it?”
+
+“Meaning that it’s extremely unlikely. Go ahead and I’ll count.”
+
+“Nebuchadnezzar,” began Loring.
+
+“One,” murmured Tom.
+
+“Nebuchadnezzar, Nebuchadnezzar――” At the fourteenth repetition Loring
+paused to take a long breath.
+
+“Fourteen,” said Tom. “Don’t stop!”
+
+“Nebuchadnezzar, Nebuchadnezzar, Nebuchadneber――”
+
+“Whoa! Seventeen, old son. That’s not so bad, either.”
+
+“He was getting his ‘nezzar’ a good deal like ‘nazzer’ along about the
+twelfth time,” chuckled Clif. “Well, what’s the moral, Tom?”
+
+“The moral is that it’s easy enough to do a thing right ten times, or
+fifteen times, we’ll say; but after that you’re going to slip up. I
+don’t know why, but I suppose the well-known law of averages gets in
+its dirty work.”
+
+“Probably,” said Loring; “either because you grow careless or because
+you try so hard not to grow careless that you take your mind off the
+job. But I see what you mean, Tom. You think that it isn’t possible for
+the team to say ‘Nebuchadnezzar’ eight times!”
+
+Tom shrugged. “Oh, well, nothing’s strictly impossible, they say. I
+suppose I mean that the chances are all against it.”
+
+Loring nodded thoughtfully. “Just the same, it would be worth trying,
+wouldn’t it?”
+
+“Sure! I’d be tickled to death to tell my grandchildren that I played
+on the famous unbeaten Wyndham Team. _But_――”
+
+“Forget the ‘buts’ a minute. Just to prove that it isn’t impossible,
+there’s Notre Dame.”
+
+“Oh, a college! That’s different. We were talking about this team. I’ll
+bet you Wyndham never got through a season without a drubbing.”
+
+“I’ll take the bet,” said Loring, his eyes twinkling.
+
+“Huh? Well, when was it?”
+
+“Some time ago, to be sure. Twelve years, to be exact.”
+
+“What? Twelve years ago? Heck, were they playing football here as long
+ago as that?”
+
+“Our young friend is evidently laboring under the delusion that the
+game was not known here until he joined the team,” said Clif.
+
+“I looked it up yesterday,” said Loring. “Twelve years ago this fall
+the Wyndham Football Team, led by one Jacob Glidden, later known to
+fame as ‘Porky’ Glidden――”
+
+“_What?_ Do you mean that that guy played _here_? Well, what do I know?”
+
+“He was All-American two years,” murmured Clif, impressed.
+
+“Well, he took his team through a seven-game schedule and not only
+wasn’t defeated,” said Loring, “but played no ties. If that was done
+twelve years ago, why can’t it be done to-day?”
+
+“Football was different then,” hazarded Tom.
+
+“What of it? It wasn’t any easier for Wyndham, presumably, than for
+the teams we played. Now see here, Tom. We’ve started out all right.
+I mean, we’ve played two games and won both. We’ve got six more. As
+far as we know only one of them’s likely to prove dangerous. Only
+one besides Wolcott, of course. That one’s Horner. Horner beat us
+last year, 14 to 3, and maybe she can do it again. But then maybe
+she can’t. If we make up our minds she can’t, it’s mighty likely she
+won’t. Suppose we win the first five games of the schedule, fellows,
+and suppose it’s got to be a――an ambition with us to finish without a
+beating. Don’t you believe that every one of you, from Coach Otis down
+to the greenest sub on the squad, is going to work like the mischief
+for that game? Don’t you think that every fellow in school is going to
+make the trip over there with the team and pull like the very dickens
+for a victory?”
+
+“You bet!” said Clif, and Tom nodded.
+
+“Well, then!” said Loring triumphantly.
+
+“Well, what?” asked Tom. “Heck, no one’s said the team isn’t willing
+to work for a clean slate, nor that the school isn’t ready to stand
+by ’em. But if Horner is better than we are, or if any other team is
+better, we’re going to get our noses rubbed in the good old earth, no
+matter how hard we fight or how hard the crowd cheers!”
+
+“Fair enough,” agreed Clif. “But here’s the idea, Tom, which you seem
+to miss――”
+
+“I don’t miss it at all,” said Tom doggedly. “I know what he’s getting
+at――”
+
+“Shut up, you poor fish, and listen. The idea is that if we make up
+our minds; all of us, players and others, the whole blamed school,
+to go through this season without getting beaten we’ve got a lot
+better chance of doing it than if we weren’t――weren’t animated by that
+resolution. And you know that it’s the guy who has the most at stake
+who works hardest. I’ve said right along――”
+
+“And there’s still another thing,” interrupted Loring eagerly. “There’s
+the habit of success, Tom. If I succeed to-day in something I’ve
+attempted I stand a better chance of success to-morrow. I increase
+my faith in my ability to do what I set out to do. And every time I
+succeed that faith gets stronger. Success――”
+
+“Yeah, and then you get a swelled head and blow up!”
+
+“Success breeds success, Tom. Let the team win five straight games this
+fall and it will believe in itself so thoroughly that you just can’t
+beat it!”
+
+“I won’t have to,” growled Tom. “It’ll beat itself by being
+overconfident!”
+
+“There’s that danger, yes. But it can be guarded against. Now,
+honestly, isn’t it worth trying?”
+
+“Trying? Sure! I’ll try! Only, as good as I am, Loring, I can’t win all
+those six games alone.”
+
+“No, and that brings me to what I’ve been waiting to get at, fellows.
+Why can’t we three――the jolly old Triumvirate――start this thing off?
+Popularize the idea of an undefeated team, I mean. Get the whole school
+behind the thing. Work up a――a sentiment――”
+
+“Society for Maintaining the Inviolability of the Football Schedule,”
+offered Tom, grinning.
+
+“No, no society, Tom,” said Loring earnestly. “It wants to be――to be
+universal. It must have every fellow in it. It’s got to be a great big,
+enthusiastic determination on the part of the school as a whole. See
+what I mean? We declare that the team must not be beaten. We keep on
+declaring it, louder and louder as the season goes on. We――we _believe_
+in it! We _fight_ for it!”
+
+“I see,” said Tom, nodding. “‘They shall not pass.’”
+
+“That’s it!” agreed Loring eagerly. “‘They shall not pass!’ By Jove,
+fellows, what a slogan!”
+
+Clif shook his head. “We couldn’t use it, Loring. It wouldn’t
+be――wouldn’t be decent. What I mean is――”
+
+“I know what you mean. You’re right, Clif. It would be sort of like
+using the start of the Lord’s Prayer for a baker’s advertisement!”
+
+“I didn’t suggest it for a slogan,” said Tom defensively. “And I
+wouldn’t let you use it if you wanted to! Besides, I’m sick to death
+of slogans, and if we have to have one let’s call it something else.
+Heck, in another year or two this country will be known as the Land
+of Slogans, I suppose. Probably we’ll be putting billboards all over
+Europe. ‘Uncle Sam Wants You!’, or ‘Come and Hear the Eagle Scream!’
+Yah, slogans make me ill! ‘Yours on the home stretch――McGuffy’s
+Suspenders.’ ‘Nearest the Heart――Gilligan’s Rock-Ribbed Undershirts!’
+‘Good All the Way――’”
+
+“Shut up, Tom, you’re out of order,” commanded Clif sternly.
+
+“Wait a minute,” laughed Loring. “What’s good all the way, Tom?”
+
+“Biffam’s No-Spring Counter Scales,” answered Tom, grinning.
+
+“Not so good,” said Loring. “But Tom’s right about slogans, Clif.
+They are getting sickening. We ought to have one, but we’ll call it
+something else, as he suggests. We’ll call it a rallying cry, or――”
+
+“Don’t call it anything,” grunted Tom. “What’s it going to be?”
+
+“‘Win, Wyndham!’” suggested Clif.
+
+“Not bad,” said Loring, “only――well, I don’t believe we had better
+attempt too much. I mean we’d better allow for a tie game, you know.
+Nowadays ties are like the tin can in the well-known conundrum, bound
+to occur. We’re setting out, not to win every game, but to avoid
+defeat. Got any suggestions, Tom?”
+
+“Sure. ‘Don’t Give Up the Ship!’ ‘The Bigger They Are the Harder They
+Fall!’ ‘Knock ’Em Down and Throw ’Em Out!’”
+
+“That’ll do from you,” said Loring. “We’ll let the slo――the motto go
+for awhile. We’ll think of something. The question now is, how are we
+going to start the ball a-rolling?”
+
+“Propaganda,” said Tom.
+
+“Exactly, but how shall we prop? I wonder if the best thing wouldn’t be
+to get two or three――more if possible――of the influential fellows with
+us.”
+
+“Here am I,” murmured Tom.
+
+“The word was influential, Tom, not inconsequential,” said Clif sweetly.
+
+“Ouch! Well, such as which, Loring?”
+
+“Well, Todd Darlington, for one. Seems as if you’d ought to have the
+first class sponsor the scheme, and Todd’s president. And then there’s
+Sam Erlingby, representing the baseball crowd.”
+
+“What about Jeff Ogden?” asked Tom.
+
+“I thought of him, and of Owens, too, but don’t you think the thing
+ought to look more as if it was started by the fellows who don’t play
+football? If you see what I mean,” added Loring doubtfully.
+
+“Huh, I get you,” said Tom. “Want to make it look spontaneous, as it
+were.”
+
+“Not exactly, but rather as if it wasn’t a scheme of the football
+players to work up support.”
+
+“How about Walt Treat?” asked Clif. “Walt’s on _The Lantern_, you know,
+and we really ought to have a corking good editorial――”
+
+“Not yet.” Loring shook his head. “Later, yes. Anyway, Walt’s only an
+assistant editor, isn’t he? Lovell would be the right fellow to go
+after. But that can wait. Let’s get the thing well started first. I’ll
+go after Darlington to-morrow and if he approves――”
+
+“Who cares whether he does or not?” demanded Tom. “We can put it over
+without that high hat! Say, why not have a meeting and make speeches
+and――”
+
+“We’ll do that, too, Tom,” said Loring, “but not just yet. As I see it,
+we want to be――be insidious――”
+
+“What’s insidious?” asked Tom.
+
+“He’s at it again!” said Clif indignantly. “Where’s the pillow?” At
+that juncture Wattles appeared, however, a signal that study hour was
+imminent, and Clif and Tom sped back to West Hall for their books.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IX
+
+                             “NO DEFEATS!”
+
+
+They were back in Loring’s room after study, and the subject of the
+former discussion again occupied them. For that matter, it continued
+to occupy them, with increasing insistence, for many days. The plan
+appeared to demand a good deal of discussion, an amount rather out
+of proportion to the progress made. That progress was slow, however,
+was largely because Loring was the only one of the three with much
+leisure for action, and, since Loring’s trips here and there must be
+made either in the wheel chair or in Wattles’ capable arms, there
+was a limit to his ability. Fellows had a way of being out of their
+rooms when Loring arrived, or of not being where rumor had placed
+them. It required all of Monday afternoon to track Todd Darlington
+down, and when he was finally brought to bay he proved discouragingly
+unresponsive to Loring’s eloquence.
+
+Todd was a queer chap in some ways. Class presidencies are usually
+bestowed as a result of some distinguishing, outstanding merit. Todd,
+however, had not performed any signal service to the school, was not
+a distinguished student nor a brilliant athlete, was not popular in
+the general meaning of the word. Yet he had been honored with the
+presidency practically without a dissenting voice. Of course, there
+are politics in a preparatory school election, but scarcely enough to
+account for the present result. Perhaps had you asked a first class
+fellow the reason for Todd Darlington’s incumbency he would have looked
+at first a trifle surprised, then a bit puzzled and would finally have
+said: “Todd? What’s the matter with him as president?”
+
+The secret was that Todd was impressive. He was eighteen, tall,
+straight and undeniably fine looking. But that wasn’t all of it. He
+was not only all those things, but he managed to make you realize it.
+He had a way of dominating an assembly without pushing himself into
+the foreground. It wouldn’t be fair to call it bluff, for Todd didn’t
+bluff. He believed implicitly in Todd Darlington and imposed the belief
+on others. You felt absolutely certain that Todd was destined for big
+things, that years later you would be proud of having known him at
+school. Probably he would be a United States senator, at least. He
+might even be president. You wouldn’t care to go on record in denial
+of that. Fortunately he didn’t appear conceited. No one called him
+“stuck-up.” Tom had termed him a “high hat,” but Tom was likely to
+secure emphasis, as many of us do, by exaggeration. Todd’s self-conceit
+went no farther than self-respect, or seemed to. He was invariably
+genial in a somewhat grave manner. He made no enemies, and, as so
+often happens, had few close friends. He possessed a pleasantly mellow
+voice and owed much of his success as a debater to it. If in ordinary
+conversation he verged a trifle on the oracular, you didn’t resent it.
+You simply considered that it was Todd Darlington speaking.
+
+Loring’s acquaintance with the first class president was slight, but
+he had assimilated the general respect for that youth, and after the
+interview he found himself wondering if, after all, the project was
+worth while. Todd had smilingly likened it to winning a foot race by
+cheering yourself around the course, and the simile had sounded clever
+and apt. However, as the effects of Todd’s personality wore off after
+Loring had removed himself from Todd’s presence, a little later the
+younger boy began to miss the pertinence of the simile. He hadn’t
+proposed that the football team should cheer itself to victory, but
+that the school should. Of course, a runner couldn’t win a race by
+shouting all the way, but he might very well win it if the shouting was
+done by his friends. He began to suspect that Todd had sacrificed sense
+for the sake of an epigram. By the time supper was over that evening
+and Clif and Tom had sauntered in he had regained most of his former
+enthusiasm for the scheme.
+
+“I don’t think,” he reported, “that we can depend on Todd Darlington
+for support. He didn’t say so, but I fancy he considered me a bit of
+a nut. He used the word ‘childish’ once or twice in referring to the
+plan and the word ‘sophomoric’ several times. ‘Sophomoric’ is rather a
+favorite with Todd.”
+
+“He gives me a severe pain, anyhow,” muttered Tom.
+
+“I also got the impression,” Loring continued, “that he disapproved of
+the idea on grounds of good form. He appeared to think that creating a
+‘hullabaloo,’ as he called it, would be undignified.”
+
+“Sacred Ibis of the River Nile!” Tom exploded. “How’s it any more
+undignified than cheering at a game? He’s crazy!”
+
+“Well, I think I get his notion,” said Loring, “even if I can’t quite
+explain it. I fancy it was the idea of the school as a――as a body doing
+it that galled him. He appeared to think it would be allowable if it
+was impromptu, extemporaneous, you know, but bad form to go at it
+deliberately.”
+
+“Sounds to me,” observed Clif, “as though he were trying to draw a line
+between amateur and professional encouragement! After all, what we
+propose to do is only to encourage the team, isn’t it?”
+
+“Well, rather more than that, Clif, but ‘encourage’ is near enough. You
+see, what we’re proposing is not only encouragement for the players but
+encouragement for the school, too. Not that it matters.”
+
+“Neither does that big stiff,” said Tom indignantly. “Heck, I’d go
+ahead with it now if only to show him up!”
+
+“It wouldn’t show him up a bit,” answered Loring smilingly, “because he
+didn’t say a word against it, Tom.”
+
+“Didn’t say――” Tom gasped. “You’re cuckoo!”
+
+“He really didn’t. He criticized it, yes, but he didn’t once tell
+me that he was against it or that it wouldn’t do. He didn’t even
+refuse to help, now I come to think of it. The fact is, fellows, Todd
+Darlington’s a wonder.”
+
+“So’s my grandmother’s gray goose!” jeered Tom.
+
+“He is, though. He ought to make a fine politician some day because he
+can say things without――without saying them! If he was in Congress I’ll
+bet he could vote against a measure and get himself recorded in favor
+of it!”
+
+“Oh, forget Darlington,” said Tom disgustedly. “What’s the next thing
+to do? How about Sam Erlingby?”
+
+“I haven’t seen him yet. In fact, Tom, it might be better for you to
+talk to him. You know him a lot better than I do.”
+
+“Yes, but I can’t talk to him the way you can. Let Clif do it, if you
+don’t want to. He’s got the gift o’ the gab.”
+
+“All right. No, on second thoughts, I’ll do it myself. You fellows have
+got plenty to do playing football. I guess the publicity stuff, or
+whatever you want to call it, is up to me. I’ll see Erlingby and one or
+two others to-morrow. At least, I’ll go after them. It’s plaguey hard
+to find fellows this weather.”
+
+“Sam will be over on the diamond about four,” said Clif. “They’re
+having fall practice, you know.”
+
+Loring nodded. “That’s so. I’ll run him down. Any one thought of a
+six-letter word meaning a rallying cry?”
+
+Every one had, but none of the suggestions met with the approval of the
+whole and the selection of a slogan was again deferred.
+
+On Tuesday night Loring had better news. Sam Erlingby had pledged
+enthusiastic support, and so had two other fellows of influence. “And,”
+narrated Loring, “it was Erlingby who made a corking suggestion. ‘The
+place to start a thing of this sort,’ he said, ‘is in East Hall. Go
+after the Junior School kids. They’ll eat it up!’”
+
+“Great stuff!” applauded Clif. “He’s dead right.”
+
+“So I think,” replied Loring. “But I’m wondering if there isn’t this
+danger, Clif. If the other classes think it’s just a Junior stunt
+they’ll simply laugh at it and keep away from it.”
+
+“You said a mouthful,” declared Tom. “Better not have it look like a
+kid’s party.”
+
+“Look here,” said Clif, “this thing’s got to be launched somehow so
+that it’ll hit the whole school in the face and take ’em by storm.”
+
+“Gosh, talk about mixed metaphors!” exclaimed Tom, grinning.
+
+“Never mind the metaphors,” laughed Loring. “I believe you’re right,
+Clif. Only, how?”
+
+“Call a meeting, like I suggested before,” answered Tom. “You make a
+speech. Some other guy makes a speech. A lot of us sit on the platform
+and clap our hands. We plant some fellow in the audience to get up and
+say he doesn’t think it can be done. Clif answers him and tells him
+where to get off and the crowd cheers. Easy, what?”
+
+“If you say it quick,” replied Clif. “Of course, there’ll have to be a
+meeting before long, but I believe we’ve got to get the fellows in――in
+a receptive mood first. I mean, we’ve got to start the fire before
+we――we pile on the fuel. Meetings don’t always act the way you expect
+them to, I guess.”
+
+“All right, but if we don’t get started pretty soon,” said Tom, “the
+football season’ll be over! Maybe, though, we’ll be saving our faces if
+we don’t start until after the Jordan game on Saturday. No one seems to
+know anything about the Jordan team except where they come from. Me, I
+don’t fancy dark horses. They’re likely to kick.”
+
+“Oh, I don’t believe Jordan’s dangerous,” answered Clif carelessly.
+“It’s a small school.”
+
+“What of it? There’s a college down in Kentucky with only about three
+hundred fellows, and what does its football team do but bite big holes
+in every other team it runs against? Answer me those! I say, let’s let
+the scheme ride until we’ve got Jordan out of the way. Maybe after
+Saturday we won’t want to say any more about it!”
+
+“No, sir, it’s got to be launched before Saturday,” said Clif. “If the
+Jordan game’s going to be a tough one, why, all the more reason for
+getting the school together for it. We’ve got to think of some way to
+spring it, Loring, and――and――”
+
+“Some way to spring it,” offered Tom helpfully, “so that it will hit
+the world in the eye and knock the wind out of it! No, wait, I’ve got
+it! Descend upon it like a devastating flood and consume it with the
+ardor of its――its intensity! Boy, as a metaphor mixer you haven’t got
+a chance with me! Why, I was mixing metaphors for Heinz when you were
+still in the cradle!”
+
+“Sometimes,” said Clif, addressing Loring. “I think that if we had a
+third member in this Triumvirate who didn’t try to turn everything
+into a joke we’d get along faster.”
+
+“Huh,” retorted Tom, “if it wasn’t for me you two old ravens would
+dry up and blow away. How about a game of chess, Loring, now that
+everything’s settled so nicely?”
+
+“There isn’t time, you chump. By the way, I thought you were going to
+bring that big fellow down here to see me. What’s his name? Trask?”
+
+“Parks? So I was. So I am. I sort of forgot it, though. Bet you he’ll
+lick the tar out of you, too. How are you and Wattles coming out these
+days?”
+
+“Wattles has had a sort of a slump since we got back and I’ve been
+beating him. You see, this law studying of his seems to get most of his
+leisure thought.”
+
+“Is he still at that?” asked Clif.
+
+“Rather! He’s reading it wherever he can lay his hands on it, and now
+Mr. Frost is helping him every evening. I suspect that Wattles is with
+‘Homer’ right now.”
+
+“For Pete’s sake!” ejaculated Tom. “But I didn’t suppose ‘Homer’ knew
+law, even if he does lay it down pretty often!”
+
+“Wattles says Mr. Frost studied for the law and then switched to this
+job. Maybe being assistant to the principal here is a more certain meal
+ticket than hanging out your shingle as an attorney. Dad says it’s
+going to be very convenient, having a lawyer in the family, because the
+fellow he employs now is about eighty and has dyspepsia and is likely
+to cash in any day.”
+
+Tom chuckled. “I’d certainly like to be around when Wattles makes his
+first speech to a jury!”
+
+“Do you suppose he really means to be a lawyer?” asked Clif.
+
+“I’ll say he does! Clif, if you or I or Tom studied one half as hard as
+Wattles does we’d be graduating at Christmas! I’ll bet he can recite
+Coke or Littleton or any of those fellows right through from beginning
+to end!”
+
+“Who’s Coke?” asked Tom.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Coach Otis didn’t seem to be much alarmed at the prospect of meeting
+Jordan Academy three days away. In some way a rumor had circulated
+through the school to the effect that the new opponent was a savage,
+man-eating tiger, and that the home team would be represented about
+five o’clock on Saturday by only a pile of bones. As a matter of fact,
+Jordan was a small school, tucked away at the other side of the state,
+about whose football prowess there was no data obtainable. A former
+instructor at Wyndham, now at Jordan, had asked Doctor Wyndham for the
+contest. “J. W.” had passed the request on to the Athletic Committee,
+with a favoring notation. The “Ath. Com.” had, in turn, handed it on
+to the football manager. The latter, in consultation with the coach,
+had provided Jordan with a date, eliminating a better known adversary
+in the process. Owens had done this not because he approved of the
+transaction but because he knew very well that the “Ath. Com.” would
+hold up the schedule until he did do it. Thus a merely good-natured
+impulse to be obliging on the part of the principal had eventually
+caused the school deep perturbation. Because it is human nature to
+fear the unknown, Wyndham by the end of the week was crediting the
+most awesome tales of Jordan’s bloodthirstiness. The report that the
+Jordan line averaged 190 pounds, and that the backfield was the fastest
+quartette in the business, started none knew where and spread through
+the school. Close on the heels of that came the rumor that the Jordan
+eleven had last year played the Yale second team to a scoreless tie.
+As there was no record of the Yale scrub available the rumor couldn’t
+be successfully contradicted. Perhaps no one particularly wanted to
+contradict it, anyhow, for although the legend foretold the doom of the
+home team it likewise fed the excitement. By Friday it was generally
+conceded that the morrow’s game, while certain to see the decisive
+defeat of Wyndham, was to be a whangdinger and one not to be missed.
+
+There was widespread dissatisfaction apparent. Coach Otis, it was
+generally held, should have made more of an effort to prevent disaster.
+He had not given the team any new plays, nor had he seemingly taken
+special pains to strengthen a defense that was acknowledgedly weak. In
+short, “G. G.” had gone about his business quite as usual and as though
+the approaching game was just another Freeburg High School contest.
+The opinion was frequently expressed that he was in ignorance of the
+facts possessed by every one else and that it was plainly the duty of
+some fellow to put him wise. However, there were no volunteers for the
+job. This was probably owing to a well-founded suspicion that the coach
+would not prove receptive to advice or thankful to the adviser.
+
+Even the players absorbed the general pessimism. Or most of them did.
+There were some who remained incredulous and demanded the source of the
+various rumors. Jeff Ogden, for instance, only grinned when anxious
+acquaintances sought his opinion of the Jordan team. Or, if pressed
+sufficiently, he answered: “You know as much as I do, and that’s
+mighty little. Guess we’ll scrape through, though.” Guy Owens even got
+impatient and answered shortly when well-meaning friends sorrowfully
+pointed it out to him that it would have been safer to have given
+Jordan a later date. Quarter Back Houston frankly laughed in the face
+of disaster. And there were others who refused to acknowledge defeat in
+advance; Clif among their number.
+
+Clif’s confidence in the local aggregation resulted in the laying
+of an enormous wager on the outcome of Saturday’s game. Tom was the
+second party in the contract. Tom was certain that Jordan was all
+that rumor had her, and even a little bit more, and, while he looked
+forward to the contest with added zest for that very reason, he was
+emphatic in his assertion that “the old team was sure in for a whale of
+a trouncing.” He grew a trifle impatient with Clif because the latter
+maintained what he called the “Pollyanna business” and, when argument
+failed, offered to lay a wager. Tom was among those who believe that an
+offer to bet is the final convincing argument!
+
+“Oh, I don’t want to profit by your ignorance,” answered Clif
+maddeningly. “Keep your money, Thomas, and found an asylum for
+boneheads.”
+
+“If I did you’d be the first inmate! You’d be put in the incurable
+ward, too, you blithering idiot! Look here, I’ll bet you that Jordan
+licks us, and I’ll――”
+
+“How do I know you won’t throw the game if I bet all this vast sum with
+you?” laughed Clif.
+
+“Oh, talk sense,” Tom grumbled.
+
+“I am. It’s been done before. I’ve read of several cases where a player
+has deliberately thrown a game away in order to secure pecuniary
+profit. So far, Tom, I’ve found you an upright and honorable gentleman,
+but how do I know what you’ll do when faced by a great temptation?
+You’d only have to drop a punt or――or set fire to the Jordan goal
+posts――”
+
+“You make me ill,” fumed Tom. “Will you bet or won’t you?”
+
+“You insist? Well, what do you want to bet, Tommy? Mind now, there’s a
+hard winter approaching, so don’t be reckless.”
+
+“I’ll bet you the ice-cream cones at Burger’s!”
+
+“Ye gods, what an anticlimax!” moaned Clif. “I expected you to say five
+dollars at the very leastest.”
+
+“You didn’t. I don’t bet for money, and you know it. Make it――make it
+_two_ cones, then!”
+
+Clif managed to shudder quite realistically. “Tom, you’ll fill a
+pauper’s grave if you go on the way you’ve started. Two cones! But all
+right. Here’s my hand on it.”
+
+“I don’t want your old hand! All I want is those cones. And I’ll get
+them, too. You’re so blamed cocksure, you dumb-bell, it’ll do you good
+to lose!”
+
+“Mind this, though, Tom. I’ll have my eagle eye on you every minute,
+and if you pull any funny business the bet’s off. If you make more than
+your normal number of fumbles in the game, say three――well, I’ll be
+generous; four――”
+
+“Climb a tree,” said Tom. “The last fumble I made was when we played
+the Rome ‘Gladiators,’ about 700 B.C.”
+
+It was really remarkable how stirred up the school managed to get over
+that Jordan Academy game. After all, the losing of an early-season
+contest was not an unparalleled thing by any means, and if the enemy
+won life would doubtless go on much the same as before. But you
+couldn’t have convinced the average Wyndhamite of that just then. The
+Jordan game had assumed a fictitious importance, had indeed taken on
+the semblance of a potential disaster somewhat akin to the overwhelming
+of Pompeii or the recent earthquake in Japan. It was the principal,
+almost the only, subject of conversation during Friday and most of
+Saturday. One might easily have pictured the invading players as an
+army of Vandals descending on ancient Gaul. Preposterous size, strength
+and ferocity were attributed to the linemen and the backs were little
+less than super-human exponents of speed and stamina and versatility.
+Over in the Junior School the youngsters had their own particular
+legends to gloat upon, and in front of the fire in the recreation room
+that Friday night shudderous tales were whispered. One could have felt
+very, very sorry for the Wyndham Team, but, strangely enough, nothing
+like sorrow was expressed. Still, it is often so. If a calamity is
+stupendous enough, excitement and awe relegate pity to the background
+of our emotions. Perhaps it was thus at Wyndham. The fellows seemed to
+take a grim pleasure in the anticipated overwhelming of their warriors
+and the morrow had all the earmarks of a fine old Roman holiday. The
+score was variously predicted as anywhere between 12 and 45 to 0. A
+fellow who gave it as his opinion that Jordan might run up as few
+points as six or that Wyndham might, by some fortunate fluke, manage
+to score was looked on as a fit subject for――well, for Tom’s suggested
+asylum for boneheads!
+
+And then Saturday morning dawned and, just when it was, as you might
+say, universally conceded that Wyndham couldn’t possibly avoid defeat,
+the school blossomed――yes, really, blossomed is the right word――with
+blue and white placards bearing the amazing, preposterous inscription:
+
+                              NO DEFEATS!
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+
+                              JUST KITTENS
+
+
+They were everywhere; flaunting along the dormitory corridors, in the
+lavatories, on the bulletin boards, spread under window sills, tacked
+to innumerable trees. You encountered one at every few steps, no matter
+where you went. They were even to be seen in the classrooms――until the
+instructors arrived! The school stared and marveled. The absurd things
+had not been in sight last evening, and now they had fairly taken
+possession of the buildings and grounds. Breathless Juniors, returning
+from scouting expeditions afield, reported that the front of the grand
+stand was almost hidden by the white paper strips with the bold blue
+lettering. For something like two hours the football game ceased to
+be the all-absorbing topic. Here was a fine and intriguing mystery!
+Some one――or, more probably, several some ones――had gone about under
+cover of midnight darkness and plastered the school from end to end and
+top to bottom as it had never been plastered before in its history.
+The difficulties of the undertaking challenged imagination and the
+thoroughness of its execution appealed to admiration. In brief, Wyndham
+saw, marveled and applauded, and then asked, quite allowably, “What’s
+it all about?”
+
+“No Defeats!” What kind of defeats? Football? That was absolutely
+crazy, because one was due in about six hours. Still, crazy or not, it
+must be football defeats that the paper strips meant, for it wasn’t
+likely that any one――or any number of ones――would go to all that
+trouble in honor of the debating team! Yes, sir, it meant no defeats
+on the gridiron! What did you think of that? Cuckoo? Sure, but just
+the same it was――well, it was rather a magnificent gesture, wasn’t it?
+And some fellows had certainly worked like beavers to put it over! One
+would certainly like to know who had done it, by gosh!
+
+There were six fellows who could have told, but they didn’t. At least,
+not just then. Perhaps Sherlock Holmes, had he been called in on the
+case, might have solved the mystery. One can imagine him passing the
+fellows in review and saying at intervals: “Ah, my dear fellow, you
+yawn! Your eyes have a heavy look, as though your slumber had been
+interfered with. Or perhaps you were up a bit late last evening.
+Watson, you observe, do you not, that the young gentleman seems a
+trifle done up? Thank you, my dear Watson!”
+
+But Mr. Holmes didn’t appear and the identity of the bill posters
+remained unrevealed for the present.
+
+“No Defeats!” Well, at that, it was a corking slogan, and if the
+dumb-bells hadn’t balled things up by taking on a team of world-beating
+giants like the Jordan Academy team there’d be some sense in it.
+Because, when you thought of it, it would be a simply ripping stunt to
+get through the season without being licked, wouldn’t it? And think how
+you could howl that at a game! “No Defeats! No Defeats! No Defeats!”
+Swell, what? If a miracle took place and Wyndham _did_ get through
+to-day―― But, of course, she wouldn’t. That was too much to expect.
+Just the same, it was too bad that slogan couldn’t have been made use
+of. It certainly was a swell yowl! You’d tell the world!
+
+Fortunately――and designedly――the midnight bill posters had committed
+no offense against school laws so far as the location of the placards
+was concerned. They had not defaced school property “by the driving of
+nails, tacks or patented devices,” as the rules had it. The placards
+had been attached by dabs of paste, readily removable from woodwork,
+or, as on the trees, secured with toothpicks. Perhaps faculty might
+have made an issue of the affair had it cared to, but I suspect that
+faculty was as intrigued as the students by the coup. In any case, it
+was considered by those who had effected the decorating wise to remain
+perdue for the time being.
+
+Clif’s father made his first trip of the term to Freeburg that morning
+and Clif was at the inn when he arrived. Being very glad indeed to see
+his father again after nearly a month, Clif affected an offhand manner
+which, while it may have deceived Mr. Otis, who came out on the porch
+at the moment, was quite understood by Mr. Bingham. The latter had
+discovered that at the age of seventeen demonstrations of affection are
+taboo. Even, however, if Clif was secretly delighted by the reunion he
+did not propose to fail in his duty as a son. It didn’t do for a fellow
+to allow his emotions to make him too lenient. So, when greetings had
+been exchanged, Clif stood off and viewed the dusty touring car from
+front bumper to rear. Then he asked sternly: “Dad, when did you have
+the car washed last?”
+
+“Well,” replied Mr. Bingham evasively, “you see, son, I’ve been using
+it a good deal lately――” Then he encountered Clif’s compelling stare
+and ended lamely: “Must be nearly a week ago, Clif.”
+
+“Thought so,” grunted Clif. “And you’ve still got that old, worn-out
+spare on back, haven’t you? Dad, I told you you ought to get a new one.
+That thing wouldn’t last twenty miles if you had to use it.”
+
+“I’ve been intending to do that, son, but it’s sort of slipped my mind.
+I’ll order a new one first thing Monday morning.”
+
+Clif looked as if he had still another matter on his mind, but just
+then Mr. Otis came down the steps and Clif introduced him to his
+father. Mr. Bingham was tall and well built, a fine figure of a man in
+his long motoring coat and cap. He looked almost too youthful to be
+Clif’s father; and sometimes it was Clif’s secret notion that he acted
+too youthful, too! There were, indeed, times when Clif had to supply
+the dignity for both. Clif considered his father awfully good-looking,
+which he was, and of late he had begun to fear that, now that he was
+no longer at home to keep an eye on him, he would go and get married
+again. Clif’s mother had died when he was quite a little kid, but he
+remembered her very well and was loyal to that memory. He would, he
+thought, simply hate having a stepmother! To be sure, Mr. Bingham had
+not so far provided grounds for Clif’s uneasiness, but last month, in
+London, he had certainly taken some watching!
+
+When Mr. Otis had gone on they went upstairs to the room that had been
+previously engaged by Clif, and Mr. Bingham opened his bag and produced
+a handsome box of glacé fruits. Clif was extremely fond of that
+particular confection and there was a strained look in his eyes as he
+gazed at the box and shook his head. “Gee, dad,” he muttered, “I can’t
+eat candy! I’m in training!”
+
+“By Jove, I forgot that! Too bad, son! Well, take it along and give it
+to some one who can. How are you getting on?”
+
+“Only fair,” replied Clif ruefully. “I wish ‘G. G.’ hadn’t switched me
+from end.”
+
+“Hm,” said Mr. Bingham dryly. “As a matter of fact, Clif, I meant in
+your school work.”
+
+“Oh, that! Pretty good, sir. Say, wait till I tell you about the stunt
+we worked last night, dad!” So Mr. Bingham, while he washed and changed
+into the decorous attire befitting the father of a dignified second
+classman, was told about the “No Defeats” campaign and the posters, and
+was led to the window and ordered to lean out and crane his neck until
+he could see one of the blue-and-white slips adorning a tree at the
+next corner.
+
+“Very neat,” said Mr. Bingham. “But, look here, son, won’t the faculty
+get up on their ear, eh?”
+
+“No, sir, I don’t think they’re going to bother. We didn’t do anything,
+anyway, they can get waxy about. At least――well, they might try to say
+that we were out of hall after hours, or out of our rooms, you know,
+but they couldn’t prove it. Besides, we weren’t――much. Sam Erlingby
+and Tom and I plastered the grand stand about half-past seven, and Sid
+Talbot and Billy Purdy did the trees and the buildings――we helped on
+the buildings――and we were all in assembly hall at eight. How’s that?
+Tom, the silly coot, wanted to put a couple of placards on ‘J. W.’s’
+porch rail, but I wouldn’t let him!”
+
+“I should say not!” Mr. Bingham shook his head sadly. “My goodness,
+what the present generation is coming to I don’t know!”
+
+“Shucks,” laughed Clif, “that isn’t a patch on some of the things you
+did when you were at school! Guess you’ve forgot telling me about them,
+eh?”
+
+“Did I?” murmured dad. “Well, you must allow for exaggeration, Clif.
+You know how it is when you want to tell a good story. But I say, I’ve
+got an idea! Why not get a lot of buttons and wear them? You know,
+campaign buttons. White, with ‘No Defeats’ in blue letters. Wouldn’t
+that――”
+
+But Clif was out of his chair and shaking his fists. “Great, dad! How’d
+you think of it? The very thing! Say, that’s simply corking! Look here,
+sir, could you――”
+
+“I could, son. I know the very place to get them. You leave it to me
+and I’ll attend to it Monday and have them sent to you inside four
+days. They can do it in that time, as I happen to know.” Mr. Bingham
+took out a little silver-cornered book, detached a tiny pencil from it
+and looked across. “How many do you want?”
+
+“How many? Let’s see. There are just under two hundred fellows this
+term, I think. Better have two hundred and――and twenty-five.”
+
+“Pshaw, you’ll want more than that. The things get lost. Besides, three
+hundred won’t cost any more, I guess. Dark blue letters, eh?”
+
+“Yes, sir; and big. You know, sort of――sort of startling!”
+
+“Well, I guess you can’t get very big letters on a small celluloid
+button, Clif; but I’ll tell them to make them as big as they can.”
+
+“Thanks, dad. Say, those buttons will be great, won’t they? Gee, I’ll
+bet we’re going to put this thing over big!”
+
+“Fine! But can you do it, son? I mean, can you get through without
+being beaten?”
+
+“I think so,” answered Clif hesitantly. “We’re sure going to try.
+Loring thinks that if we can really get the crowd to believing it,
+we’ll do it. Do you, dad?”
+
+“Hm, that’s hard to say. There’s no doubt that you can do a thing a
+heap better for thinking you can, though. But you fellows will have to
+play football, too!”
+
+“Yes, sir, I guess we will.” Clif’s gravity lightened and he chuckled.
+“Most of the crowd think we’re going to get licked to-day!”
+
+“To-day? How’s that?”
+
+Clif shook his head. “I don’t just know, sir. Some one started a rumor
+that Jordan is awfully good and it just kept on getting bigger and
+bigger. Now most every one believes it, I guess. We’re not supposed to
+have a chance. It――it’s sort of funny.”
+
+“What do you think?” Mr. Bingham sat down, selected a cigar from a
+leather case and sighed comfortably.
+
+“I’ve bet Tom a couple of ice-cream cones that we’ll win; but, gosh,
+when every one else talks defeat you sort of wonder if there isn’t
+something in it!”
+
+“Well, but _is_ this Jordan crowd so good, son?”
+
+“That’s the funny part of it, sir. No one seems to know! We can’t
+find any records of theirs. They don’t play any of the teams we play.
+They――they’re sort of an unknown quantity.”
+
+“The _X_ in your problem, eh? Well, we’ll hope for the best. Are you
+playing this afternoon?”
+
+Clif shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. Oh, he may let me in for a
+while, like he did last week, but Joe Weldon’s still got the call for
+the position. Mr. Otis told me when he first talked about it that if I
+didn’t show the goods he’d put me back at end. I sort of wish he would.
+I’d be sure of my place then. Tom’s got his place cinched all right,
+and I’d be the same way if ‘G. G.’ hadn’t got this fool notion in his
+bean.”
+
+“But doesn’t the fact that he’s still using you at tackle indicate that
+he’s pretty well satisfied with what you’re doing? Downstairs there he
+spoke very well of your playing.”
+
+Clif grinned. “Dad, you’re awfully innocent sometimes! Don’t you
+suppose coaches always pull that line when they’re talking to fellows’
+fathers? That doesn’t mean a thing. Still, like you just said, it does
+seem that if he wasn’t halfway satisfied he’d put me back where he
+got me. If he’s going to I’d rather he did it now, because Drayton and
+Couch are getting mighty good, and first thing I know I’ll be left out
+all around. And Jeff Adams is no slouch of an end, either. And then
+there’s Gosman――”
+
+“Jeff Adams? He’s your captain?”
+
+“No, sir, that’s Jeff Ogden. It’s the first names that got you mixed.
+You’ll remember Ogden when you see him. He was with us last spring one
+day. He was our pitching ace, sir. He and Adams are both called Jeff,
+but Ogden’s name is Jeffreys and Adams’ is Jefferson. Sounds like a
+list of the presidents, doesn’t it?”
+
+“Hm, reversed, yes. Lunching with me, son?”
+
+“No, sir, I can’t. Best I can do is dinner to-morrow. May I bring Tom?”
+
+“Surely, and another chap if you like. How’s my friend Walter?”
+
+“Fine, sir. I’ll ask him. Gosh, I’ve got a recitation in six minutes!
+Come on over with me, dad. I say, you haven’t seen our room yet! You
+wait up there and I’ll be through in forty-five minutes. Nothing
+afterwards until eleven-forty. How’d you like to lunch at school?”
+
+“No, I guess not, thanks,” answered Mr. Bingham a trifle grimly. “I
+tried that once last spring, if you remember, and they put me next to a
+talkative lady and I nearly starved!”
+
+“Mrs. Flood, sir, the matron,” chuckled Clif. “I’ll bet you made eyes
+at her, dad. She’s been looking sort of wistful ever since!”
+
+Mr. Bingham reached for Clif’s legs with his cane, but the legs whisked
+themselves out of reach and led the way down the stairs.
+
+Jordan arrived on the scene at a little after one o’clock, almost
+breathlessly observed by the Wyndham students, nearly a hundred of whom
+happened――designedly――to be out in front when the big motor bus rolled
+up the drive and around the corner of East Hall to the gymnasium. That
+first view of the enemy was slightly disappointing. Dressed in civies,
+they didn’t look nearly so big nor ferocious as report had pictured
+them. Nor were there very many of them. However, you couldn’t tell much
+about them, as the bus didn’t loiter, and street attire may disguise a
+player considerably. Wyndham decided to reserve judgment.
+
+But some forty minutes later, trotting out on the field in their neat
+and surprisingly immaculate green and white sweaters and hose, the
+Jordan heroes were again disappointing. They were not giants after
+all. They weren’t even sizable! Well, there were several quite tall
+youths in the number, but they were also slim and apparently lacking
+in muscular development. And they looked awfully young, too; as if
+seventeen might be the average age. Wyndham, assembled early for the
+exciting event, stared and stared again, at first in surprise, then in
+disillusionment. A murmur of something very like chagrin moved across
+the stand. Wyndham felt cheated!
+
+The man-eating tigers had turned out to be, in appearance at least,
+no more than kittens! What Wyndham gazed at disconcertedly were some
+twenty-five nice-looking, clean-limbed boys of sixteen and seventeen
+and, rarely, eighteen, who handled themselves in practice as though
+they were not any too well coached and were horribly conscious of being
+under observation. The coach aroused rueful mirth in the opposing
+camp. He was quite evidently one of the teachers, a short, chunky,
+motherly sort of man of possibly thirty-five, very carefully dressed
+as though for an afternoon tea, who moved about among his charges
+with the anxious watchfulness of a plump bantam hen with a hatching
+of long-legged Indian games. He held innumerable conferences with his
+players and was apparently quite as perturbed by the unceasing stare
+of the enemy as they were. On the Wyndham bench, Clif leaned forward,
+grinning, and spoke to Tom, further down the line of waiting players.
+
+“Tom!”
+
+“Huh?”
+
+“I’ll take a maple walnut!”
+
+Tom only shook his head incredulously.
+
+A few minutes later the game began.
+
+It can be best disposed of in terms of scoring. At the end of the
+first twelve-minute period the score was Wyndham 9, Jordan 0. At the
+end of the half it was Wyndham 22, Jordan 0. When the third quarter
+was over, the dark blue’s line-up then consisting almost wholly of
+substitutes――Clif amongst them――the figures were 29 to 0. When the
+memorable contest had finally dragged to its end the score stood,
+Wyndham 36, Jordan 0.
+
+In the locker room, Clif leaned over Tom’s shoulder as the latter
+tiredly removed his shoes. “Tom,” he said, “know something?” Tom turned
+a suspicious countenance. “I don’t believe Jordan ever played the Yale
+Second to a tie. Now, honestly, do you?”
+
+Then Clif hurdled a bench and made the corner of the alley just ahead
+of a shoe.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XI
+
+                              LEMUEL JOHN
+
+
+It was curious how many fellows were to be found that evening who
+had expected all along that Wyndham would capture the game. Indeed,
+it was difficult to discover any one who, no matter what he had
+predicted, had not secretly known that Jordan couldn’t win. A Junior
+named Seton――prophetic cognomen if you pronounced it with the short
+E!――was seriously man-handled by exasperated classmates because, having
+yesterday stoutly maintained that Wyndham would score, he now went
+about reminding the world of the fact. The monitor to whom the victim
+made appeal dismissed the case curtly. “Justifiable assault,” he called
+it!
+
+The day’s happening worked almost magically in favor of the “No
+Defeats” campaign. A pendulum, having reached the limit of its swing
+to the right, promptly starts the other way. Wyndham, having indulged
+enthusiastically in pessimism, now whole-souledly went in for optimism.
+It even credited those blue-letter placards with having worked a spell,
+and the possession of one of the talismans became the object of most
+of the younger fellows. By Sunday morning the posters had disappeared
+from buildings and trees to adorn the walls of many rooms. Then, on
+Monday morning, a notice appeared on the boards in East and West Halls
+announcing that the next day “No Defeats” slogans could be obtained
+at Room B, East, printed on heavy cardboard, for the sum of ten cents
+each. Loring or Wattles passed out eight dollars and forty cents’ worth
+before the demand ceased, which receipts not only paid the printer, but
+left a balance on hand of five dollars and four cents. At a meeting of
+the original sponsors of the campaign and five other conspirators it
+was decided to devote the surplus to paying for the buttons which were
+being made in Providence. They were, however, never able to dispose of
+the balance in that manner since Clif’s father at first “pooh-poohed”
+the idea of reimbursement, then unwillingly consented to accept the
+money as soon as he got the bill from the manufacturer and subsequently
+invariably forgot to bring the bill or send it. He also displayed a
+lamentable memory for a man who had secured financial success by never
+being able to recall the amount of that bill. However, the surplus from
+the sale of placards was eventually disbursed in the interests of the
+campaign.
+
+But I am far ahead of the story. Sunday turned out to be a somewhat
+disagreeable day, with intermittent showers and a chill easterly
+wind, and, reduced to indoor occupations, Wyndham in general spent
+the leisure hours talking over yesterday’s game, reading the papers
+and hazarding guesses as to the identity of the unknown youths who
+were fostering the “No Defeats” idea. Clif, Tom and Walter Treat dined
+splendidly at the inn with Mr. Bingham and remained there until the
+host left for home at about four o’clock. The ride which usually
+followed such banquets was canceled to-day. Speeding over country roads
+in an open car in a rain is not the most gorgeous way in which to spend
+a Sunday afternoon. Of course Tom came in for not a little joshing
+because of his lost wager, but he didn’t mind. With a good dinner in
+prospect, under way or consumed, Tom was amiability itself!
+
+Chance mention of Lemuel John Parks reminded Tom of his promise, and
+that evening after supper was over he routed Lemuel John out of Number
+17 and conducted him down to Loring’s room, where Clif and Sam Erlingby
+were already on hand. Sam was a first class fellow who pitched on the
+nine and was a general favorite throughout the school. After a few
+minutes Tom set the small table in front of Loring’s chair, placed the
+chessboard and chessmen on it and ceremoniously escorted a grinning
+but slightly embarrassed Lemuel John to a seat opposite. Then he said
+earnestly: “Parks, this fellow beats me at this game too often. I want
+r-r-revenge, and it’s up to you, my friend, to produce it. Something
+tells me that you can lick the hide off him. Go to it and win the
+gratitude of――of――”
+
+“Oh, I don’t play much of a game,” demurred Lemuel John modestly,
+setting his men. “I guess Deane can beat me, all right.”
+
+“That’s the wrong thought,” Tom protested. “Confidence, Parks,
+confidence! Summon the will to win, my lad! Remember, my happiness
+depends on you!”
+
+“Oh, let him alone,” said Clif. “How do you expect him to play while
+you’re hanging over him and talking guff? Go sit down, you poor nut.”
+
+So Tom sat down, affecting nerve-wracked suspense, and watched. Sam,
+who didn’t understand the game, was politely silent. Clif pulled a book
+from a shelf and read. But he didn’t read long, for very soon there was
+a triumphant yelp from Tom and that youth was shaking Lemuel John’s
+hand and offering him half his kingdom. And Loring was shaking his head
+and staring, smiling ruefully, at the board.
+
+“I guess he didn’t try very hard,” said Lemuel John. “He――”
+
+“Try?” exclaimed Tom. “Try! Man, the perspiration was standing out in
+drops on his marble dome! Look at that countenance! Does it show utter
+exhaustion or doesn’t it? Thank you, it does!”
+
+“I think you’re too good for me, Parks,” laughed Loring; “but I’d like
+to try you again some time. It’s mighty interesting, playing with some
+one whose stuff is new to you. Now Tom, or Wattles, either――”
+
+“Prepare for insults!” hissed Tom dramatically.
+
+“No, I was only going to say that I can generally tell beforehand what
+your move will be. Parks makes me guess.”
+
+“I’ll say he does!” Tom showed a disposition to start the hand shaking
+all over again. “And he makes you guess wrong, too, young Mr. Lasker!
+Ah, revenge is sweet, _mon cher_ Alphonse!”
+
+But Clif fought him off, refusing to be embraced.
+
+After a while Sam Erlingby took himself off, first conducting a
+whispered conference with Clif outside the door, and a few minutes
+later Lemuel John, too, disappeared. He had declined a second game on
+the score that he had studying to do, but had promised to give Loring
+his revenge soon. When he had gone Loring said: “That chap can play
+chess, Tom.”
+
+“I had a hunch he could,” replied Tom. “I sort of like the big queer.”
+
+“Yes,” agreed Loring thoughtfully. “I wonder if he’s a sample of the
+sort they raise where he comes from. Wisconsin, isn’t it?”
+
+“Some place up there,” answered Tom vaguely.
+
+“Wyoming,” said Clif. “He seems a mighty decent fellow, I say. Too bad
+he doesn’t play football, eh? Look at the shoulders on him!”
+
+“I was wondering about that,” said Loring. “Why shouldn’t he play,
+Clif?”
+
+“He should, I suppose. Thing is, he never has, doesn’t know how and
+doesn’t want to learn. And, of course, he isn’t the sort of fellow
+they’d be likely to draft. I mean by that he isn’t exactly promising.
+Of course he’s built for it, you might say, but he’s frightfully
+awkward and kind of slow. I dare say Steve New was frightfully relieved
+when Lemuel John refused to have anything to do with his old game.”
+
+“He isn’t any more awkward than lots of fellows I’ve seen trying for
+the team,” said Tom. “He really ought to go out, fellows, because
+they’ll be needing some one like him next year. What class is he?
+Second, eh?”
+
+Clif nodded. “Walt says he’s only seventeen, but he looks older,
+doesn’t he? You’re right about next year, Tom; for there’ll be a lot
+of losses in June; Billy Desmond, Smythe, Breeze, Weldon; a bunch of
+guards and tackles; and I don’t see many new fellows that look awfully
+promising.”
+
+“Parks ought to be playing with the Scrub right now,” said Tom
+decidedly. “Wonder ‘Cocky’ doesn’t grab him. Bet you he would if he
+thought of it.”
+
+“You know,” observed Loring, “I have a sort of theory that the ideal
+football player, lineman especially, is a lot like Parks in the
+beginning. I’d like to take him myself and see what I could do with
+him. I mean, that is, if I were――well, able to get about.”
+
+“I’m not sure you couldn’t make a player of him as it is, Loring,” said
+Clif. “Of course, he’d have to be willing.”
+
+“No, I couldn’t do it as things are,” answered Loring. “If I were you,
+Clif, or Tom, I’d like to try it. You see, Parks has a lot to start
+with; size and weight and strength and the sort of temperament that
+makes steady players. And he doesn’t look as if he ever had an ache or
+a pain. He’s rather awkward and he’s easily embarrassed――”
+
+“It’s a crowd that makes him that way,” interpolated Clif. “There
+wasn’t any embarrassment about him the day I ran in on him in his room.”
+
+“I was going to say,” continued Loring, “that awkwardness and――and
+shyness suggest a kind of stupidity in most fellows, but I don’t
+believe Parks is stupid. No fellow who can see the right move in chess
+as quickly as he can is stupid; not by a long sight!”
+
+“All right,” said Tom. “Grant that he’s a wonder, Loring, and what
+about it?”
+
+“Then, if he is, he ought to be trying to learn to play football. We’re
+out to have the team come through without a beating, and it seems to
+me that we oughtn’t to miss a trick, Tom. If we see any way of making
+success more certain we should take hold.”
+
+“Meaning,” asked Tom dubiously, “that you think Parks’ playing on the
+Scrub would hold the first team to a clean record?”
+
+“Why not? If Parks turned out to be a good guard or tackle――”
+
+“Too slow for tackle,” said Clif.
+
+“I’m not so sure. You’d see a big difference in him after a week’s
+practice. Anyhow, guard or tackle, if he proved good he’d strengthen
+the second, and the stronger the second is the better the first will
+be. Because, you know as well as I do, that it’s the opposition and
+experience the big team gets from the Scrub that counts the most. It’s
+the daily battles and not the Saturday scraps that teach the first team
+fellows what to do and how to do it.”
+
+“Think so?” asked Tom. “Well, perhaps you’re right. Just the same, I
+can’t see Lemuel John Parks setting the world on fire as a football
+artist! Why, heck, common sense will tell you that no fellow named
+Lemuel John could ever win renown!”
+
+“I’m not talking about his winning renown,” answered Loring seriously.
+“When you come to that, how many fellows who play line positions ever
+do win it? Perhaps one in ten ever sees his name in a paper outside a
+line-up, Tom. It’s you backfield fellows who get the bouquets.”
+
+“And us linemen who do the honest-to-gosh work,” said Clif.
+
+“Huh! We spend most of our time helping you guys out,” replied Tom.
+“If we weren’t right behind you on defense, old timer, you’d lose your
+jobs. I don’t see that you need more than five men on a football team,
+anyway; a center to put the ball in play and four backs to do the work.
+The other six are just in the way!”
+
+“In the other team’s way, you mean,” Clif laughed.
+
+“I really think,” said Loring, not to be turned aside by levity, “that
+it’s up to us to persuade Parks to have a go at it.”
+
+“Oh, have a heart!” Tom protested. “Let some one else do it. Get Guy on
+his trail.”
+
+“All right, let Owens try him first. If Owens fails we’ll get after
+him.”
+
+“I don’t believe you’ll be able to interest Guy,” said Clif. “‘G. G.’
+isn’t looking for any more candidates now, and Guy won’t bother to find
+men for ‘Cocky’s’ team. Why not sick ‘Cocky’ on him?”
+
+“That’s the stuff,” commended Tom. “Or――hold on; who’s captain of that
+bunch?”
+
+“Warner. Plays left guard,” said Clif.
+
+“Hm, I wonder if he’d be keen for another guard!”
+
+“He certainly would,” replied Clif stoutly. “I know George Warner. He’s
+a fine, straight chap. I’m going to speak to him about Lemuel John the
+first thing to-morrow. Only thing is, fellows, it’s sort of late in the
+season to join up.”
+
+“Oh, ‘Cocky’ will take fellows on any time if he likes their looks,”
+Tom said, yawning. “But I’d certainly hate to be in Parks’ shoes.
+‘Cocky’ will sure make him hustle!”
+
+George Warner, captain of the second team, button-holed by Clif the
+next morning in the corridor, was interested until Clif had divulged
+the identity of the tentative candidate. Then Warner grinned. “Why,
+Clif, I know that fellow. I mean I’ve seen him around. Couldn’t help
+seeing him very well!”
+
+“Well, what do you say? You really ought to have him, George. He’s got
+the making of a nice player.”
+
+“Who said so?” asked Warner incredulously.
+
+“I’ve heard several fellows say so. Besides, you’ve only to look at
+him!”
+
+“I’ve looked at him and I don’t see it,” replied the captain, shaking
+his head. “He’s big, all right, and he’s built pretty well, but so’s
+an elephant, Clif. You couldn’t get that fellow to move out of a walk,
+I’ll bet! Still, if you put it as a favor――”
+
+“Favor be hanged! I’m trying to do you poor nuts a good turn. Parks
+would make a corking guard, with a bit of training, and you sure need
+one!”
+
+Warner acknowledged the insult with a wider grin. “All right, old chap.
+You tell your friend to show up this afternoon in togs and I’ll speak
+to ‘Cocky’ about him. Maybe we can use him somewhere.”
+
+“That’s not the idea,” replied Clif. “He isn’t going to come out just
+for my telling him to. That’s the point. He doesn’t want to play――”
+
+“Well for goodness’ sake!” ejaculated Warner. “What’s the idea, then?
+If he doesn’t want to play, you can bet your life, Clif, I’m not going
+to force him! I thought you were trying to tell me that he was looking
+for a chance on――”
+
+“Listen, George, and try to get this, will you?” said Clif patiently.
+“Parks is good material but he doesn’t care a hang about playing on
+your old outfit. But you need him. Yes, you do, too. A week or so from
+now you’ll be wishing hard you had a couple more big linemen to take
+the place of the killed and injured. What you’ve got to do is see him
+and tell him he’s wanted and that it won’t do him a mite of good to
+refuse. He will play if he thinks he has to. Understand now?”
+
+“Sure, I understand,” jeered Warner; “but I’ve got plenty of troubles
+without hunting them, Clif. _I_ don’t want the chap!”
+
+“I tell you you do,” persisted Clif. “The Scrub needs him. Now don’t be
+an ass, George. Go on and do like I tell you. He rooms with Walt Treat
+in Number 17, West.”
+
+“I know where he rooms,” muttered Warner. “He’s in my corridor. I ran
+into him the other morning and nearly dislocated my neck! Oh, all
+right; but, gosh ding it, Clif, there’s not a bit of sense in it. Mr.
+Babcock will think I’m plumb crazy. And I’ll tell you this, too. I’ll
+ask him to play, but I’m hanged if I’ll coax him!”
+
+“I don’t want you to coax him,” replied Clif cheerfully. “Coaxing
+probably wouldn’t fetch him. You’ve got to threaten him.”
+
+“Sounds all right,” said Warner dubiously; “but he’s ten pounds heavier
+than I am and I guess he’s got a better reach. Still, I can leave the
+door open, and I’m plumb certain I can outrun him!”
+
+“See him to-day, will you, George?” asked Clif.
+
+“Yes, I’ll look him up this morning. He’s in my Latin class and I
+guess I can get him there. Listen, Clif, don’t make any more weird
+discoveries, eh? Or, if you do, take ’em on the first!”
+
+Turning from Warner, Clif encountered Todd Darlington on his way to
+the staircase, and to Clif’s surprise Todd stopped. “Say, Bingham,
+you’re in with Deane on this ‘No Defeats’ thing, aren’t you? I think
+he mentioned you the other day in connection with the scheme. Well,
+you’ve certainly started it nicely. I was surprised, really, because
+when Deane spoke of it to me I was afraid the fellows would shy away
+from it. No reason why they should, of course, except that it’s just a
+trifle sensational, if you see what I mean. Then, too, when the team
+does get licked, and I guess even Deane doesn’t really expect it to win
+every game, it’s going to make us all feel a bit foolish, isn’t it?”
+
+“I don’t think so,” answered Clif. “There’s no reason why one should
+feel foolish because one tries a thing and fails. That would keep a lot
+of us from trying, Darlington.”
+
+“Oh, no, not if the effort is――well, worth making, Bingham. That’s not
+my idea at all. But this business seems to me just a trifle sophomoric.
+Still, of course, there’s no real harm in it; and it’s a fine thing to
+see the school get together on it as they have. I told Deane that I
+wished him luck, but I really didn’t dream that he’d make a go of it.
+I’m mighty glad, Bingham. Tell him that when you see him, will you?”
+The first class president nodded, a trifle benignly, and went on up the
+stairway, leaving Clif feeling as though he had been patted on the head.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+
+                           A NEW MAN JOINS UP
+
+
+Clif wasn’t able to discover that afternoon whether Lemuel John had
+been captured by the second team, for he was pretty busy until the
+second came over for a brief scrimmage and exceedingly busy afterwards.
+The substitutes opposed the Scrub to-day and Clif played left tackle
+all through with fair success. He tried to find an opportunity to ask
+Warner about Lemuel John, but Warner was in the line-up for only a few
+minutes and the opportunity didn’t present. Later, the matter went out
+of his mind until Loring brought it back that evening.
+
+“He wasn’t on the bench with the second when they came across,” said
+Tom. “I guess Warner forgot it.”
+
+“More likely he didn’t try very hard,” said Clif. “I’ll drop in on
+Lemuel John after study and see what happened. I don’t suppose it will
+matter if he learns that we’re interested in getting him out.”
+
+“Not a bit,” said Loring. “If he turned Warner down, Clif, try to get
+him to come over here with you and we’ll have a talk with him. Perhaps,
+between the three of us, we can get him to change his mind.”
+
+Clif found Lemuel John alone at a little after nine. He was writing a
+letter and Clif apologized for disturbing him. “No disturbance,” said
+Lemuel John. “I was just writing a letter to dad because I didn’t have
+anything else much to do. I’d a sight rather talk. I thought you’d
+forgotten this number, Bingham.”
+
+“N-no,” said Clif awkwardly; “but I’ve been rather busy, what with one
+thing and another. Walt off for the evening?”
+
+“Down the hall,” said Lemuel John. “He asked me along, but I didn’t
+care about it. I saw you play this afternoon.”
+
+“Oh, did you? Er――were you――I mean, you weren’t playing yourself, were
+you?”
+
+“Me?” Lemuel John chuckled. “No, but it’s funny you said that, because
+there was a fellow up here this forenoon asking me if I didn’t want to
+join the second team. Maybe you know him, Warner. He’s captain of the
+second.”
+
+“Yes, I know him,” said Clif. “Of course you told him you did want to.”
+
+“No.” Lemuel John shook his head. “I told him it wouldn’t be any use.”
+
+“Well, I guess he didn’t take that for an answer,” replied Clif,
+smiling.
+
+“Why, yes, he did. Why not? Shucks, I couldn’t learn football, and I
+told him so.”
+
+“How do you know you couldn’t?” Clif asked.
+
+“Walt says so. I asked him one day if he thought I could and he said no
+pretty emphatic.”
+
+“Walt knows less about football than I know about――about the Gothic
+language! Look here, Parks, if you don’t really want to finish that
+letter just now, come over to East with me, won’t you? To Loring’s, I
+mean.”
+
+Lemuel John consented a trifle doubtfully, wondering what was up. Tom
+was already on hand when they reached Loring’s room, and after a minute
+of rather perfunctory conversation, Loring turned his chair a trifle,
+so that he could more directly face Lemuel John, and asked: “You’re
+with us in this ‘No Defeats’ campaign, I suppose, Parks?”
+
+“Oh, yes.”
+
+“Good! Because you can do quite a bit for the cause, I think.”
+
+“I can?” Lemuel John smiled incredulously.
+
+“Yes. You see, if the team is to come through the season with a clean
+record it’s got to get plenty of good, hard practice as well as
+coaching. Well, practice is supplied, as you know, by the Scrub; Mr.
+Babcock’s team. And it follows that the stronger the second is the
+better practice it can provide for the first. So far I make myself
+clear, eh?”
+
+“Yes, I see what you mean,” answered the other.
+
+“Well, the second can do with more players, Parks. And it occurred to
+us that you might be just the fellow to help out.”
+
+“Shucks, no, Deane! I wouldn’t be any good. I’ve never played a bit.”
+
+“That wouldn’t matter. Plenty of fellows do their first football
+playing right here, and make good. You’re about the right build for a
+lineman, Parks; guard, say, or maybe tackle; and personally, as I told
+these chaps, I believe you could make a corking good one.”
+
+“Shucks!” Lemuel John looked about as though he suspected the others
+of being in league to make fun of him. But the countenances denied
+it. “I don’t believe,” he went on doubtfully, “that I’ve got enough
+brains. I was looking at a book the other day that explained the rules
+of football――” he glanced apologetically at Loring――“I couldn’t make a
+blame thing out of them!”
+
+“I’ll bet you couldn’t!” exclaimed Tom. “I’m supposed to know a little
+about the game, but I give you my word, Parks, that if I look into the
+rules book I get all balled up in a minute!”
+
+“About all the average candidate brings to the field with him the
+first day,” continued Loring, “is a healthy body and a normal mind.
+The rest is provided by the coaches. I’ll swear you’ve got the first
+requirement, and as for the second――well, it’s no secret that lots
+of fellows in prep school and college who have made big names for
+themselves as football players would never startle the world with
+their intellects! I’m not likening you to them, Parks, however. I’m
+only trying to reassure you, you know. As a matter of fact, any fellow
+who can play chess as you play it needn’t trouble about not having
+enough brains for football. About seventy-five per cent of football
+is doing what you’re told, which leaves only twenty-five per cent for
+the exercise of your mentality. You haven’t any good reason for not
+playing, have you? I mean your folks aren’t down on it, for instance?”
+
+Lemuel John grinned. “I guess they don’t know what it is,” he answered.
+
+“Well, I don’t see, then, why you don’t go out to-morrow and report for
+the second.”
+
+“Oh, shucks, I don’t know!” Lemuel John looked frowningly from one to
+another. “Think they’d want me?”
+
+“Yes. In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t grabbed you long ago.”
+
+“Why, there was something said about me playing, Deane. And then just
+to-day a fellow named Warner came to see me. I was telling Bingham
+about it upstairs a while back. Warner’s captain of the second. He said
+he’d like me to come out and try for the team, but I told him I didn’t
+think I’d better.”
+
+“What did he say then?” asked Clif.
+
+“Said maybe I knew best, or something like that.”
+
+“The silly coot!” commented Clif disgustedly. “I told him――” Then he
+caught a cautioning look from Loring and stopped.
+
+“I think you’d enjoy playing football, Parks,” said Loring. “Of course
+it’s hard work, but it’s fun, too. Maybe you’re wondering how I know,
+since I’ve never tried it. I do know, though; and Clif and Tom will
+tell you the same thing.”
+
+“Oh, I guess I’d like it,” said Lemuel John. “I mean if I could really
+play the game. I’d sort of hate to go out on that field and make a fool
+of myself, though.”
+
+“Not a chance of it,” said Clif. “Just remember that every one of us
+has been through the same thing, Parks. You’ll feel awkward at first,
+maybe, but it won’t take you more than two or three days to get onto
+the ropes.”
+
+“Think so? Well, I don’t know. I can be pretty dumb sometimes, Bingham.”
+
+“At that, you’ll have nothing on the rest of ’em,” Tom chuckled.
+“There’s a chap on the Scrub named Kinsey――”
+
+“Never mind the scandal, Tom,” said Loring. “There’s still another
+thing, Parks, that I haven’t mentioned. That’s duty. Duty enters into
+it, too, you know. A fellow who can help the school by playing football
+or baseball or any other game mustn’t pay too much attention to his own
+wishes. If the school needs his services that ought to be sufficient.
+Don’t you agree with me?”
+
+“Well, I don’t know. I mean I suppose you’re right, Deane. I never
+thought about that. You see, fellows, all this is sort of new to me.
+I’m a tenderfoot here. This kind of a school’s considerably different
+from the school at home. There’s a lot of things I ain’t onto yet. But
+I guess you know what you’re talking about, all right.”
+
+“The gentleman flatters you, Loring,” said Tom.
+
+“I wasn’t meaning to flatter him,” began Lemuel John earnestly. Then he
+caught the smile on Clif’s face and chuckled. “I ain’t onto him yet,
+either,” he said, nodding toward Tom. “He’s a kind of a funny feller,
+ain’t――isn’t he?”
+
+“He’s a plain nut,” laughed Clif. “Pay no attention to him, Parks. No
+one else does.”
+
+“Now I guess you’re the one that’s stringing me. Well, I’m going to
+think over what you said, Deane.” He began to assemble his long legs
+preparatory to arising, but Loring motioned him back.
+
+“Don’t be in a hurry, Parks. It’s still early. Besides, I’d rather have
+you decide this business before you go. I might as well tell you――” and
+here Loring flashed that compelling smile of his――“that I’ve made up
+my mind you’re going to play. That means that if you say no now you’ll
+just have to unsay it later, for I’m a frightfully persistent fellow,
+Parks, and I’m likely to make life mighty unpleasant for you till you
+let me have my way.”
+
+“Shucks!” Lemuel John laughed amusedly. “I guess if it come――came to
+a show-down between us two I’d win pretty easy for stubbornness. But,
+gosh, if you want me to play as bad as you say, why, I’ll do it. Guess
+I’d have decided to do it, anyway. I wish you’d tell me, though, what
+the――the proceedings are. Do I get me one of those suits they wear
+first-off, or do I wait and see will it be needed?”
+
+“You wear your togs when you report,” said Loring; “but if I were you
+I wouldn’t spend any money just yet. You’ve got some old togs, haven’t
+you, Tom?”
+
+“Yes, I’ve got some spare parts,” answered Tom dubiously, appraising
+Lemuel John’s frame; “but maybe they won’t fit.”
+
+“I can help out, too,” said Clif. “Tom and I will bring the things down
+to you on our way to breakfast in the morning. Shoes, though――”
+
+“Yes, I guess I’ll have to buy those,” said Lemuel John, grinning. “I
+wear a nine.”
+
+“A nine! Sacred Ibis of the River Nile, Parks! If I ever see you
+coming my way there’ll be a half back missing from the first!” And Tom
+shook his head awedly.
+
+“I guess I ain’t likely to trouble you fellows any,” said the big chap.
+“Not this year, anyway. I guess I’ll be going now. I’ve got a letter
+half written to my father and I’d like to tell him about this football
+business. It might interest him some. He don’t have much to interest
+him where he is.”
+
+“Why,” asked Loring solicitously, “where is your father, Parks?”
+
+“New York City. It’s kind of dull down there for an active man like
+dad. Good night.”
+
+“Good night. Come again without being shanghaied. And don’t forget that
+game of chess you promised. How about――let’s see――how about Wednesday
+night?”
+
+“Well, I don’t know,” drawled Lemuel John. “Maybe I won’t be able to by
+then. But if I am I’ll sure drop around.”
+
+“Think he will make the second?” asked Clif when the door had closed
+behind the visitor.
+
+“I certainly do,” answered Loring. “Don’t you, Tom?”
+
+“Well,” said Tom haltingly, “I don’t ... know!”
+
+But Lemuel John did make it. He lounged over to the second team
+gridiron the next afternoon attired――rather abruptly, as a matter of
+truth――in some old togs belonging to Tom and Clif and told George
+Warner that he had changed his mind and guessed he’d see could he be
+a football player. George managed to conceal his delight remarkably.
+Indeed, an observer might almost have suspected that the captain was
+bored rather than thrilled! However, he conducted Lemuel John over
+to Coach Babcock and explained, and “Cocky,” after a swift survey of
+the new candidate, smiled and asked: “Well, how’d we happen to miss
+you before, Parks?” Lemuel John was an object of some amusement to
+the other members of the Scrub squad, but they were decent enough not
+to let him suspect it, and later, when the rookie had his initial
+experience of handling a football, he was the first to chuckle at his
+awkwardness. Before preliminary practice was over Lemuel John had
+exactly twenty-eight new friends, for no one, from “Cocky” down to the
+least of the substitutes, could resist his good nature and patience
+under trying circumstances. Mr. Babcock didn’t excuse Lemuel John from
+any of the pleasant diversions, but made him take his place in line
+with the more experienced and muddle his way through. The spectacle of
+the big fellow attempting his first tackle of the dummy was amusing
+enough, in all faith, and even “Cocky” had to join his laughter with
+that of the others; but when, still later, Lemuel John was instructed
+to take his place with the catchers and let a high spiral punt settle
+into his arms the result was ludicrous. Lemuel John’s mouth fell open
+as he gazed anxiously at the descending ball and he became tense in
+every muscle. Then, almost at the last instant, he discovered that he
+was several paces away from the probable landing place of the pigskin
+and came to life wildly. He leaped forward and to the left and shot
+two great, long arms skyward. I suspect, too, that he closed his eyes,
+since for at least a second after the ball had struck the sod two
+yards behind him he still remained there as though supplicating the
+gods!
+
+More than once that afternoon Lemuel John earnestly regretted his
+decision. Even though he knew that his inept efforts were funny, and
+though he laughed at them, sometimes a bit ruefully, himself, no one
+likes to be the sole and continual object of amusement, and Lemuel
+John’s cheeks reddened several times under their tan. But it ended
+finally and he accompanied the others over to the first team field and
+sat on the bench in frowning concentration while the first trampled
+on the Scrub to the tune of 13 to 0. Loring Deane had predicted the
+position of guard or tackle for him, and Lemuel John focused his
+observation on those positions. It seemed to him when the first
+scrimmage period was over that the four fellows playing them on the
+second were wrong in allowing the opposing players to thrust them aside
+as they did. Of course, he reflected, he didn’t know much about the
+fine points of the game yet, but it stood to reason, didn’t it, that
+if the Scrub linemen would only stop those other fellows from going
+ahead when they had the ball the other fellows wouldn’t score like
+they had. Maybe, though, there were rules in that book he had looked
+at which said the defenders mustn’t do that. He didn’t know about that
+yet and he meant to find out. To that end he edged along the bench and
+addressed a youngster who, like himself, had not yet seen service. In
+the course of the next five minutes he received more information on the
+subject of the duties of linemen, both on attack and defense, than he
+could have derived from an hour’s perusal of the rules book. And, to
+his surprise, it came out that the reason Sawyer and Burns and Warner
+and Dawson didn’t stop the opponents from getting past them was that
+they couldn’t help themselves! Lemuel John, considered that for a long
+moment. Then he drawled: “Well, I don’t know, stranger, but it seems to
+me like I’d make a heap more effort than those fellows if I was doing
+it. Looks to me like they quit too easy!”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIII
+
+                      THE BOY WITH THE FUNNY CHIN
+
+
+On Wednesday Lemuel John turned up for the chess game in spite of
+certain infirmities consequent on two days of unfamiliar and rather
+strenuous exercise. And once more he won from Loring with comparative
+ease. He seemed more at ease on this occasion and didn’t sit as
+though he was expecting an alarm of fire and might have to rush for
+the nearest exit at an instant’s notice. And he was decidedly amusing
+when, subsequent to the chess encounter, he confided the tale of his
+experiences on the football field. He was so big and capable looking
+that, when he told in a plaintive drawl of the indignities put on
+him by the remorseless “Cocky,” Tom doubled up and fairly gurgled.
+On the whole, Lemuel John was a distinct hit that evening, and when
+he departed he left the Triumvirate sensible of several excellent
+qualities, not the least of which was his unfailing good humor. Tom
+came out flat-footed for Lemuel John.
+
+“He’s a fine old coot,” declared Tom, “and I’ll bet you anything you
+like that next year he will be a pretty warm baby on the football team.
+I haven’t seen him in action, and from what he says he must be fairly
+awful, but he’s got something that’s going to get him where he wants
+to go, no matter where that is. If he says to himself ‘I want to
+play good football,’ he’s going to play good football. On the whole,
+fellows, I’m glad I thought of persuading him to go out for the Scrub.”
+
+“You’re glad _you_ thought of it!” exclaimed Clif. “Well, of all the
+colossal nerve!”
+
+“That’s it,” Tom complained. “Refuse me credit for everything!
+Perhaps I didn’t actually make the first suggestion, but if I
+hadn’t――er――nurtured the plan it would have fallen flat. I suppose next
+thing you’ll deny I didn’t think of that slog――I mean battle cry!”
+
+“No, we give you credit for ‘No Defeats,’” laughed Loring. “And, by the
+way, those buttons ought to be along to-morrow, Clif, oughtn’t they?”
+
+They came Friday. Tom voiced disappointment because they were only the
+size of a nickel, but Clif and Loring pointed out to him that fellows
+would wear a small button where they would disdain a larger one. “You
+know, Tom,” Clif reminded him sweetly, “this isn’t a banquet of the
+Kiwanis Club.” The buttons were of white, with a narrow rim of blue and
+the words “No Defeats” in the same color. The blue was not exactly the
+correct Wyndham blue, for the latter was decidedly dark; but that was a
+detail.
+
+Distribution was effected with little effort. Each of the sponsors in
+the campaign filled a pocket with them and then pinned one to a lapel.
+After that all that was necessary was to keep dipping a hand into the
+pocket until the supply was exhausted and then drop around to Loring’s
+room for more. By bedtime that night every student wore a button.
+
+The idea of holding a meeting to aid in putting the thing over had
+already been abandoned. The deed was already accomplished. Wyndham
+was “sold” on the idea solidly. “No Defeats” took its place in the
+language of the school, stared down from the walls of dormitory rooms,
+challenged the visiting opponent from the front of the grand stand and,
+when the next number of _The Lantern_ appeared the following Tuesday,
+headed the editorial page in bold face type. What pleased Loring
+especially was that the school adopted the motto seriously. It might
+have made a joke of it or taken it up as an amusing diversion, in which
+case it would have lasted a week, perhaps, and then been forgotten.
+But Wyndham was really in earnest about an unbeaten team, and, while
+the expression “No Defeats” was used frequently in a laughing way, it
+found no vogue as flippant slang. The idea had captured the imagination
+of the school and the school earnestly meant to see that the defiant
+prediction came true.
+
+As a result of the enthusiasm almost three-fourths of the fellows
+accompanied the team on Saturday when it went down state to play
+Cupples Institute. That was something that had possibly never happened
+in the history of the school save when the opponent had been Wolcott.
+Wyndham went with banners and arm bands and little white-and-blue
+buttons and much vocal demonstration, and it would have been a
+most ungrateful football eleven that would not have won with such
+encouragement. Cupples was never a very formidable enemy, although it
+is true of football that the best team doesn’t always win. Last year,
+at Freeburg, Wyndham had won by 20 to 0, and there was no expectation
+of a very different result to-day. The Dark Blue had developed
+considerably during the past week, and the attack, more or less latent
+hitherto, was at last visible. Coach Otis started off with first-string
+players in all positions save left guard and full back. Smythe had
+been acting rather temperamental since the Jordan game, and Breeze was
+at guard on the left side. Captain Ogden had hurt an ankle two days
+before in practice, and, while the injury was slight, Dan Farrell, the
+trainer, thought it best to keep him quiet for a few days longer. That
+put “Swede” Hanbury at full back.
+
+Wyndham started off with a rush after receiving the kick-off and pushed
+Tom Kemble over for the first score six minutes later. Sproule missed
+the try-for-point. The dark blue scored again before the quarter
+was over when a long forward pass from Hanbury to Drayton covered
+thirty-four yards, with Drayton’s run, and left the pigskin on Cupples’
+seventeen. There the home team stiffened and when Wyndham had gained
+but four yards on three attempts, “Swede” retired to the twenty and
+lifted the ball over from a drop.
+
+Cupples had a brief moment of supremacy toward the last of the second
+period. Houston and Tom between them managed to mess a pass and the
+fumbled ball was recovered by Cupples on Wyndham’s thirty-seven. From
+there a short heave over the left of the line took it to the thirty-one
+and the attack gained first down on three tries at Breeze, in the last
+of which he was considerably messed up. Howlett took his place, and on
+the next slam Cupples shot a back past Howlett to the nineteen yards,
+at least three of the visitors missing their tackles. With two yards to
+go, Cupples tried a fake forward pass, the ball going to right half for
+a wide run. Couch nailed the runner for a four-yard loss and Cupples
+shot the pigskin overhead on the next try. Tom spoiled the pass and the
+ball grounded. Cupples’ placement kick from the thirty-one went short
+of the goal.
+
+Clif started the third period at left tackle and won momentary fame
+on the third play after Wyndham had possession of the ball. The shift
+took Drayton to the other end of the line, leaving Clif eligible to
+take a pass, and Clif took it very nicely, well off to the left of the
+scrimmage, and sped it down the field for twelve yards and a total
+of twenty-six. A penalty set the Dark Blue back, however, and in the
+end Clif’s feat went for naught. It wasn’t until the last quarter had
+started that another score was made, and then it was Cupples who made
+it. Cupples got a back away on a nice around-the-end run, outside
+Williams, substituting Couch, and the fleet-footed youth reeled off
+fifty-three yards before he was pulled down from behind. Unable to
+advance from Wyndham’s twelve by attacks at the enemy line, Cupples
+again tried a placement kick and this time succeeded, leaving the score
+9 to 3.
+
+A little later a Cupples punt was short and Jackson, at quarter, made a
+fair catch on Cupples’ forty-seven yards. McMurtry and Whitemill made
+good gains off tackle and advanced the pigskin to the thirty-six. Then
+“G. G.” mended his line with three first-string players who had retired
+late in the first half and Wyndham went steadily forward to her third
+score. Just at the last the going grew heavy and the gains short, but
+Stiles, who had taken Sproule’s place at right half, solved the final
+problem by slipping around the Cupples left end behind a well-built
+wall of interference and carrying the ball over the remaining eight
+yards for a touchdown. This time Sim Jackson officiated at the
+try-for-point and had no difficulty in securing the last score of the
+contest.
+
+Wyndham went home with a 16-to-3 game dangling at her belt, more than
+ever convinced that “No Defeats” meant just what it said!
+
+There were, however, some who reflected that 16 to 3 didn’t sound
+quite so pretty as 20 to 0, and who remembered that Wolcott had
+defeated Cupples two weeks ago by 18 to 0. And when Monday came there
+were evidences of dissatisfaction on the part of Coach Otis. He tried
+Craigie at left guard that afternoon and Jeff Adams at left end, and
+he made brief experiments at other places on the team. And he was
+decidedly brusque all during practice. In short, the signs indicated
+that any fellow who cared much for his job had best settle his nose
+closer to the grindstone and keep his eyes ahead! Those who had played
+a full two periods on Saturday were exempted from the scrimmage to-day,
+and the second rode rough shod over the second- and third-string subs,
+a fact which pleased “G. G.” not at all and which led to expressions
+of opinion not at all flattering to the subs. Tom and Clif, pausing
+on their way to the showers to hearken, grinned sympathetically and
+exchanged meaning glances as they went on again.
+
+Loring attended football practice very regularly. Rain was about
+the only thing that kept him away. And, of course, Wattles went,
+too, wheeling Loring’s chair from East Hall across the field to a
+corner of the bench and then occupying a few inches of space at the
+extreme end of the seat. The boy in the wheel chair and the eminently
+dignified attendant were so much a part of the scene that their
+infrequent absences were invariably noted and commented on. Wyndham
+School was proud of Loring Deane, proud for various reasons. In the
+first place, it was something of a feather in the Wyndham cap to have
+for a student the son of a man internationally famous as a financier
+and immensely wealthy. There were, to be sure, a few who tried to
+dislike Loring because of Sanford Deane’s wealth, but they were few.
+What accounted for most of the school’s pride, however, was Loring’s
+patience and pluck and cheerfulness in misfortune. There were some
+who observed cynically that they’d be willing to have their walking
+done for them if they could be Sanford Deane’s sons. But they were
+either thoughtless or untruthful, for no amount of wealth can make
+up for physical disability. Loring not only smiled in the face of
+adversity, but laughed at it! If he couldn’t use his feet, at least
+he had an otherwise sound body and he made the most of it. All that
+he could do he did well. He was a brilliant student, and last winter
+he had won the Seymour Scholarship, the principal prize open to third
+class fellows. The fact that he had declined the money accompanying
+the honor didn’t lessen his popularity any. Popularity, though, isn’t
+quite the word to use concerning Loring, for popularity suggests a
+sort of easy familiarity lacking in his relations with the school
+_in toto_. Loring’s close friends were few, his acquaintances many.
+Back of his apparent approachability was a reserve born, doubtless,
+of his misfortune and compounded largely of shyness. It was necessary
+to negotiate that inner defense before one could win to the citadel
+of Loring’s friendship, and not very many succeeded. Yet those who
+remained without were almost invariably as loyal as those who entered,
+and Tom once said that Loring had more bosom friends who didn’t even
+know him than any fellow he had ever met!
+
+During practice Loring was seldom dependent on Wattles for conversation,
+for some one was usually visiting with him down there at the end of the
+bench: one of the players, or one of the managers, or not infrequently
+Dan Farrell, the trainer. One of Dan’s favorite remarks was that just as
+soon as Loring got to using crutches he was going to train him for the
+track. “And, by gorry,” Dan would add, “you’ll be winning races, too,
+Mr. Deane, for it’s you has the pluck that can’t be beat!” Last year the
+trainer’s optimism had been reprimanded smilingly by Loring. “I guess
+I’ll never get to crutches,” he had said. But this fall he didn’t
+challenge the hopeful statement. The possibility was not quite as remote
+as it had been.
+
+Now and then Mr. Otis paused for a word, but the coach was usually
+too busy to do more than exchange greetings. On Tuesday afternoon,
+though, Loring’s chair was wheeled into place a few minutes earlier
+than customary, and by chance Mr. Otis came directly from the inn to
+the gridiron without stopping at the gymnasium. Only a small handful of
+players were about and the stand was practically deserted. Loring sat
+fairly imbedded in a raccoon coat, for the day was cloudy and cold, and
+even Wattles, whose soul abhorred the undignified drapery of such loose
+apparel, wore a pepper-and-salt overcoat which, being of no more than
+medium weight and stopping short slightly below his knees, looked far
+from sufficient. However, Wattles had further fortified himself against
+the weather by encasing his rather large feet in a pair of rubbers.
+He called them galoshes, which was just another indication of how
+difficult it was for Wattles to become wholly Americanized. As always,
+he wore a bowler――that is, begging his pardon, a derby. It was a black
+derby, irreproachably lustrous of nap, of a distinctly square tendency.
+Wattles’ derby had become a Wyndham feature; like “Old Brad’s” one
+cream-colored necktie or the battered football in the glass case in the
+gymnasium, which bore the barely decipherable inscription: “Wyndham 28,
+Wolcott 0.” In Wattles’ philosophy a man might conceivably murder his
+grandmother under stress of strong emotion, or default with the funds
+of widows and orphans, but a gentleman could not wear a soft hat. At
+least, not without the permitting accompaniment of homespun. And he had
+his doubts as to that!
+
+Wattles arose with a murmur of respectful greeting and Mr. Otis said:
+“No, no, Wattles, keep your seat. I’ll sit over here for a minute.
+Well, Deane, I haven’t had a real word with you this fall. How are you?”
+
+“Oh, fine, thanks, sir.”
+
+“Well, you look it; what I can see of you! How are those legs coming
+along, my boy? Any improvement?”
+
+Loring shook his head, still smiling. “Not much, I’m afraid. Wattles
+thinks he sees an improvement, or says he does; but he’s a confounded
+optimist about other folks’ troubles!”
+
+“Well, I hope he’s right. What do you say, Wattles?”
+
+Wattles coughed delicately. “There is an improvement, sir. The doctor
+admits it, too, sir. Mr. Loring is naturally not so capable of
+appreciating it, Mr. Otis. It is――very gradual; oh, very, sir.”
+
+“I’ll say it is,” laughed Loring. “If you’re thinking of holding the
+quarter back job open for me next season, sir, you’d best not bother.”
+
+“Hm. I’d like mighty well to see you in it, Deane.” Mr. Otis was
+plainly sincere, and Loring’s cheeks flushed with pleasure behind the
+barrier of the big fur collar. “What do you think of our outfit this
+fall, by the way?”
+
+“It looks mighty good to me, Mr. Otis. I guess we’ve been sort of slow
+in getting started, but it looks now as if we were headed about right.
+Don’t you think so, sir?”
+
+“Oh, we’re better than we were. If we had a few more pounds in the line
+we’d pass for a fair team.”
+
+“Especially on the left side, I guess,” said Loring.
+
+The coach looked at him quickly and then nodded. “You’ve got good
+eyes,” he commented dryly. “Yes, we need something better there, but
+we haven’t got it. Well, I never saw a team yet that had an evenly
+balanced line.”
+
+“I’ve got a fellow coming along,” said Loring carelessly, “who may be
+useful on that side later, Mr. Otis.”
+
+“You’ve――what?” asked the coach, puzzled.
+
+“I said I had a fellow coming along who might work in there, sir.
+He’s just started on the second, but he’s promising and I wouldn’t be
+surprised to see him make pretty good. He’s built for a guard. Or he
+might be used at tackle if he could be speeded up a little.”
+
+“Who are you talking about?” asked “G. G.,” frowning.
+
+“Fellow named Parks. I guess you haven’t noticed him. He’s still on
+the bench over there.” Loring nodded toward the next gridiron. “He’s
+absolutely green, but he’s learning fast, I understand.”
+
+Mr. Otis laughed. “Deane, you’re a funny chap. You don’t expect a man
+starting in now to play guard on the first team in a fortnight, do you?”
+
+“Well, it is sort of improbable, isn’t it?” laughed Loring. “And
+maybe I’m being a bit optimistic. Just the same I wouldn’t be awfully
+surprised to see Parks get into the Wolcott game. You see, Mr. Otis,
+he’s got just about everything but the know-how, and I’m looking to Mr.
+Babcock to supply that deficiency.”
+
+“Well, I’ll give him a welcome when he arrives,” said the coach, with
+a chuckle. “And I’ve known Babcock to knock the corners off in mighty
+short time, Deane. But I guess I’d better not count too strongly on
+this prodigy of yours, eh?”
+
+“No, sir, don’t do that,” replied Loring. “Better wait another week or
+so before you begin to build any plays around him. I’ll report on him
+later, sir.”
+
+“Just how does he happen to be your discovery?” asked “G. G.”
+
+“Oh, he isn’t that, exactly. Owens went after him long ago and didn’t
+have any luck. I happened to meet him one night and liked his looks. So
+we――that is, Tom Kemble and Clif Bingham and I――”
+
+“The Triumvirate?” smiled Mr. Otis.
+
+“Gee, have you heard about that?” Loring asked laughingly. “Well, we
+got hold of him and persuaded him to join Mr. Babcock’s outfit. He
+didn’t want to at first. At least, he did want to, I guess, but he
+didn’t have the nerve. Some one had told him he couldn’t learn the
+game, you see. However, he forgot it and went out, and I hear that he’s
+made a hit with the second team fellows.”
+
+“If he turns out to be any good,” said Mr. Otis quietly, “I’ll have
+something to say to Owens for missing him!” After a moment of silence
+he said: “Deane, didn’t I hear that you were going to manage the
+baseball team next spring?”
+
+“Yes, sir, I’m supposed to, but I’m awfully doubtful about being able
+to――to make good, and if I don’t I’ll――I’ll jump out a window, I guess,
+because Mr. Clendennin and some of the others simply boosted me into
+it, right over the heads of some fellows who deserved it more. Gee, if
+I turned out to be a blah I’d feel pretty sick.”
+
+“Well, I don’t think you need worry. I believe you’ll be a long way
+from a ‘blah,’ as you call it. Fact is, I was just thinking that it
+would be rather fortunate for me――and the team――if you were football
+manager!”
+
+“Gosh, Mr. Otis!”
+
+“I mean it.” Mr. Otis cast a side glance at Wattles, seemed reassured
+by that gentleman’s apparent concentration on an arching ball, and
+added with a trace of asperity: “You see, Deane, the difference between
+you and the average chap who acts as football manager here is that you
+have everything except the ability to walk and the others have the
+ability to walk and not much else! Well, I must start things up.”
+
+“Mr. Otis, what do you think our chance is of getting through without a
+licking, sir?” asked Loring quickly.
+
+“What? Oh, that business. Well, frankly, Deane, I think our chance is
+about one in three.”
+
+“Gee,” murmured Loring dejectedly. “But we’ve got through half the
+schedule, sir.”
+
+“Yes, and I’ll change that. I’ll say one in two. You see, Deane, it’s
+a safe bet that either Horner or Wolcott will get us, if not both of
+them. This is just between us, old chap, and not for publication.”
+
+“You don’t really mean that you think Wolcott’s going to win this year,
+sir!”
+
+“Well, perhaps I don’t quite think it, but――oh, hang it, Deane, look
+at the left side of that line! You know what any fairly strong offense
+will do to it, and if your line won’t hold together what good’s the
+best attack in the world? As for Horner――well, I dare say we may
+weather that game if Horner’s no better than she looks now. But I
+wouldn’t wager a peanut shell that we’ll win both those games!”
+
+“Gee,” Loring muttered. “‘No Defeats!’”
+
+“Well, it’s a noble ambition, anyway,” replied “G. G.,” smiling down
+reassuredly, “and it’s no disgrace to strive for perfection, Deane.”
+
+“No, sir,” agreed Loring mournfully, “not even if you stub your toe
+going after it.”
+
+Mr. Otis chuckled, nodded and hurried off. Loring looked after him a
+moment and then said, half to himself, half to Wattles: “Just the same,
+he may not be right. I still believe we’ve got a show.”
+
+“Oh, absolutely, sir,” said Wattles gravely!
+
+A little later Loring said: “Wattles, there’s the fellow with the funny
+chin again. Halfway up the stand, alongside the post.”
+
+Wattles looked and assented. “Quite so, Mr. Loring,” he answered. “I
+don’t think he’s one of our crowd, sir.”
+
+“I’m plumb sure he isn’t,” returned Loring, “and I can’t make myself
+believe that he’s one of the town fellows, either. This is about the
+fourth or fifth time I’ve seen him, and he looks just as much like
+something the tide washed in as ever.”
+
+Wattles again turned his head and appraised the subject of Loring’s
+disparagement. “Well, sir, he’s not such an unpresentable
+young――er――person,” he protested fairly.
+
+“Oh, I’m not talking about his clothes or his manners,” said Loring.
+“But study that face, Wattles. Don’t you see that his eyes are too
+blamed close together and that that funny chin makes him look like a――a
+camel or something?”
+
+Wattles allowed himself a smile. “I do see the resemblance, Mr. Loring,
+and that’s a fact. A camel, yes, sir. Oh, undoubtedly.”
+
+“Yes, and――well, I suppose it’s a perfectly asinine idea, Wattles, but
+the silly coot acts to me as if he were up to something and was afraid
+some one would get onto him. I tried to catch his eyes the other day
+and he wouldn’t look at me for a half second. If I was a bit better at
+climbing steps I’d go up there and ask him what he’s up to.”
+
+“I’d say, sir, that he’s just looking on a bit, like the rest of us.”
+
+“Hm, yes,” said Loring dubiously, “but he watches mighty closely. I’ve
+seen him staring so hard you’d think he’d have strabismus. Do I mean
+strabismus, Wattles?”
+
+“Quite possibly, Mr. Loring. I――er――the word is not――”
+
+“It means cross-eyed or something, and I dare say it doesn’t occur in
+Blackstone.”
+
+“No, sir, I don’t think it does.”
+
+“Of course the silly ass may be trying to learn how to play,” went on
+Loring. “Although if I were he I’d keep out of football. I’d be awfully
+afraid some chap would land on that chin. I know a chin like that, a
+chin that wiggles like a rabbit’s nose, would be a great temptation to
+me if I was opposite it!”
+
+Wattles chuckled politely. “It would be a temptation, sir, and no
+mistake,” he agreed.
+
+“In fact, Wattles, it not only would be, it is! Gee, it must be
+wonderful to be able to walk up to a guy and punch his face! I sure
+envy you that, Wattles!”
+
+Wattles coughed deprecatingly, “I’m not sure, Mr. Loring, I hope that
+if――when you are better you will not attempt anything of that sort,” he
+said earnestly.
+
+“Won’t I! Well, no, I won’t, Wattles, for the simple and sufficient
+reason that I’ll never get the chance. But if I could――why, listen,
+old chap. If I could do it I’d walk up there right now and say to that
+fellow with the trick chin: ‘I don’t know who you are or what you’re up
+to, but I don’t like your looks and so you’d better beat it.’ And then,
+if he didn’t beat it, and mighty quick, too, I’d――” Loring smiled down
+pleasurably at a capable brown fist―― “I’d let him have it, Wattles.”
+
+Wattles shook his head disapprovingly, but at the same time he turned
+it toward the stand as though contemplating in fancy a pleasant
+proceeding. Then he coughed again, rather severely this time, and
+said: “The young man is scarcely the sort, sir, that one would wish
+to――er――engage in a bout with, begging your pardon, Mr. Loring.”
+
+“Oh, I say, Wattles,” laughed the other, “a fellow can’t stop to
+exchange cards, you know, in such an event!”
+
+“N-no, sir, but――er――one wouldn’t, I fancy, engage in a difference of
+opinion with a person one wouldn’t have to dinner!”
+
+“Wattles,” chuckled Loring affectionately, “you’re a delight!”
+
+“Thank you, sir,” replied Wattles.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+
+                          WATTLES ON THE TRAIL
+
+
+On Wednesday Loring didn’t attend practice. This was not because of
+inclement weather, but because a certain very distinguished physician
+motored up from New York in an impressive car of foreign make, driven
+by a liveried chauffeur, and spent some thirty minutes with the boy in
+his professional capacity and something over an hour in unprofessional
+conversation. When he took his departure at last Wattles accompanied
+him to the automobile and the two conferred for several minutes more.
+Perhaps the eminent doctor was kind enough to compliment Wattles on his
+care of the patient, for Wattles’ eyes were shining when he went back
+up the steps of East Hall. All this is just to explain why it was that
+when Clif and Tom came into Loring’s room after supper that evening
+Loring was quite unprepared for Clif’s appearance.
+
+“Why, what――what――” stammered Loring in evident concern.
+
+There was a distinct but apparently reconsidered snigger from Tom that
+ended in a fit of choking. Clif turned and gazed at him reproachfully.
+Then the reproach turned to amusement and Clif chuckled, too. “Lemuel
+John,” said Clif, sinking into a chair, with a sigh.
+
+“Lemuel John?” echoed Loring. “What about him?”
+
+Clif pointed to a left eye which had the ensanguined appearance of a
+piece of raw beef. “This,” he replied briefly.
+
+“You mean you had a scrap?” exclaimed Loring.
+
+Tom broke in with a chuckle. “I’ll say they did,” he answered for his
+chum. “‘Cocky’ put Lemuel John in at right guard on the second when we
+started scrimmage. Lemuel John used up Smythe and Weldon in about seven
+and one-eleventh minutes. Then ‘G. G.’ called on his reserves. Breeze
+and Bingham, you know. Great pair, Breeze and Bingham. Lemuel John
+looked them over and said ‘Howdy’ and then proceeded to smear ’em.”
+
+“Not really!” ejaculated Loring almost joyfully. Clif once more
+registered reproach. Tom nodded and waved a hand toward Clif.
+
+“See for yourself. Exhibit one. The other exhibit doesn’t show his
+wounds on the surface so much but, believe me, he’s got hurt feelings!”
+
+“But――but Lemuel John didn’t――didn’t _hit_ you, Clif!”
+
+“Not with malice aforethought,” Clif acknowledged; “but my eye doesn’t
+know that. Oh, it was in a sort of a ruckus we had. It wasn’t his
+fault. Second worked down to our fifteen, about. Ogden gave her all the
+decisions, hang him! ‘G. G.’ threatened us with boiling oil if we let
+her cross the line, and ‘Cocky’ as good as told his team that he’d
+have them shot at sunrise if they didn’t score. Resultantly there was a
+sort of a Donnybrook Fair staged on that fifteen-yard line and the fur
+flewed――flew, I mean. They tried to push that Converse guy, their full
+back, you know, through Breeze, and I happened to be passing by and saw
+what was going on――”
+
+“Passing by!” jeered Tom. “You were just aching for trouble, and you
+sure got it!”
+
+“I think it was Lemuel John’s knee that hit me,” said Clif. “I remember
+that he towered above me some nineteen or twenty feet for a moment, and
+I’m sure it couldn’t have been his elbow.”
+
+“You mean that you were down?” asked Loring interestedly.
+
+“Down? By no means. I was standing on my feet. Anyway, some one’s feet.
+Then the cyclone passed.”
+
+“Did you hold them?” Loring’s voice was eager.
+
+“Hold who?” inquired Clif.
+
+“Why, the second!”
+
+“Oh! Yes, we held the second. Most of them, that is. The one we didn’t
+hold was Lemuel John. Fact is, we didn’t hold Converse, either; but
+that wasn’t our fault. We might have stopped him only he got right
+behind Lemuel John and no one could see him, of course. Not until he
+was on top of the goal line, anyway. You know there ought to be a rule
+against a player hiding himself like that. It isn’t sporting.”
+
+Loring was laughing enjoyably by now, and Clif grinned, too, sending
+exploring fingers to his left cheek bone. Tom said: “Loring, when you
+wished that wild hyena on the Scrub you sure played a dirty trick on
+your friends.”
+
+“Good, was he?” asked Loring eagerly.
+
+“Good? No, as a player he was rotten. He broke all the commandments. He
+got out of position, he charged standing up, he――he――”
+
+“But he got through,” chuckled Loring.
+
+“Oh, yes, he got through. He’s a rotten football player, but he’s a
+whale of a battering-ram. Boy, let me tell you something. When Lemuel
+John learns what a football is for and what the white lines that they
+paint on the grass mean and a few little things like that, and when he
+remembers to play low and start with the ball, he’s going to be some
+warm baby! I had a hunch right along that he had the stuff in him. You
+fellows wouldn’t believe me, but――”
+
+A howl went up from the others. “Yes, you did!” scoffed Clif. “You were
+the one who couldn’t see him with a spyglass!”
+
+“What do you mean, spyglass?” asked Tom, grinning. “No one offered me
+any spyglass. I just had a feeling――”
+
+“Is Lemuel John really as bad as Tom says, Clif?” Loring interrupted.
+
+“Oh, pretty nearly. Why not? He hasn’t been with the Scrub more than a
+week, has he? He’s sort of roughhewn just now, but I know ‘Cocky’ well
+enough to feel pretty certain that Lemuel John will have the corners
+all chipped off neatly before the season’s over.”
+
+“Funny Mr. Babcock let him play so soon,” mused Loring.
+
+“Not so very funny,” answered Tom. “Their regular right guard had a cut
+to-day and the next best bet got a bum knee yesterday. It was Lemuel
+John or a third sub, I guess, and ‘Cocky’ chose Lemuel.”
+
+Loring smiled in a thoroughly pleased fashion. “Only yesterday,” he
+said, “I told Mr. Otis about him. Of course I was kind of joshing, but
+I said I had a guard coming along who might fit in nicely before the
+season was over.”
+
+“_You_ had! Where do you get that ‘you’ stuff?” Tom demanded. “Who was
+it thought of Lemuel John as a football player in the first place?”
+
+“Well, it wasn’t you,” laughed Loring. “However, I don’t claim all the
+credit. I didn’t yesterday. I told ‘G. G.’ that we’d all been working
+on Lemuel John. Gosh, but wouldn’t it be corking if he really did make
+the team?”
+
+“The first, you mean?” Clif asked. “Not likely, I guess. Just the same,
+I wish he would, and I wish ‘G. G.’ would play him at left guard. I’d
+sure like to rub elbows with Lemuel John!”
+
+“I should think you’d done enough of it,” chuckled Tom.
+
+“I told you it wasn’t his elbow,” replied Clif with dignity. “It was
+his knee. Or maybe he just kicked me. Anyway, he was terribly concerned
+afterwards and said, ‘I guess I’ll have to be careful and not play so
+rough, Bingham!’ I said, ‘You play as rough as you like. It won’t be
+anything in my life, Parks, because the next time I see you making up
+your mind to come my way I’m not going to be there!’”
+
+Wyndham had no difficulty with Minster High School on the following
+Saturday, meeting the opponent on Wyndham Field and administering a
+neat drubbing. The final score of 24 to 3 practically duplicated last
+year’s victory. The home team did not, perhaps, deserve all the glory
+the figures indicated, for Minster was not a strong team. Still, the
+Dark Blue showed an improvement over last Saturday and put up a firm
+defense against any attack the visitors showed; and they tried about
+every ruse known to the game. Wyndham played through without the
+services of “Punk” Drayton, left end, and Captain Ogden, full back.
+Drayton had developed a mild case of tonsilitis and Jeff’s ankle was
+still weak. However, Adams, who took “Punk’s” place, and “Swede”
+Hanbury, who substituted for Ogden, were well able to look after their
+jobs. On the whole, Wyndham was fairly well satisfied with herself that
+Saturday evening and those who, while flaunting “No Defeats!” buttons,
+had secretly doubted the ability of the team to come through with a
+whole skin, now took heart. What Coach Otis thought about the game or
+the prospects of the team was not known. The coach didn’t confide his
+opinions very often.
+
+November came in the day of the Minster contest. November in the
+vicinity of Freeburg may be anything so far as weather is concerned.
+Tradition tells of one Wolcott game fought on an afternoon in late
+November so warm that the spectators gasped and perspired and the
+players almost collapsed before the final whistle. Indian summer is a
+season not to be depended on, however. Sometimes it comes early and
+sometimes late, and sometimes it doesn’t come at all. This year it
+hadn’t shown itself yet; or, if it had, no one had recognized it. The
+Sunday after the Minster game was cloudy and cold, with a whistling
+breeze blowing down from the higher hills to the north. Steam pipes
+rattled and radiators whistled that morning, and the slogan of the
+day was “Shut that door!” Sunday papers were read very thoroughly,
+for no one was appreciably drawn toward the great open spaces. There
+was much football talk and discussion, and much to discuss if one was
+in the mood. For instance, there was the Yale-Army game which had
+resulted in another tie, contrary to the expectations, warranted or
+not, of many Wyndham followers of the game. And there was, too, the
+Princeton-Swarthmore contest, and the Harvard-Boston University fracas
+and the Dartmouth-Brown affair, all of momentous interest to youths who
+in anticipation were students of one or another of those institutions
+of learning and who surreptitiously scribbled “Smith, Princeton ’29,”
+or some similar inscription, on the backs of their blue books and
+hastily erased the words the next moment. Then, too, there was the
+Wolcott-Hoskins encounter to mull over. As usual, the game had been
+bitterly contested and the final score close. But this time Wolcott had
+come off victor, one touchdown and a field goal to two field goals.
+There was much comparing of scores, much argument seeking to prove, on
+the one hand, that Wolcott was a “lucky stiff” to win, on the other
+hand that only the breaks of the game had given Hoskins those field
+goals. It all depended on the end sought. Comparative scores and the
+story of the game could be made to favor either team. However, when
+all was said, it was still necessary to acknowledge that Wolcott’s team
+this year had the appearance of something that got what it went for.
+If Wyndham held up a clean slate, so too did Wolcott. And Wolcott’s
+victories had been, on the whole, rather more impressive.
+
+Two afternoons later Loring once more drew Wattles’ attention to the
+youth with the funny chin. “There’s the Camel again,” he said. “I
+do wish you’d go up there in the stand and ask him what he’s doing.
+He’s got conspirator written all over that trick countenance of his,
+Wattles.”
+
+Wattles looked. “Yes, sir,” he answered, “but I hardly think, if you’ll
+pardon me, Mr. Loring, that I would be――er――justified in asking the
+young man such a question.”
+
+“Eh? Oh, I was only spoofing, old chap. Just the same――” But Loring
+didn’t complete the remark. Instead he returned to his observation of
+the scrimmage going on between the first and the scrub teams. Ever
+since last Thursday Loring had eagerly waited to see Lemuel John
+officiate as guard on the second once more. But his waiting had been
+vain. Lemuel John, after that one notable and much discussed appearance
+in the line-up, had remained on the bench. Loring made up his mind that
+to-morrow he would go over to the other gridiron and watch Lemuel John
+in practice there. Meanwhile, however, he felt a bit resentful toward
+Mr. Babcock for not giving the big fellow an opportunity to repeat his
+performance. This in spite of the fact that Clif’s face still showed
+the marks of Lemuel John’s enthusiasm!
+
+Clif was generally believed to have deposed Weldon at left tackle now.
+At all events, he was being used much more than Weldon in that position
+and was gradually shaping into a brilliant performer on offense. In
+defense he was not quite so good, but neither Smythe nor Breeze,
+alternate incumbents of the next position toward center, was showing up
+well, and a weak guard may easily bring discredit on his tackle. Tom
+was going finely of late. Indeed, with the exception of Captain Jeff
+himself――and Jeff’s style was too different to invite comparison――Tom
+was showing up as the cleverest back on the squad. He had developed
+a speed in starting that he had lacked last season, a speed that was
+adding a yard or more to every effort. And he was winning praise,
+too, as a unit of the secondary defense, making his tackles hard and
+seldom missing his man. Loring was glad that the other members of the
+Triumvirate were doing so well. Next to playing himself, the thing that
+gave him the most pleasure was witnessing the success of Clif and Tom.
+
+A few minutes before the end of the scrimmage Loring turned to Wattles
+and said: “I’d like to go over to the village and get a book at
+Leeson’s, Wattles. There’s time enough, I guess.”
+
+They were two blocks from school――Loring had requested Wattles to pause
+so that he might inspect the contents of the window of the hardware
+store――when the boy with the funny chin passed. Although Loring’s back
+was turned he had no difficulty in seeing his approach, for the street
+was excellently mirrored in the window pane. When the boy had gone by
+Loring said: “All right, Wattles. Let’s go on down the street.”
+
+“Leeson’s is just across, sir,” said Wattles.
+
+“I know, but I feel like taking some exercise.” That was, of course,
+Loring’s joke, since the exercise fell to Wattles. “Isn’t that the
+Camel ahead there, Wattles?”
+
+“Yes, sir, he just passed.”
+
+“You might sort of keep him in sight then. I’m rather curious to know
+where he’s going.”
+
+Wattles had a soul for intrigue and adventure, although the fact would
+not have been suspected, and he perked up at once. “Very good, Mr.
+Loring,” he replied with relish. “He seems to be in a bit of a hurry.”
+
+“Yes, doesn’t he? Well, carry on.”
+
+So Wattles carried on for two blocks further. Then the boy with the
+funny chin turned abruptly to the left down a side street that, as
+Loring knew, was lamentably ill-paved. “Leave me here, Wattles,” he
+said, “and beat it! See where he goes to. Don’t lose him, Old Sleuth!”
+
+Wattles abandoned the wheel chair beside a hitching post and used his
+long legs to advantage. In a moment he, too, had disappeared, and
+Loring set himself to wait. He knew Wattles well enough to be sure that
+if the quarry resided within a reasonable distance――say anything under
+two miles――Wattles would see the project through. But his waiting was
+over in less than five minutes. Wattles returned looking triumphant in
+a repressed fashion. “He went off in a car, sir,” reported the amateur
+detective. “A small car. In fact, sir, a flivver.”
+
+“A car, eh? Which way did he go? Was he alone?”
+
+“Alone, sir, yes. He went east.” Wattles waved a hand.
+
+“East? Where was the car?”
+
+“About halfway along the block, in front of a sort of shed, Mr. Loring.
+A stable, perhaps. There’s a carpenter’s sign on it. He got in and went
+right on down Pierson Street.”
+
+“But Pierson Street doesn’t lead anywhere,” Loring protested. “We were
+on the other end of it last spring.”
+
+“It goes as far as the road where the stone machine is, sir.”
+
+“Stone machine? What―― Oh, the rock crusher! Of course! And that leads
+over that way to Stoddard――no, Elm Street.”
+
+“To Stoddard, too, sir. I believe it crosses Elm.”
+
+“And Stoddard Street goes over to the old turnpike!”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“And the old turnpike―― Gee, I wish I had a map!”
+
+“They have them at Leeson’s, Mr. Loring.”
+
+“Right you are, Wattles! On to Leeson’s.”
+
+A few minutes later, a road map spread across his knees, Loring
+exclaimed in triumph. “Just as I thought, Wattles! That road hits the
+state road about four miles north of town!”
+
+“Indeed, sir?” Wattles commented.
+
+“Yes! And don’t you see what that means?”
+
+Wattles’ cough was deprecatory. “I’m afraid I don’t, sir.”
+
+“Why, think, man! Where does the state road go from here?”
+
+“I believe it goes to Canaan, sir, and then――”
+
+“Canaan, my eye! Before Canaan, I mean?”
+
+“Before Canaan? Why, to be sure, sir! Cotterville!”
+
+“Cotterville, Wattles! And I’ll bet you that chap is on his way back to
+Wolcott right this minute!”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XV
+
+                       THE TRIUMVIRATE CONSPIRES
+
+
+They talked it over that evening in Loring’s room. Since Lemuel John
+was on hand for a game of chess he was made a party to the conference,
+but his verbal contributions were few. The Triumvirate was unanimous as
+to two things. These were, first, that the Camel, as they called the
+unknown youth for want of a better appellation, was attending Wyndham
+practices for the purpose of obtaining information which, passed on to
+the Wolcott football team, might prove of aid to the latter along about
+the twenty-second of the month; and, second, that such espionage was
+unsportsmanlike and deserving of severe condemnation. Of course, they
+didn’t put it just like that, but that’s what they meant. I have used
+my own phraseology rather than theirs that the gentle reader may be
+spared the shock of certain uncouth expressions.
+
+Having agreed that the thing was undesirable from the Wyndham
+standpoint they discussed measures for suppressing it. The discussion
+caused the postponement of the chess game until after study hour, and
+after study hour it caused a second postponement until the following
+evening. But before they parted for the night they had reached a
+solution of the problem, said problem being: How’ll we get the guy and
+pin it on him? Whether or not to report the matter at its present stage
+to the coach or the manager or the captain, or to all of them, was
+threshed out at length. Clif was for putting the affair up to Mr. Otis
+and letting the latter take whatever steps he thought proper. Tom was
+opposed. Tom pointed out that, while it was practically certain that
+the Camel had been spying on the team, it was yet to be proved that the
+Camel was a student at Wolcott or was performing his stunt with the
+approval of the rival school. “Let’s find out who he is first,” advised
+Tom reasonably. “He may be just a plain nut and have no connection at
+all with Wolcott. Of course we all know that Wolcott’s the poorest
+apology for a prep school in the country and that fellows who go there
+are thieves, murderers and pickpockets, but, aside from that, they’re a
+fairly decent lot over there and I don’t believe that the coach or any
+one connected with football affairs would try to put over anything as
+low down as this.”
+
+Lemuel John made his first suggestion of the evening. “Guess the best
+way to do would be to follow him and see where he goes to,” he drawled.
+“If you nabbed him and asked questions he might lie.”
+
+“Might?” said Clif. “Would, you mean! Well, maybe you’re right, Tom.
+Only, if we find that the Camel really is spying here and tipping off
+the Wolcott football crowd, I say we’ve got to tell Mr. Otis.”
+
+“Of course,” agreed Tom, “when we know anything. But we don’t yet. If
+Wattles had only got the number of the car――”
+
+“He said it was too dirty to read,” said Loring. “Besides, it isn’t
+likely the fellow owns the car. He probably rents it. Wattles says it
+was just a rattle-trap, anyway.”
+
+“Say, how about Wattles?” asked Clif. “Couldn’t he follow the fellow
+and see where he goes?”
+
+“It ought to be one of us,” answered Loring. “Of course, it can’t be
+me. I’ll tell you. Clif has a driver’s license, and can drive, too;
+which isn’t always the case! If he could get hold of a car――”
+
+“But I couldn’t get away from the field in time,” Clif objected.
+
+“Wait a sec. Where’s that map I brought home? Thanks, Tom. Now look
+here, fellows. Gather around. Here’s where he had the car this
+afternoon. It isn’t likely that he leaves it the same place every time
+he comes over here, but it’s safe to say he parks it far enough from
+the school to avoid suspicion. Anyway, what he probably does do when he
+starts back is to head over to this road here. What’s the name of it?
+Or hasn’t it got any――”
+
+“Treadwell Street,” said Clif, laying a finger on the map.
+
+“All right. Well, he goes over here and then turns north, reaches Elm
+Street here, jogs right, turns again here and gets to Stoddard Street.
+Then he follows Stoddard about half a mile and comes out on the old
+turnpike. After that he’s got plain sailing for three or four miles
+and hits the state road at Gerson’s Corners. Then he’s only got to
+follow the paved road right into Cotterville. The whole distance is
+about twenty-seven miles, I guess, just a nice hour’s run in his little
+flivver. Now if some one was waiting over here――” Loring put his finger
+down where Stoddard Street and the turnpike met on the road map――“it
+wouldn’t be any trick to keep him in sight. And if some one――Clif,
+for example――had a car parked here on Stoddard Street near the corner
+of the field it wouldn’t take but a few minutes to get out to the
+turnpike. Then he could stop with his car headed north and pretend he
+had a puncture or engine trouble or――”
+
+“Painter’s colic,” suggested the irrepressible Tom.
+
+“But wouldn’t he recognize me?” asked Clif doubtfully.
+
+“I don’t think so. Not if you were in street clothes. And you could
+pull your cap down pretty well and sort of keep your head turned.”
+
+“‘Hink’ Connell’s got a false mustache,” said Tom, chuckling. “It’s
+red, but――”
+
+“Cut out the comedy,” said Loring. “Let’s get this thing fixed up
+somehow before the gong rings. Hang it, if you fellows can’t take hold
+of it I’ll trail him myself, in this chair, with Wattles chauffeuring!”
+
+“I’m ready to try it,” protested Clif. “But I don’t see how I can get
+away over there by the time the Camel does. I’ve got to get a shower,
+change my street clothes, beat it across to the corner――”
+
+“It might be a pretty close shave,” acknowledged Loring. “Still, the
+Camel has to walk from the field to where his car is parked, start it
+up and go nearly twice as far as you, Clif. Look here, wouldn’t Mr.
+Otis let you off five or ten minutes early if you asked him to?”
+
+“I dare say he would, but what’ll I tell him? And here’s another thing.
+It’ll be an hour’s run to Cotterville and an hour’s run back. That
+means that I’ll miss supper, probably. Besides, won’t faculty kick if
+they find out?”
+
+Loring questioned Tom with his eyes and Tom shook his head. “Search
+me,” he said. “A fellow’s at liberty to cut a meal if he wants to, but
+I’m not sure he’s supposed to be joy riding when he does it.”
+
+“I don’t think the rules say anything about being outside the grounds
+at supper time,” said Loring.
+
+“Maybe not,” remarked Clif pessimistically, “but that wouldn’t mean a
+thing if they didn’t like it. They’d make a rule.”
+
+“I’d do the job if I could drive a flivver,” said Lemuel John.
+
+“So would I,” said Loring. “Seems to me, Clif, you can think up more
+objections――”
+
+“Oh, shut up! All right, I’ll do it. I’ll get that trick flivver we
+went out to the boat races in last spring. I guess he will let me have
+it if it’s still alive. But, listen, wouldn’t it be a sell if the Camel
+didn’t turn up to-morrow?”
+
+“That’s so,” said Loring. “And I don’t believe he does come every day.
+At least, I haven’t noticed him more than two or three times a week, I
+suppose. That’s a complication, isn’t it?”
+
+“You arrange for the flivver in the morning,” advised Tom. “If the
+Camel shows up some one――Wattles maybe――can pass the word to have the
+car brought up from the village and left there at the corner. If the
+coot fools us to-morrow he will probably be on hand the next day.”
+
+Clif nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ve got to own up, though, that
+I haven’t got much enthusiasm for the business. I have a hunch that
+we’re going to fall down on it somewhere.”
+
+“Well, we can try,” said Loring. “If we can’t make it go the first time
+we can try again, I guess.”
+
+“What! Now look here! I’m not going to――to spend the rest of the month
+doing this Paul Revere stunt! I’ll try it once, but after that it’s
+some one else’s turn.”
+
+“Don’t be a piker,” said Tom. “You’re doing it for the dear old school,
+aren’t you? And the dear old team? Really, Clif, you’re not showing the
+proper spirit!”
+
+“I’ll show you a punch in the jaw,” growled Clif. However, he didn’t
+look as if he quite meant it, and Tom failed to show apprehension. The
+return of Wattles from the West Hall library presaged the gong, and the
+visitors arose to depart.
+
+“Sorry about our game, Parks,” said Loring.
+
+“Oh, that’s all right,” answered the big chap. “This other thing’s been
+right interesting.”
+
+“Well――oh, by the way, you’ll keep it under your hat, eh?”
+
+“Eh?” asked Lemuel John. “Oh! Sure, don’t you worry. I’ll keep the old
+trap shut tight, Deane.”
+
+Wednesday started in with a drizzle that persisted until nearly noon.
+However, the gridiron, although moist and a bit slippery, was usable by
+three-thirty and the sun was out to do its bit. Loring didn’t pay his
+call on the Scrub that afternoon, but followed his custom of spending
+practice time at the end of the first team bench. Coach Otis looked
+more than usually grim to-day, and those who were well acquainted with
+his moods predicted a strenuous afternoon. With the Horner Academy game
+coming in three days it doubtless behooved the coach to make the most
+of his opportunities to-day and to-morrow. Horner was a much respected
+opponent. She had a disagreeable habit of beating the Dark Blue about
+every other year on an average, and, although she had performed that
+feat last fall and it might well be considered Wyndham’s turn to
+conquer, there was a feeling that Saturday’s game might prove the
+hardest encounter of the season and even put an end to the prevalence
+of those blue-and-white buttons. The fact that this year’s game was to
+be played at Horner had a bearing on the outcome, too, for Horner was
+a long railroad journey away and the team had to start before seven
+in the morning in order to reach the New York village in time for
+luncheon. Such a trip is more or less of a handicap to the team that
+makes it, and there were plenty of doubting Thomases around Wyndham
+just now.
+
+Mr. Otis started the afternoon’s proceedings with long sessions at the
+tackling dummy for both Squads A and B, and Loring and Wattles were
+left for awhile in possession of the bench. Even the onlookers lounged
+across to the dummy to enjoy the sight of their fellows begriming
+themselves with the nice moist soil. It was moist, too, for the rain
+had collected in the recently spaded space across which the canvas
+effigy traveled and brought the brown loam to the consistency of
+mud-pie material. When the squads returned to the bench they looked a
+sad lot!
+
+Meanwhile Loring had been on the lookout for the youth with the funny
+chin. The Camel, however, was not in the stand and Loring concluded
+by the time that the audience dribbled back to the seats that he was
+not coming to-day. Clif and Tom came over for a whispered conference
+and Loring reported the Camel’s absence. Clif looked relieved, Tom
+disappointed. Then, just as the two players were turning away, Wattles
+leaned forward over Loring’s chair.
+
+“Beg pardon, sir,” said Wattles in the proper tones for a conspirator,
+“but the――er――the young man’s there now.”
+
+“Don’t all look together,” Loring warned. “Where is he, Wattles?”
+
+“In the further section, sir. Fourth row from the top and next to the
+post.”
+
+“Right-o!” whispered Loring. “See him, Clif? It’s all right; he isn’t
+looking this way.”
+
+“So that’s the Camel,” murmured Clif. “Well, hanged if he doesn’t look
+like one! What’s the matter with his chin, anyhow? Looks as if it was
+made of putty. See him, Tom?”
+
+“I see something,” said Tom cautiously, “but I’m not sure it’s real.
+Say, don’t they have ’em queer over at Wolcott? Heck, fellows, that
+dumb-bell hasn’t got sense enough to spy on a――on an ant’s nest!”
+
+“You can’t tell,” said Clif. “Folks aren’t always as foolish as they
+look, Thomas. You ought to know that.”
+
+“Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute! What’s that mean, eh? I never said
+you looked foolish, no matter what I’ve thought, Clif. If――”
+
+“Think you’ll know him when you see him in the car?” interrupted Loring.
+
+“Yes, unless he hides that chin,” chuckled Clif. “All right, fellows,
+Paul Revere rides at five o’clock!”
+
+“‘One if by land and two if by sea,’” murmured Tom. “Summon the
+chariot, Wattles.”
+
+“Get a good five minutes start of him, Clif,” Loring advised. “Maybe
+you can be taken sick or something, eh?”
+
+“I’ll fix it,” answered Clif confidently. “You look after the flivver.
+Tell him to have it down there by the end of those poplars at ten
+minutes to five with the engine running, Wattles.”
+
+“Very good, Mr. Clifton,” replied Wattles quite animatedly. “The car
+will be there, sir.”
+
+Mr. Otis’ voice summoned the players from the bench and Clif and Tom
+hurried off. Loring turned to Wattles.
+
+“On your way, old chap,” he said. “I’ll wait here for you, so don’t
+hurry. Only be sure that fellow understands what he’s to do, Wattles.
+Clif’s explained it all to him once, but he’s a sort of a dumb goof and
+you’d better go over it again.”
+
+“Oh, I’ll make it quite clear to him, sir,” said Wattles.
+
+Whereupon, having set his black derby carefully in place and buttoned
+his coat, he made off with unhurried dignity.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+
+                              RUN TO EARTH
+
+
+It was early dusk when Clif pulled up at the side of the road, shut
+off his engine and descended from the shabby flivver. There was
+still a dull glow in the western sky, but it was fading fast and the
+shadows were deepening. Although he had left the field before the end
+of practice and changed from football togs to his present regalia of
+trousers and sweater and cap in something approaching record time, he
+was still in doubt as to whether he had reached the turnpike ahead
+of his quarry. He had made the little car hustle, and it didn’t seem
+possible that he had arrived too late, yet, if he hadn’t, where was the
+Camel? Clif looked back along the road, but it was empty and silent.
+He sat down on the running board and thought rather sadly of supper.
+He was already hungry enough to eat an ox, he assured himself, and
+goodness only knew what his condition would be by the time he saw the
+present adventure to its end and got back to school! And when he did
+get back it would probably be too late for anything to eat! He began to
+hope that the Camel had eluded him, in which case, after waiting where
+he was long enough to satisfy himself on that point, he could run the
+flivver back to the village and return to school in plenty of time to――
+
+These pleasant reflections were suddenly disturbed. Far back on the
+narrow road he had traveled from the direction of the school two weak,
+lemon-yellowish points of light appeared in the purple twilight. Clif
+looked, sighed and arose. When the Camel went by he was to pretend to
+be puzzling over a balky engine. He lifted the hood and assumed the
+familiar attitude of the stalled motorist, in spite of the fact that,
+had there been anything wrong with the engine, he wouldn’t have been
+able to find the trouble by peering into that dark and smelly cavern.
+The sound of the approaching car grew louder and its lights played
+wanly against the bare trees beyond Clif’s silent chariot. Then, with
+a squeaking of springs and a rattle and hum the oncoming car slowed
+slightly for the corner, slewed to the left and bounded on again.
+
+“Huh,” thought Clif, “he wouldn’t even offer assistance, the low life!
+One more score against you, Funny Face!” This, considering that Clif
+hadn’t wanted him to stop, was a trifle unreasonable. The borrowed car
+was a conservative. It didn’t hold with these newfangled notions like
+self-starters. So Clif had to wind it, and he was still winding it
+when the other car was represented by a tiny red speck afar down the
+turnpike. But it came to life eventually and Clif vaulted over the side
+and began the pursuit. By calling on every bit of power contained under
+the shaking hood he managed to cut down the lead of the other flivver
+within the next mile. He didn’t go too close to it, however, but
+remained some three hundred yards behind, accommodating his pace to the
+Camel’s and watching the ruby light swaying about the road. Evidently
+the Camel was not a very accomplished driver, for the car he occupied
+wandered from side to side in a most erratic fashion. Following that
+reflection came a most appalling thought. How, Clif demanded of
+himself, did he know that the driver of the other car _was_ the Camel?
+
+It had been planned that he was to identify the boy with the funny chin
+as he went past at the corner back there; and do it without allowing
+the recognition to be mutual. But, even if he had looked――and he had
+purposely not looked for fear that the Camel might take alarm――it would
+have been impossible to identify any one in the half dark. So now it
+amounted to this: Clif was chasing some one who might or might not be
+the person he had set out to chase! At considerable risk of leaving the
+turnpike, none too wide at any point in its leisurely meanderings, he
+stretched his head around the side of the car and looked back. There
+was no one behind; or, at least, no one within sight. Oh, that just had
+to be the Camel ahead there! Nevertheless doubt continued to disturb
+him.
+
+Belonging, as I have said, to the Old Régime, Clif’s vehicle had no
+speedometer. In brief, it possessed none of the modern improvements.
+Consequently Clif had to guess both at his speed and at the distance
+covered. He surmised the latter to be about three miles when it became
+apparent that the car ahead was slowing down. Clif slowed, too, until,
+finding himself in danger of bumping the other from the rear, he
+increased his speed a trifle and went by. He didn’t want to pass, but
+the other flivver had slowed to scarcely more than eight miles, and
+to have followed suit would have certainly apprised the Camel――if it
+was the Camel――that he was being pursued. As Clif chugged by he threw
+a careless glance to the right. The lone occupant of the other car was
+hardly more than a blur in the gloom, yet Clif was very certain that
+he was being stared at hard. He kept on until he was some two hundred
+yards ahead and then looked back. It wouldn’t do to let the Camel――and
+now he was practically certain that it was the Camel――turn around and
+escape. But the other car was coming along slowly, as though repenting
+of its former mad haste and determined to lead a better life. All well
+enough, reflected Clif, but now he was the one being trailed, and that
+was extremely silly!
+
+He continued, however, maintaining a demure twenty-mile gait, for
+another half-mile or so. Then the turnpike merged into the wider
+ribbon of the state road and the hard, smooth paving glistened under
+the lights of the car. Clif stopped short and made pretense of looking
+for signs. There were plenty of them, although as usual they were more
+concerned with the merits of suspenders, self-rising flour, automobile
+oil and other merchandise than with the destination of the roads. But
+the ruse worked, for the Camel’s flivver passed again and, as though
+the driver had decided that his neighbor on the road was a harmless
+tourist, took up its former headlong flight. Clif grinned and followed.
+
+Twenty-two miles distant lay Cotterville. At the present rate of speed,
+thought Clif, they would reach it about ten minutes to six. Well, if
+the Camel didn’t take too long in running to earth――of course it was
+foxes and not camels who ran to earth, but Clif saw no reason for being
+fussy about metaphors just now――he might be able to get back to school
+before seven. And if he could slip through the dining hall doors before
+they closed at that hour he would chance starving to death! Gee, a
+couple of slices of toast and a glass of milk would be wonderful! He
+couldn’t remember having been as hungry as he was now in months!
+
+On and on went the two cars, a distance of from two to three hundred
+yards separating them. It really looked now as if the Camel was trying
+to throw off pursuit, for Clif had to get everything out of his flivver
+to keep the tail light ahead from running away into the darkness.
+Fortunately the road was wide, straight and at this time of evening
+fairly deserted. During the first four or five miles but two cars
+passed in the opposite direction and no horns from the rear warned
+Clif to make room. Clif didn’t know what the speed was, but he guessed
+both cars were doing forty, and he devoutly hoped that the worn tires
+beneath him would stand the strain. Now and then, but infrequently, he
+and the Camel were forced to slow down a trifle where a few buildings
+huddled together at some crossroad junction. It had either rained
+harder or continued later over this way, Clif concluded, for there were
+puddles along the sides of the road, and now and then, approaching too
+closely, water spattered the cracked wind shield and sodden leaves
+encouraged skidding. He had to hold the wheel pretty steady as Loomis
+came into sight, for a car track, debouching from a side street,
+contested the right of way, its rails perched well above the road
+level.
+
+Clif believed now that the Camel was aware that he was being trailed.
+Otherwise, or so it seemed to the pursuer, he wouldn’t have driven
+so recklessly. After all, if the Camel had only to travel as far
+as Cotterville he had plenty of time to reach that town before six
+o’clock, and he needn’t have taken such chances as he had. Clif
+recalled Loomis as being a place of some size, with a bridge across a
+rocky river bed――occasionally showing water――a factory of some sort
+that stretched for a good block along the main road and numerous small
+alleylike streets leading left and right. It wouldn’t be a difficult
+feat for the Camel to turn into one of those streets and give him the
+shake, Clif reflected; especially if the Camel knew the village. So,
+when the Camel reduced his forty-mile speed to something about thirty,
+Clif didn’t follow his example at once. He waited until scarcely more
+than a dozen yards intervened between the two cars, and presently he
+was glad he had done so. A few stores, still open for business, a fire
+house, a white Town Hall went past on the left and the factory loomed
+ahead, its hundreds of windows dark. Just beyond was the bridge, in
+fair sight under the light of an arc lamp. But suddenly the flivver in
+the lead swerved sharply to the right and was gone!
+
+Clif jammed on his brake, peering ahead. Then, with a disconcerting jar
+the car slid down a narrow, rutted alley in the shadow of the factory,
+barely escaped a board fence and went bumping along the edge of the
+river. It was no more than a mud hole of a place, one side guarded by
+the sagging fence, the other littered with empty packing cases and all
+sorts of rubbish from the factory. Under the wheels of the bouncing car
+a rotting wooden pavement had succeeded the earth, and occasionally a
+plank had fallen away and left a yawning hiatus of six or eight inches,
+into which the tires descended with a thud and from which they emerged
+with a heave that made Clif clutch the wheel desperately to keep from
+flying out. Once he barely grazed the end of a huge truck that had
+been left standing beside a loading platform. Fortunately his lights
+picked it up in time to allow him to swerve aside. When he had time to
+look ahead he could see the beckoning tail lamp of the Camel’s flivver
+bobbing and swaying in the darkness. Then it disappeared once more.
+Following, Clif manipulated a corner on two wheels, felt a mud guard
+strike an obstruction of some sort and then went charging up a steepish
+incline that was evidently paved with cobbles. The Camel turned to the
+right, fifty yards ahead, and Clif followed, and, lo, he was back on
+the main road again, the factory was beside him and the bridge still
+ahead! He had, it appeared, completely encircled the factory.
+
+He found a more comfortable location on the seat and settled again for
+less exciting stretches. The Camel whirred over the bridge, defying
+speed laws, and Clif followed, though a bit more circumspectly. Across
+the river, the trolley tracks disappeared and tree-enveloped residences
+held for a block or two. Then came the open road once more, with the
+Camel again doing his forty. Clif’s luminous watch dial proclaimed the
+time as five-thirty-two, and he judged that the journey was more than
+half over. He let the Camel retrieve some of his former lead but was
+careful not to allow him too much. And then, as suddenly as before, the
+red tail light was gone.
+
+Puzzled for an instant, Clif sent his complaining chariot forward at
+its best pace. But then the explanation came to him. The Camel had not
+left the state road, but had doused his lights! Well, if he wanted to
+take the risk, all right; fortunately, Clif didn’t have to. And perhaps
+the risk wasn’t so great, after all, for the road passed through open
+country here and the starlight was not filtered through the trees as
+it had been further back. In any case, the Camel kept his pace, and
+Clif, even with the aid of his lights, had to hustle to keep the dim
+form of the other car in sight. In such manner they passed a little
+hamlet where, beyond an uncurtained casement, Clif saw a tall, thin man
+lifting food to his mouth. It was the briefest sort of a vision, but
+it was painfully clear, and right then Clif’s flivver almost went into
+a telephone pole! Recovering control, he wondered sadly if they would
+have given him food after dragging his body from the wreck!
+
+The approach of Cotterville was heralded by the appearance on the road
+of more traffic and Clif was forced to use all his skill in guiding
+the car past vehicles going in the opposite direction or moving more
+slowly toward the town. The danger of losing the Camel increased the
+nearer they got to Cotterville, and Clif took more than one chance
+during those last two miles in the attempt to keep the other car in
+sight. Fortunately, the Camel had had to put his lights on again,
+and by now Clif could have picked that particular tail lamp out of a
+hundred! And so Cotterville’s main street began, brilliantly lighted
+for a half-dozen blocks, well lined with parked automobiles, busy with
+the bustling of last-minute shoppers. An illuminated clock pointed its
+hands at eleven minutes to six. The Camel dodged on, past the green,
+past the colorful front of a moving picture theater, and swerved into
+a tree-lined residence street. Clif’s familiarity with Cotterville was
+not great, but he knew that the school lay in the direction taken now
+by the quarry. Some six or seven blocks further, after negotiating two
+turns, the leading flivver came to rest at last outside a building
+which had once served as a livery stable and now was quite evidently
+used as a garage. The pursuing car likewise stopped, stopped between
+street lamps in a veritable pocket of gloom, and very swiftly Clif
+turned off its lights and vaulted to the sidewalk.
+
+In front of the garage a man sauntered from the open doorway and a
+few words were exchanged between him and the Camel. Then, as though
+he had never hurried in all his life, the Camel sauntered on. Clif,
+well concealed in the darkness, watched. The Camel reached the bole
+of a large tree some thirty feet beyond the garage and stepped behind
+it. He remained there for perhaps a dozen seconds, and then, evidently
+reassured, went on more briskly, slanting across the street toward
+where, a block distant, the Wolcott Academy grounds began. Perhaps
+the Camel was of an optimistic mind and believed what he wanted to. In
+which case he doubtless told himself that the person who had clung to
+him so closely all the way from the outskirts of Freeburg had merely
+been amusing himself by attempting to get to Cotterville first. After
+all, it isn’t likely that the Camel dreamed that his presence in the
+stand at football practice had aroused suspicion. Perhaps his concern
+at being trailed by the strange automobile had to do with the stories
+of hold-ups he had read in the newspapers. At all events, he showed no
+concern now as he made his way toward the school gate.
+
+After allowing him a fair start, Clif followed. When the Camel entered
+the grounds the amateur sleuth was no more than fifty paces behind.
+At Wolcott the buildings are scattered over a wide expanse of campus,
+and, since it lacked but a few minutes of six, once inside, Clif was
+only one of several dozens of youths moving along the paths. Most of
+the others were heading toward the dining hall, but the Camel made his
+way to a near-by dormitory and Clif went that way, too. He allowed the
+Camel to reach the staircase in the middle of the long corridor before
+he entered the doorway. When the Camel reached the second floor, Clif
+was on the stairs. When the Camel pushed open the door of a room some
+thirty feet along the hall Clif was watching, his head barely above
+the floor level. This procedure aroused considerable interest in a
+spindling youth on his way down from the floor above, but Clif returned
+his curious stare with a look so haughty that the youth scurried on.
+Other fellows appeared and there was a general opening and closing
+of doors throughout the dormitory, but no one paid any particular
+attention to the stranger as he walked to the portal of Number 27. The
+door was closed but not latched, and from within came the sound of a
+shrill, unmusical whistle. Before he applied his knuckles to the panel
+Clif read the two cards attached to the door with thumb tacks.
+
+                      Mr. Charles Wayne Goddard.
+
+                     Mr. Chester Fontaine Campbell.
+
+Then he knocked, a voice said: “Yeah? Come on in!” and Clif pushed the
+portal open.
+
+Oh, it was the Camel all right! Almost the first thing Clif saw was
+that trick chin. He still couldn’t believe that it was real and not
+formed of putty, for it stood forth like something thought of after the
+rest of the Camel had been put together. The Camel stared inquiringly,
+pausing in the act of applying a pair of military brushes to dampened
+hair.
+
+“Goddard?” asked Clif.
+
+“Not in. Gone to supper, I guess.”
+
+“Oh,” said Clif, still looking fascinatingly at the chin, which waggled
+engagingly when the Camel spoke. “Well, I’ll drop around later.”
+
+He started out, but the Camel was curious. “Who’ll I tell him called?”
+he asked.
+
+Clif smiled engagingly. “Henry Ford,” he replied. Then he closed the
+door and went away, chuckling.
+
+The Camel’s name was Campbell; Charles――no, Chester Fontaine Camp――
+
+Clif clutched at the stair railing. Campbell! Wasn’t that pronounced
+Camel sometimes? Surely it was! Cambell or Camel, both ways. “The
+Campbells are coming!” Gosh, wasn’t it a scream? Wouldn’t Loring be
+tickled when he heard that the Camel really was a Camel? Clif grinned
+and chuckled all the way back to the flivver and was still grinning
+when he swung about and started back toward home.
+
+The illuminated clock said six-six as he passed the green. He wondered
+if he could roll the car up to the school grounds in time to make
+a hasty flight through West and reach the dining hall before the
+doors were closed. It had taken him all of forty minutes to do that
+twenty-six miles on the outward trip, but going back he wouldn’t have
+to chase a tail light around the factory building in Loomis. If he hit
+it up pretty well he could make it, he thought.
+
+There were fewer cars on the road now and he fairly gave the flivver
+its head once he was past the limits of the town. The little car
+complained in every joint as it bounded along, but the engine kept up a
+steady if agitated tune and the miles went past. Clif was a bit proud
+of his success, rather fancied himself as a detective. What was to come
+of his identification of the Camel he didn’t know, but he had done his
+part. He rattled across the bridge at Loomis, skirted the big factory
+and passed through the village at a speed that would have caused the
+town constable acute pain had he been on hand. But the constable was
+probably eating supper behind one of the dimly lighted windows that
+whizzed by.
+
+Frequently Clif consulted his watch and found each time that he did so
+that he was doing better than when he had gone in the other direction.
+Perhaps, he told himself with a smile, automobiles were like horses in
+one thing: they went faster toward home than away from it! Only three
+other vehicles had passed him so far; two automobiles and a farmer’s
+wagon laden with boxes of vegetables; Clif guessed them to be cabbages.
+Consequently he was not overcautious as he neared one of the little
+hamlets a few miles beyond Loomis. There were no more than half a dozen
+houses and a store in it, and they stretched for many rods on each side
+of the road. The store was dark and few of the houses showed more than
+a glimmer of light. On the right stood an automobile, just beyond the
+store, and Clif’s headlights picked it up none too soon. He swerved
+sharply to avoid it, and then many things happened at once. Beyond the
+darkened car, a second and smaller car, hidden from Clif’s view, came
+to life and pulled abruptly into the road. Clif’s first knowledge of it
+came when other lights suddenly blended with his on the pavements. Then
+the car itself loomed directly in his path. There was no time to sound
+his horn, no time to use his brakes effectively. There was just one
+thing to do and Clif did it. He wrenched hard on the steering wheel and
+shot over to the left. There might be room and there might not. There
+wasn’t. The flivver went head-on into a tree.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVII
+
+                          MR. BINGHAM IS STERN
+
+
+It was about a quarter to seven when the news reached Mr. Frost,
+Assistant to the Principal at Wyndham, that a boy giving his name as
+Bingham had been in an automobile accident at Ledyard and was now on
+his way to Freeburg. The informant, a woman, was vague as to the extent
+of the boy’s injuries; but thought he was pretty badly hurt. He had
+been unconscious, she said, when they had picked him up. He had run
+his car right into a tree. No, he wasn’t unconscious now; no, sir, not
+when her husband had started off with him. They didn’t have a doctor at
+Ledyard; the nearest one was four miles away, at Loomis; and so they
+were taking the boy to Freeburg; yes, sir, to a doctor. No, she didn’t
+know what doctor, but――
+
+Mr. Frost hung up then and became active.
+
+Twenty minutes later, a speeding car having been stopped at the end
+of Stoddard Street and diverted up the driveway, Clif lay in his bed
+in Number 40 West Hall and smiled grimly while the school physician,
+hastily summoned to the scene, expertly determined the damages. In
+the room were also Mr. Frost, Mr. McKnight and Tom. Tom looked much
+whiter and sicker than Clif did, even if not so disreputable as to
+countenance. Clif had a red lump on the side of his head and a number
+of scratches that, while superficial, gave him a decidedly battered
+appearance. Finally the doctor stood up and smiled genially.
+
+“Well, my friend, you came off pretty well,” he informed Clif. “You’ve
+got a broken left clavicle and a sprained thumb. Nice, clean break,
+too. Any other sore places you’ve forgotten to mention?”
+
+“No, sir. What’s a clavicle, doctor? Collar bone?”
+
+“Exactly.” The doctor’s fingers settled again on Clif’s left shoulder
+and the boy winced. “You’ll probably be rather stiff all over
+to-morrow, but you got out of it pretty luckily. All right. Now we’ll
+truss you up.” The doctor opened his bag wide and began to set out an
+appalling array of bandages and splints. “We’ll have you as good as new
+in two or three weeks, my boy.”
+
+“Two or three weeks!” cried Clif. “Gosh, I’ve got to be fixed up a
+whole lot quicker than that, sir!”
+
+The doctor paused in unrolling a bandage and lifted his eyebrows
+inquiringly. “That so? What’s the hurry?”
+
+“Why――why――I’m on the team, sir!”
+
+“Oh.” The doctor shrugged, smiled and went on with his preparations.
+“That’s it, eh? Well, the team will just have to worry along without
+you for a while. Now, then, let’s have this arm up here. Easy! Hold it!”
+
+“But――but――” Clif’s expostulations died away. What was the use? He
+realized that the doctor knew what he was talking about. He met Tom’s
+troubled gaze and tried heroically to smile. But the smile wasn’t a
+great success. Mr. McKnight――“Lovey” out of his hearing――said: “Hard
+luck, Clif, but you must try and look on the bright side of it, you
+know. It’s rather a miracle, I fancy, that you’ll be in shape again at
+all. Better consider that, eh?”
+
+Clif agreed without enthusiasm, frowning a bit as the doctor swathed
+him in yards and yards of bandage. Mr. Frost said: “I’ll drop a line
+to your father, Bingham, when I go down. I’ll see you in the morning
+and let you explain how you came to be running about in an automobile
+this evening.” Mr. Frost smiled as he spoke, and Clif wasn’t worried.
+Mr. Frost was a good scout, he reflected. He did wish, though, that
+his father didn’t have to be informed. Dad would think him such an
+ass to do a thing like that! He ventured the suggestion that it might
+not be necessary to trouble his father with the tidings, at least not
+just yet, but Mr. Frost wouldn’t entertain it. He went off then, and
+presently the doctor finished his work, wrote a prescription and gave
+it to Mr. McKnight and shook Clif’s good hand gently.
+
+“Well, there you are, my friend,” he said cheerfully. “You’re going
+to be a trifle uncomfortable for a few days, but you’ll have the
+satisfaction of knowing that nature is on the job every minute. A
+couple of days in the room will be best, I think. I’ll drop around
+to-morrow afternoon and see that the bandages are holding. Good night,
+my boy. Take it patiently.” Then, to Tom: “You’re his roommate, eh?
+Well, here’s a word to you. See that he stays right where he is until
+I see him on Friday, and don’t let him move that arm any.”
+
+“Gosh, I couldn’t if I wanted to!” grumbled Clif.
+
+“Well, don’t want to,” chuckled the doctor. “Oh, by the way, a little
+iodine on that goose egg there might help. Have you any?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” answered Tom. “I’ll attend to it, sir.” Then he added in a
+weak attempt at facetiousness: “That’s nothing to what a fellow did to
+him in practice last week, doctor!”
+
+When the two were alone, Tom seated himself gingerly on the side of
+Clif’s bed and the two stared at each other for a long moment without a
+word. Then Tom shook his head dejectedly and Clif sighed. “I’m dished
+for this season, Tom,” he muttered.
+
+“Looks like it,” Tom acknowledged. “Tough luck, old scout. Wish it had
+been me.”
+
+Clif considered that. Then he shook his head. “No, if one of us had to
+do it, it’s lucky I was the one. You’re a good deal more valuable to
+the team than I am, Tom. Does Loring know?”
+
+“I guess so. It’s all over school. I haven’t seen him since supper,
+though.”
+
+“Maybe you’d better drop around there and tell him that I’m all right.”
+
+“I’ll see him right after study hour. The gong’s about due. ‘Lovey’
+will be in again presently, Clif, and I’ll be back as soon as I see
+Loring. Are you all right? Does it hurt a lot?”
+
+“N-no, not much. My head’s the worst. It――it sort of buzzes. I guess
+I’ll try to take a nap. Gosh, this thing’s awkward! I don’t see why he
+has to tie me up like――like a――”
+
+“Here, I’ll pull that pillow up a bit. That better? Well, I’ll have to
+beat it.” Tom approached the door slowly, remembered his books, came
+back for them and paused to stare sorrowfully at his chum.
+
+Clif smiled. “Chase yourself, Tom. I’m all right. Oh, by the way, I
+forgot! Tell Loring I ran the Camel to his lair, will you?”
+
+“You did? I’ll have to hear about it when I get back!” Then the
+eagerness died out of Tom’s voice. “Heck,” he growled; “I wish Loring
+had never seen the coot!”
+
+Mr. Bingham arrived at Wyndham the next afternoon, proving conclusively
+that Mr. Frost had performed his duty promptly. He looked very
+sympathetic as he sat down by Clif’s bed and made anxious inquiries,
+but Clif had a disturbing suspicion that there was a twinkle lurking in
+his dad’s eye. He had always been the counselor of caution, protesting
+against his father’s recklessness on the road, and now see what had
+happened! He shifted restively, bringing a sharp twinge to the injured
+shoulder, when Mr. Bingham said: “Now tell me just what happened, son.
+You were driving some one’s car and――”
+
+So Clif told his story and Mr. Bingham listened gravely to the end.
+Then: “Well, of course, it isn’t necessary for me to tell you, Clif,
+that you shouldn’t have been going through the village at thirty miles
+an hour,” he said. “Ordinary precaution would have spared you the
+accident. Certainly you couldn’t have seen the second car, but if you
+had been traveling at a――ah――moderate speed you could have stopped in
+time to avoid a smash-up.” There was more of it, and Clif listened
+patiently and in silence. But it didn’t somehow sound just like his
+father, and he was puzzled. It sounded a whole lot like a speech
+composed beforehand. He sent several suspicious glances across and
+became more certain than ever that something was up. At last, when the
+homily was ended, Clif had an idea.
+
+“Did you drive over, dad?” he asked carelessly.
+
+“Er――no. No, as a matter of fact, Clif, I didn’t. You see, Mr. Frost’s
+letter didn’t reach me until eleven, and it’s quite a ways by road.
+After all, the train does get you there fully as quick, doesn’t it?”
+
+“Not the trains on this road,” answered Clif. “Not when you have to
+change and then stop at every telegraph pole! You’ll have to think up a
+better alibi than that, dad!”
+
+Mr. Bingham was frankly chuckling now. “Well, I suppose I’d better
+confess, son,” he answered. “The reason I didn’t drive is that the car
+isn’t――that is, it needs overhauling.”
+
+“How come? It was in the shop only five weeks ago.”
+
+“Was it? It seems longer.” Mr. Bingham sounded quite surprised. “How
+time doesn’t fly, eh?”
+
+“You’d better come clean, sir,” said Clif severely. “What happened to
+the car?”
+
+“Hardly anything at all, really! You see, Clif――say, you remember that
+turn just before you get into Pawtucket?” Mr. Bingham specified the
+location at length and with much detail in spite of Clif’s nodded
+assurance that he did remember. “Well, yesterday afternoon I was coming
+around that corner――”
+
+“How fast, dad?”
+
+“Oh, not very fast. Maybe twenty or twenty-five. And――”
+
+“Or maybe thirty-five. All right. Then what?”
+
+“Why, there was one of those infernal oil wagons backing out of a side
+street. You know how big they are. Well, there was just about room to
+get around him and I’d have done it before he hit me if this other
+dummy hadn’t been coming the other way. Really, the way some men drive
+is a crime, Clif! Mind you――”
+
+“Which did you hit, dad? The oil wagon or the other one?”
+
+“I didn’t hit either of them,” said Mr. Bingham indignantly. “They hit
+me. Both of them. At once and simultaneous.”
+
+“Geewhillickens! And you mean to say the car isn’t hurt much?”
+
+“Oh, of course it got scratched a bit. Lamps and front bumper. And one
+running board. And a dent in the left-hand rear door. Still, a hundred
+and fifty dollars will cover it. And the insurance folks will look
+after everything.”
+
+“What happened to you, sir?”
+
+“Not a thing. I sat tight. I honestly think that’s the best thing to
+do, Clif. Sit tight, eh? Now if you had sat tight last night――”
+
+“I like your nerve! And――and lecturing me like you did about being
+careful! And you running into two things at once in broad daylight――”
+
+“No, no, Clif! Not _broad_ daylight, really! It was getting along
+toward five o’clock.”
+
+“That’s broad daylight,” said Clif uncompromisingly. “I had my trouble
+when it was pitch dark! Gee, you’ve got a crust, dad!”
+
+“Have I?” laughed Mr. Bingham. “But didn’t I do it pretty well, son? I
+was more than an hour getting that speech together on the train coming
+up here. Had to write it on an envelope and commit it to memory――most
+of it. I did add a few impromptu touches, however. Now, honest, wasn’t
+it――well, pretty fair?”
+
+Clif’s indignation held for a moment longer and then his lips trembled
+and after that he laughed until he had to hold on to his injured
+shoulder. And Mr. Bingham laughed, too, and found a cigar in his case
+and almost lighted it before he remembered where he was. Finally Clif
+sobered again.
+
+“Just the same,” he said severely, “it’s no laughing matter. You’re
+going to get smashed up some day, dad, if you don’t use more sense
+in driving. How many times have I told you you ought to slow down at
+corners? Gosh, you come around a turn like there was no one else owned
+a car! When you can’t see what’s ahead of you you ought to――” But just
+then Mr. Bingham’s grin brought him up. “Well, it’s so,” he ended
+rather lamely.
+
+His father laughed. “Son,” he said, “it looks like a tie. Let’s call it
+off. What do you say?”
+
+Clif nodded, smiling. “Guess we’d better. Just the same, I’m going to
+feel a heap happier as long as the car’s in the shop, and I hope they
+keep it for months!”
+
+“Well, they told me six days,” said Mr. Bingham. “And, look here, what
+about the Lizzie you were driving? Who settles for that?”
+
+“I do,” answered Clif promptly. “It’s sort of folded up, like an
+accordion, Tom says; but they’re going to pull it out again for forty
+dollars, and I’m going to settle out of my pocket money.”
+
+“Hm, forty dollars is a lot of money. Look here, how would it do if
+they only pulled it out halfway, say about twenty-five dollars’ worth?”
+
+“It isn’t all for pulling it out,” Clif laughed. “It got busted up
+pretty well, I guess.”
+
+“Well, I think you’re right about paying for it yourself, son. Maybe
+it will teach you to be more――” But he caught the warning gleam in his
+son’s eye and broke off with a cough. “What I started to say was you’re
+likely to be rather hard up after settling for the wreck and so I’ll
+just leave a little check to carry you on.”
+
+“No, sir, I don’t want――”
+
+“Of course not! I understand that. But there’s Christmas coming along
+pretty soon――”
+
+“Six weeks and more,” jeered Clif.
+
+“I know, but six weeks goes before you realize it.” Mr. Bingham was
+already busy with check book and fountain pen. “I’m expecting something
+particularly nice from you this year and――” His voice trailed away as
+he tore the check from the book and waved it.
+
+“You’re going to get an edition de luxe of the _Rules of the Road_,”
+said Clif sternly. “That’s what you’re going to get from me.” He
+accepted the check, looked at the amount and frowned. “What’s the good
+of giving me fifty dollars?” he demanded. “It’s only going to be forty.
+And, anyhow, I want to pay it myself, dad.”
+
+“I’m not stopping you. That check hasn’t a thing in the world to do
+with that busted flivver, son. It’s just a little present from a
+grateful parent.”
+
+“Grateful for what?” asked Clif suspiciously.
+
+“Grateful to find you with nothing worse than a broken collar bone,
+Clifton,” answered Mr. Bingham gently.
+
+Clif looked away. Then he said, a bit gruffly: “Don’t see that I ought
+to get the check, though. It wasn’t my fault I didn’t get killed.”
+
+“Some one’s got to take it,” replied his father lightly.
+
+“Well, I’ll use some of it for the doctor. Thanks, dad.”
+
+Mr. Bingham waved the thanks aside with a hand which again held the
+absent-minded cigar and laid his other hand on Clif’s. “Now I’m going
+down for a short smoke,” he said. “It’s been rather a trying day, son.
+Then I’ll come back and have supper with you.”
+
+“Up here?” exclaimed Clif incredulously.
+
+Mr. Bingham nodded. “Little idea of my own. Rather clever, don’t you
+think?”
+
+“Well, but――will they let you?”
+
+“Oh, yes, I made the suggestion to Mr. Frost and he agreed to it. Not
+with enthusiasm, perhaps, but――he agreed. Back in ten minutes, son.”
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+
+                             TOM HAS NERVES
+
+
+Tom was extremely flattering when he returned from practice. He
+declared that Clif’s absence from the team was universally regarded as
+a frightful catastrophe. He even hinted that “G. G.” was on the verge
+of a nervous breakdown as a consequence of Clif’s loss. Mr. Bingham
+visibly swelled with pride, but Clif told him not to be a silly ass
+and requested particulars of the afternoon. Well, said Tom, they had
+managed to pull through the scrimmage to the tune of 11 to 3. Weldon
+had been in Clif’s place at left tackle; but, joking aside, hadn’t
+played it for beans. Coles had had a whack at it, too, just at the end.
+Oh, Clif could laugh, but the old outfit had felt his loss just the
+same!
+
+Friday he was allowed to get up and move around the room. Being an
+invalid wasn’t all velvet by any means. You had to do your lessons,
+even if you did carry your arm strapped up under your chin, because if
+you didn’t something unpleasant would happen to you when you returned
+to classes. That day Clif began to entertain visitors. More than a
+dozen fellows called. They all said about the same thing, but they
+were genuinely sorry for the accident and convinced Clif of it. Lemuel
+John was of the number. He came tiptoeing into the room just after
+dinner, looking extremely concerned, and collided with two chairs
+before he reached Clif. They talked football and Lemuel John showed a
+surprisingly complete understanding of the subject for one who, a bare
+fortnight before, had been incredibly ignorant. He said he guessed
+Mr. Babcock meant to use him at guard right along from now on. He had
+played the position three days in succession and was getting the hang
+of it. Clif had heard much the same thing from Tom.
+
+“Sure do miss you, Bingham,” said Lemuel John in taking leave. “You
+were a mighty nice fellow to play against.”
+
+“Huh,” laughed Clif, “you liked me because you could put it all over
+me!”
+
+Lemuel John grinned and shook his head. “That ain’t so, but I did feel
+sort of proud when I bested you once or twice. This fellow Smythe, and
+the other fellow――Weldon, ain’t it?――aren’t terribly smart, I guess.
+Anyway, I don’t have a hard time with ’em.”
+
+Clif was doing his best to take his fate philosophically, but it wasn’t
+easy. If the accident had happened earlier in the season he could have
+borne it better, for then there would have been a chance of getting
+back into harness for a little time at least before the end came. But
+as it was, the doctor’s best verdict was two weeks, and two weeks
+would bring them to the nineteenth, and the Wolcott game was on the
+twenty-second. Oh, Mr. Otis might let him run in for thirty seconds at
+the end of the game; a coach would have to be pretty hard-hearted to
+refuse him that comfort; but there was no satisfaction in such a sop!
+
+Mr. Otis visited him that Friday evening during study hour. He was very
+sympathetic and kind, but his visit didn’t make Clif any happier. Even
+“G. G.’s” repeated assertion that Clif’s loss to the team was a genuine
+misfortune, while pleasing as a compliment, didn’t butter any parsnips.
+Clif wanted to play football.
+
+Loring came, borne by the faithful Wattles, and Clif gave a full but
+apathetic narrative of his adventure in pursuit of the Camel. Loring’s
+look of incredulous delight when told that the chap’s name really was
+Campbell got a laugh from Clif. “Have you said anything to any one
+about it?” Loring asked.
+
+“Only to dad, and he didn’t repeat it.”
+
+“I suppose we’d better tell Mr. Otis. He hasn’t been back since. The
+Camel, I mean. Maybe he suspected something, eh?”
+
+“I don’t think he did,” replied Clif. “I don’t believe he connected me
+with the fellow on the road. He couldn’t have seen my face very well,
+for it was getting pretty dark, and when I followed him to his room
+I put my cap in my pocket. He probably thought me one of the Wolcott
+bunch, or, maybe, some chap from the village.”
+
+“Well, if he should come back――” Loring paused and viewed Clif
+thoughtfully.
+
+“Of course,” mused the latter, “you can’t make trouble for a fellow
+just because he comes and watches the football practice.”
+
+“Not――er――officially,” agreed Loring.
+
+“No, not officially.” Then they looked at each other a moment in
+silence. Finally Clif smiled. Then Loring smiled.
+
+“We’ll wait a few days before we say anything to Mr. Otis, I guess,”
+Loring said. “How is the shoulder?”
+
+“Oh, it hurts,” answered Clif. “The doctor says it’s knitting. If it
+is, it gives me a jab every time it takes a stitch!”
+
+“I feel pretty rotten about it,” said the other. “If I hadn’t started
+the business you wouldn’t have got smeared up this way. No hope of
+getting back to the team, I suppose?”
+
+“Not a mite. But you don’t need to blame yourself. It was my own silly
+fault. I don’t honestly believe I ever took a chance like that before.
+Of course, the road looked clear enough, but I oughtn’t to have been
+going so fast. You see, I was so plaguey hungry! And then, confound it,
+when I could eat I didn’t want a thing!”
+
+“Too bad you can’t see the game to-morrow.”
+
+“Rotten! Are you going over? You said last week――”
+
+“No.” Loring shook his head. “I changed my mind.” He didn’t state,
+however, that he had changed it on Clif’s account. “Tell you what I
+thought we’d do, old chap. If you are going to be around to-morrow――”
+Clif nodded――“we’ll get the returns by telephone in East. The booths
+are right near my room, you know.”
+
+“Well, but who――how――”
+
+“There’s a chap named Sanford, a junior, whom I’ve been helping a bit
+with his Latin. He’s a decent kid. Sanford’s agreed to call up East
+on the telephone after the first half and after the game’s over and
+slip me the tidings. At least, we’ll know how it’s going. It will beat
+waiting until the crowd gets back.”
+
+“Good stunt,” agreed Clif. “I’d sure like to see that game, though. Tom
+says no one seems very hopeful.”
+
+Loring shook his head. “I was hopeful until to-day, but every one else
+is so pessimistic that I’m slipping, too. I’m rather afraid that we’re
+in for a licking. They say Horner’s awfully good.”
+
+“She was last year, too.” Clif shook his head gloomily. “What price ‘No
+Defeats’?”
+
+“I’m going to be pretty sore if we do lose,” muttered the other.
+“Still, perhaps we’ll pull through. The left side of our line isn’t
+much, but maybe Horner won’t discover it.”
+
+“Don’t you fool yourself. Horner knows all there is to know, I’ll bet.
+How much will you give me for this button, Loring?”
+
+Loring glanced at the blue-and-white disk on Clif’s lapel and smiled.
+“Just what it cost you,” he answered. Then: “Oh, hang it, Clif, we
+mustn’t get licked now after getting through so far!” he protested.
+“We’ve _got_ to win!”
+
+“That’s the talk!” Clif sat up so suddenly that he jarred the injured
+shoulder, and winced. “We’ll have to use the old will power, Loring.
+If we can’t see the game we can still root for a victory. Me, I refuse
+to consider the possibility of defeat. Calm and serene, I face the
+impending struggle with――with unshaken confidence!”
+
+“A-a-ay!” cheered Loring.
+
+“‘No Defeats’ is my motto, and long may it wave o’er the land of the
+free and the home of the brave!”
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Tom, entering on Clif’s peroration, “I shall have
+to ask you to make less noise. It is requested that quiet reign after
+nine-thirty in order that the gallant heroes of to-morrow’s battle may
+retire early and slumber undisturbed. I shall also have to ask you, Mr.
+Deane, to take your departure.”
+
+“Go to thunder,” said Loring pleasantly.
+
+“Tie that outside,” advised Clif. “Where do you get all this soft pedal
+stuff?”
+
+“Coach’s orders,” replied Tom with dignity. “After nine-thirty――”
+
+“It isn’t nine-thirty yet, you poor boob!”
+
+“It is by my watch. At least, it’s nine-twenty-eight.”
+
+“Your watch!” jeered Clif. “What good’s a watch that’s soaked two or
+three times a week?”
+
+“This valuable and inflammable――I mean infallible timepiece has never
+been pawned, I’d have you know.”
+
+“No, but you take it into the bathtub regularly. How many times do you
+suppose you’ve had it under water, Tom?”
+
+Tom grinned. “Maybe a dozen. It doesn’t seem to hurt it much, though.
+Oh, it gains a few minutes now and then, or loses; but it still ticks
+on.”
+
+“How was the meeting?” asked Loring.
+
+“Noisy. Jeff made a pretty good spiel, though.”
+
+“They didn’t call on you for a speech, by any chance?” Clif inquired.
+
+“No, and I had one all ready, too. I was going to say: ‘Mr. Chairman,
+gentlemen and members of the faculty.’” Tom struck an attitude and
+stared sternly at the lamp. “‘Unprepared as I am for this unexpected
+honor, it nevertheless gives me great pleasure to be here this evening
+and find before me this brilliant assemblage of beauty and gallantry.
+Never before in all my experience as a public speaker have I addressed
+a more intelligent looking audience. Even, gentlemen, when I turn and
+gaze upon those seated here on the platform, I still find distinct
+traces of――I dare not say intelligence, but of sanity. I particularly
+refer to those on my left, the shining-faced members of our so-called
+musical clubs. The others, as you will readily perceive, are football
+players, faculty and similar members of the lower orders; in a word,
+ameba. I will say――’”
+
+“Where’d you get it?” inquired Loring. “‘Ameba’! What do you know of
+our young friend, Clif? I believe he’s looked into a dictionary!”
+
+“Wrong. Mr. Babcock used it one day last week in hygiene. What else,
+Tom?”
+
+“You’ve interrupted the flow of my thoughts,” said Tom severely. “There
+was much more of it, but it has gone. I composed it while ‘Pinky’
+Hilliard was getting off his usual drivel about ‘honor before success.’
+It was good, too.”
+
+“Did you really sit on the platform?” asked Clif.
+
+“Me? I wouldn’t go near it! Sit up there to be stared at and try to
+look like a dog-gone hero? Not on your radio! I sat at the back with
+Lemuel John and we ate peanuts. We had to crack them in our pockets;
+and that reminds me.” Tom moved to the wastebasket and got rid of the
+shells.
+
+“What was the spirit of the meeting?” asked Loring.
+
+“Death with honor,” replied Tom, finding a peanut that hadn’t been
+opened and gobbling the contents before Clif could formulate a protest.
+“Oh, we all sang and yelled hard enough, and shouted ‘No Defeats!’
+whenever we got a chance; but, heck, every one knows we’re going to get
+the can!”
+
+“That’s the wrong thought,” said Clif. “Of course we’ll get licked if
+you and the rest of the gang go over there to-morrow with that belief.
+Loring and I are optimists, Thomas. We don’t know the meaning of the
+word defeat. We――”
+
+“You’ll know it to-morrow,” answered Tom, pulling off his coat. “Lemuel
+John talked the same sort of rot. Stuff about ‘the team that won’t be
+beaten can’t be beaten,’ and all that. Some one’s been feeding that
+baby raw milk! I’m going to bed.”
+
+“Which means that I’ve got to beat it,” said Loring. “And my carriage
+wasn’t to call until nine-fifty. If you want to get rid of me, Tom,
+you’ll have to find Wattles. He’s down in the library.”
+
+“Heck, I don’t want to get rid of you. You won’t bother me any, because
+I don’t expect to do much sleeping before midnight. I’m willing to
+try, just to oblige ‘G. G.,’ but I know it can’t be done. My sprightly
+little mind is far, far too active. ‘Just before the battle, Mother,
+I――’”
+
+“Blessed if Tom hasn’t got nerves!” marveled Clif.
+
+“I’ve got something,” growled the accused. “You would, too, if you’d
+listened to ‘G. G.’ this evening in the gym.”
+
+“What did he say?” inquired Loring.
+
+“Never mind,” answered Tom darkly. “He said plenty. He said things no
+gentleman can say to another without fighting!”
+
+“Did you fight him?” asked Clif innocently.
+
+“Did I? I’ll say I did! I knocked him down and kicked him all over the
+gym floor――in my mind! If we do win that blamed game to-morrow it’ll
+be just because he told us we couldn’t do it; that we haven’t got the
+stuff in us to beat a team that knows any real football! The big stiff!”
+
+“Well, have you?” asked Loring quietly.
+
+Tom’s head came up and he glared across belligerently, one shoe
+suspended in air. Then he grinned. “You wait and see,” he muttered.
+
+“Atta boy!” applauded Clif, laughing.
+
+“Oh, I don’t say we’re going to beat those guys,” said Tom doggedly;
+“but ‘G. G.’ isn’t going to be able to tie any can to me when it’s
+over! I’ll show the fresh simp that he doesn’t know what he’s talking
+about when he says I dope _my_ hair!”
+
+“_What!_ Did he say that?” exclaimed Clif.
+
+“Yes, he did. Not me, especially, but the run of us. ‘Trouble with you
+tea hounds,’ he said, ‘is that you’re scared to move around much for
+fear you’ll get the slickum off your hair!’”
+
+“Oh, lovely!” Clif gurgled.
+
+“I don’t see anything lovely about it,” protested Tom, viewing the
+laughing countenances of the others. “Or funny, either. ‘Tea hounds,’
+eh? Fresh Aleck!”
+
+“Well, Tom, you know you did work up a patent-leather finish one night
+in Paris,” said Loring. “Maybe it still shows.”
+
+“Oh, shut up! I just tried the stuff, and you know it. Anyhow――” and
+Tom seemed to be struck by a sudden thought――“what if some of us do use
+the stuff? Don’t we wear head guards?”
+
+To Tom’s puzzlement, the others again went into gales of laughter. “You
+make me sick,” he informed them aggrievedly.
+
+“You’re so――so beautifully literal,” chuckled Loring.
+
+“I’m going to suggest,” Clif laughed, “that we change that slogan to
+‘No Slickum!’” Wattles’ appearance relieved the situation.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIX
+
+                          DEFEAT BY TELEPHONE
+
+
+Wyndham departed early Saturday morning, valiantly shouting “No
+Defeats!” Team and supporters left the school together, and not for a
+long while had the staid old village of Freeburg listened to such a
+matutinal disturbance. It would be permissible to say that all Wyndham
+went to the game, although, if I am to be tied to facts, some two score
+fellows, mostly juniors, remained behind. There were no classes to-day,
+and after seeing the crowd off, Clif wondered what on earth he was to
+do with himself. He didn’t feel very happy, anyway, and the prospect of
+an interminable morning was not cheering. Of course there was Loring,
+but even Loring didn’t make up for what he had lost.
+
+Until Friday noon he had clung to the hope of making the journey to
+Horner. The doctor had “pooh-poohed” the idea, but he hadn’t actually
+said no to it. It was “Homer” who had settled the matter. Mr. Frost
+had been very brief. “Not to be considered, Bingham.” Perhaps, Clif
+thought, “Homer” was doing a bit of disciplining. He had not penalized
+Clif for making that trip to Cotterville, possibly because he
+considered a broken clavicle sufficient punishment, possibly because
+no printed regulation had been infringed. It might just be that he was
+regretting previous leniency. However, Clif was fair enough to own to
+himself that Mr. Frost had a good case, for fellows with broken bones
+weren’t in very good shape for long and jarring railway journeys and
+the pushing and scrambling incident to football contests.
+
+Being allowed to come and go as he liked about the school and village
+helped somewhat to-day. Of course he felt uncomfortable and awkward and
+was sure that he must look rather silly, and in consequence he didn’t
+venture beyond the gates. He parted from Loring with the plea that he
+meant to do an hour or so of studying, and after some delay he actually
+did bury his nose in his books for almost that long. But his thoughts
+didn’t take kindly to the subjects imposed on them and it was hard
+going. Outside, on the nearer gridiron, a handful of youngsters were
+kicking a football about, and their cries and the sound of the impact
+of shoe against pigskin came in through a half-opened window. It was
+such wonderful weather for football, too! A cloudy day with no wind and
+just a touch of frost in the still air. Clif thought his fate pretty
+hard.
+
+About eleven, sheer loneliness sent him over to Loring’s and from
+that time on he was glad indeed of the other’s companionship. Dinner
+was rather a makeshift meal, with only some half-hundred students and
+faculty dotted about the big hall. At least a third of the instructors
+had gone to Horner, it seemed. About two o’clock Loring opened his room
+door and they began to listen for the telephone bell. Wattles departed
+for the school laundry with an armful of Loring’s clothes to be
+pressed. A dozen juniors held forth in the recreation room across the
+corridor, and at intervals one or another came to the door and looked
+inquiringly toward the telephone booths. Of course there were false
+alarms at first. Thrice Clif hurried forth, snatched a receiver from
+a hook and, after inquiries, returned the information that the person
+sought would be there in a minute or couldn’t come at all by reason
+of having gone to Horner. But finally, at about twenty-five minutes
+after two, a voice asked for Loring Deane. Clif relayed the summons and
+Loring came rolling out in his chair and took the telephone. Clif bent
+beside him so that he, too, could hear. At the door of the recreation
+room a group formed hurriedly.
+
+“This is Sanford,” came a distant but clear voice. “The first quarter
+is just over, Deane, and there’s no score. We won the toss and Horner
+kicked off, but neither side was able to score. Can you hear me all
+right?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Loring. “How does it look, Charley? Who’s going to win?”
+
+“I don’t know, really. You see, both teams played sort of ragged. We
+made a couple of fumbles and got penalized twice and Horner wasn’t much
+better. It has just started to rain here; not hard, though; and they’re
+saying that if the field gets wet Horner will have an advantage. She’s
+got a whale of a team for size! I’ll call up again after this quarter.”
+
+“All right, Charley. Thanks.” Loring hung up, glanced a question at
+Clif and received a shrug for reply. Then he gave out the news to
+the juniors, and Clif pushed him back to the room. They talked over
+the scant information received, but there was so little to go on
+that discussion soon petered out. After that they waited, glances
+continually seeking the little clock on Loring’s chiffonier and
+conversation becoming more desultory as three o’clock approached. It
+was three minutes of the hour when Clif again crossed to the nearer
+booth. This time Loring didn’t wait to be called, but was on hand when
+Clif held out the phone.
+
+“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Sanford apologetically at the other
+end; “but I’m telephoning from the field house and half a dozen fellows
+got ahead of me. Half’s over, Deane, and it’s two to nothing. Horner
+threw Sproule for a safety.”
+
+“Oh, the dickens! How did it happen, Charley?”
+
+“They’ve been going through our left side pretty hard, and just before
+the end of the half they tried a forward pass from our thirty, about;
+and Kemble got it and then it went to Sproule for a punt. Horner broke
+through and nailed him before he could kick.”
+
+“Well, we must be playing pretty rotten,” said Loring dejectedly.
+
+“We aren’t playing so badly, really,” answered the distant voice.
+“Horner’s had all the breaks, Deane. Say, we thought we had the game
+once. Kemble ran from their forty-two for a touchdown. At least, we
+all thought it was a touchdown and nearly went crazy. Then the referee
+brought the ball back and we were penalized for off-side!”
+
+“Gee!” said Loring. “Well, we can’t win against that sort of luck, I
+guess! Must have been a corking run, though.”
+
+“It was! And you never heard such yelling, Deane! Gosh, the crowd was
+sore when――Deane, there’s a fellow waiting to phone and I’ll have to
+hang up. I’ll give you the final score, if I can get to a phone. So――”
+
+“What about the field, Charley. Has it stopped raining?”
+
+“No, but it’s just sort of a Scotch mist, you know. I don’t believe
+it’ll make much difference. Well, good-by.”
+
+“Two to nothing at the end of the half,” announced Loring. “Horner
+blocked a kick and Sproule was thrown for a safety.”
+
+The group in the hall broke into excited discussion and Loring and Clif
+retired once more to the room. “He said Horner was gaining through our
+left,” reflected Loring. “That means Smythe, I suppose. Weldon, too,
+probably. I guess you’d have been useful over there this afternoon,
+Clif.”
+
+Clif sighed. “Oh, well, it isn’t over yet. Even a field goal will beat
+two points. Gee, I’ll bet Tom was fit to be tied when he found he
+hadn’t scored that touchdown!”
+
+“Wasn’t that perfectly beastly luck? I wonder who the dumb-bell was
+that was off-side. Anyhow, Clif, he showed ‘G. G.’ that he doesn’t
+varnish his hair!”
+
+But Loring’s humor fell rather flat. Clif wandered around the room,
+stared from the windows, took up a magazine and dropped it again and
+showed pretty conclusively that he was suffering from nerves. The
+return of Wattles was a relief to both boys. “Horner’s ahead, Wattles,”
+said Loring. “She scored a safety. Or we did. How is that, anyway,
+Clif?”
+
+“We scored it and she gets it,” he answered despondently.
+
+“A safety is two points, isn’t it?” inquired Wattles as he disposed of
+the suits on their hangers. “At what stage of the game, Mr. Loring?”
+
+“End of the half.”
+
+“Oh, then, we’ve still a chance, haven’t we?” Wattles brightened
+perceptibly. “I fancy Mr. Tom will be heard from, sir.”
+
+“He’s been heard from,” said Clif flatly. “He went forty-two yards for
+a touchdown, Wattles, but some idiot was off-side and it was no good.”
+
+“Forty-two yards! My word, sir, but that was extraordinary. I’d like to
+have seen it.”
+
+“I’m glad I didn’t,” growled Clif. “It must have been awful when they
+called him back.”
+
+It was almost four when the telephone rang again. Clif shook his head.
+“That can’t be he. It isn’t time for the game to be over, not by five
+minutes. You see what it is, Wattles.”
+
+Wattles returned in a minute. “Mr. Sanford, sir, on the wire.”
+
+“Already? It can’t be over!” But Loring, with Wattles as chauffeur,
+made the width of the corridor in record time. “Hello, Charley! Yes?
+This is――”
+
+“I came out ahead of the mob, Deane.” Sanford sounded a bit breathless.
+“Knew I couldn’t get to the phone if I didn’t. There’s about a minute
+yet, but we’re beaten. Two to nothing. Isn’t that rotten? We made a
+mighty good fight in the third quarter and got to Horner’s twenty-five
+once and Houston tried a field goal and missed it badly. Horner tried
+one, too; from our twenty-three, I think it was; but she kicked short.
+Anyway, they didn’t cross our goal line, Deane.”
+
+“I see. Well, thanks awfully for phoning, Charley. Drop in soon and let
+me hear all about it.”
+
+“All right, Deane. Very glad to have――”
+
+The other’s voice ended abruptly and after waiting a moment Loring
+jiggled the phone. “Guess some one cut me off,” he muttered. “Doesn’t
+matter, though.” He waited a moment longer and handed the instrument
+back to Clif. “Hard luck, eh?”
+
+“They defeated us, sir?” asked Wattles anxiously.
+
+Loring nodded. “Final score, fellows,” he announced to the small
+audience. “Horner won, two to nothing.”
+
+Well, that was that. Clif shut the door on the sounds of disappointment
+that came from the recreation room, thrust his hands in his pockets and
+went to the window. It was already twilight outside, for the clouds had
+been thickening during the afternoon. Rather a dismal-looking world out
+there, he thought.
+
+“‘No Defeats!’” murmured Loring.
+
+“At that,” growled Clif defiantly, “I’ll bet we played as well as they
+did! They had a lot of luck, that’s all. You can’t win when the other
+fellow’s hung with horseshoes!”
+
+“And some one’s got to lose,” said Loring reflectively. “They say an
+occasional defeat is good for a team’s morale.”
+
+“They say a lot of things,” muttered Clif. “Hang it, don’t start
+talking philosophical, Loring. I don’t feel that way. Look here,
+where’s that cross-word book of yours? Let’s try one of those puzzles,
+will you? I don’t want to think any more about that rotten game.”
+
+“Good scheme, Clif. Neither do I, I guess. I say, Wattles, find that
+cross-word book, will you?”
+
+“Here it is, Mr. Loring. If you’ll not be requiring me here, sir, for
+about a half-hour, I’d like to walk into the village before the shops
+close.”
+
+“Go to it, old chap. And, say, Wattles, stop at the Greek’s and tell
+him to be sure and save us the New York papers to-morrow. We didn’t get
+the _Times_ last week.”
+
+“Chasing the emu,” which was Tom’s term for working out cross-word
+puzzles, proved absorbing enough presently to take the boys’ minds off
+the football defeat. With Clif officiating at an abridged and sometimes
+inadequate dictionary, not only the emu but the roc and the moa were
+discovered, there was an exciting adventure with an asp and they were
+hot on the trail of a skink when Wattles came back. Wattles brought
+with him a long, unwieldy parcel from which depended an express tag,
+and Clif, glancing up in the very act of impaling the skink on his
+pencil point, voiced curiosity.
+
+“For the love of lemons, Wattles, what have you got there?” he asked.
+
+Wattles smiled deprecatingly, glanced at Loring and deposited the
+elongated package in the closet. Clif thought he acted decidedly
+surreptitious and was going to comment on the fact when Loring asked
+hurriedly: “How do you spell it, Clif?”
+
+“Skink? How would you spell skink, for Pete’s sake? _S, k, i, n, k_,
+skink. The _T_ is silent as in ‘Oolong.’”
+
+“Well, but――”
+
+“Beg pardon, Mr. Loring,” said Wattles, withdrawing his head from the
+closet; “but there appears to have been a mistake about the score.”
+
+“Score?” Loring looked up a trifle blankly. “What score?”
+
+“The score of the football game, sir. I fancy Mr. Sanford was in error.”
+
+“Huh? How come?” Clif swung about eagerly. “What did you hear, Wattles?”
+
+“Why, sir, in the village they had it three to two, in our favor.”
+
+“Gosh!” Clif looked questioningly at Loring. Loring shook his head.
+
+“They’ve probably got it wrong, Clif. Sanford would know best, I guess.”
+
+“Yes, but it wasn’t over when he phoned! Look here, I’m going to call
+up and find out!”
+
+“There’s no necessity, Mr. Clifton.” Wattles fumbled in a waistcoat
+pocket and brought forth a slip of yellow paper. “I thought I’d better
+make certain, and so I dropped in at the telegraph office and asked.
+I got the operator to write it down, Mr. Loring, so you’d know it was
+correct.”
+
+“Well, what was it? Hang it, Wattles, if you know anything――”
+
+But Wattles was not to be hurried. He unfolded the slip, identified it
+and then laid it on the open cross-word book. Loring and Clif bent over
+it eagerly.
+
+“Final,” they read. “Wyndham 3, Horner 2. Carlson, Wyndham, kicked
+placement from forty yards just before whistle. Congratulations!”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XX
+
+                           THE CAMEL EXPLAINS
+
+
+Wyndham returned about nine o’clock, wearied but rejoicing. Very few
+voices had successfully stood the strain of that last moment triumph,
+and it was two days before the school spoke normally again. Even Tom,
+when he turned up at Loring’s room a few minutes subsequent to his
+return, was decidedly hoarse. He had, he explained, talked most of the
+way back, like every one else, and the effort to make himself heard
+above the noise of the train had been too great. They made him talk
+some more, nevertheless――Loring and Clif――while Wattles, inventing an
+occupation in a corner of the room, remained to hear.
+
+Tom wasn’t a bit peeved about that lost touchdown. “Oh, well,” he said,
+“we didn’t need it, after all; and I had the fun of making the run. I
+was a little sore at the time, you bet; but what was the use?”
+
+“Who was off-side?” asked Clif.
+
+Tom looked blank. “I couldn’t see,” he said.
+
+“Well, you heard, didn’t you?”
+
+“Oh, I didn’t pay much attention. Forget it, Clif. He felt worse than
+the rest of us. Besides, it was just because he wanted to win. He was
+too anxious.”
+
+“Of course he didn’t mean to do it,” agreed Clif. “All right. What
+about Carlson’s kick?”
+
+Tom became animated. “Say, you missed the thrill of a lifetime,
+fellows,” he croaked. “Mind you, we’d lost the game. We couldn’t make
+two consecutive gains by that time. We’d pushed Horner back some in the
+third quarter, but after that the field had got so slippery we couldn’t
+keep our feet. All we could do was smash into the line a couple of
+times and then punt. Horner couldn’t do much better herself. When she
+hit us she made more, because she had the weight, but she couldn’t
+make her ten yards, even then. ‘G. G.’ had sent three or four new men
+in, Braley amongst ’em, and Braley had got his signals twisted. It was
+getting darkish, too, and you weren’t quite sure of the ball when it
+got into the air. Yes, sir, we were licked, and we knew it. We kept
+on trying, though. You know how it is. You don’t think such an awful
+lot about being beaten. There are too many other things to think of.
+You just keep on trying. That’s what we did. Horner got the ball on
+her thirty-eight after a punt and kicked back on second down. Some one
+tipped the ball as it started off and it went pretty near straight up.
+When it landed it fell through half a dozen fellows and hit the ground
+and went whanging off and Lou Stiles made a leap for it. A couple of us
+jumped ahead of him and he got to the thirty-five yards, pretty near.
+We shoved into ’em for two or three and then ‘Swede’ got four right
+over that big left guard of theirs. We needed about three more, but I
+couldn’t get started and it was last down. Braley asked for time and we
+talked it over. There was less than a minute left then; some one said
+less than thirty seconds, but I don’t know. Billy Desmond was acting as
+captain, and Billy wouldn’t consent to a forward pass. Well, we’d been
+foozling ’em all the afternoon, what with the wet turf and a mighty
+clever defense. Braley said let ‘Swede’ try a drop, and ‘Swede’ said
+no, he couldn’t lift a wet ball that far. Then Jim Carlson pushed in
+and said he thought he might get it over from placement if they’d hold
+the line hard for him. So ‘Swede’ moved up to center and he and Billy
+and Breeze locked legs. Horner couldn’t get what was coming and shifted
+around at a great rate. Heck, I didn’t have any idea we’d score. I was
+expecting the horn would toot before we got the play started, for that
+matter. But it didn’t, and ‘Swede’ made a nice pass back to Braley and
+Braley put the ball down just about six inches short of the forty,
+and Carlson stepped forward and swung. It was all we could do to hold
+the line, for Horner sure acted rough, but we did. I didn’t see the
+kick, of course, having my hands full with a Horner tackle who leaked
+through, but I heard it, and it sounded sweet. When I had a look there
+was the old ball sailing square over the bar. As I say, it was getting
+sort of dark by then, and at first I thought I was mistaken, and I
+began to look around the field. But just then our gang bust loose and
+I knew I’d seen it right. Noise? Honest, you never heard a small bunch
+make such a riot as our crowd did! They were out on the field in a
+second, and it took two or three minutes to get the place cleared off
+again. Talk about your thrills! Some of us just couldn’t believe it
+was a goal, and we stood around expecting the referee to call the ball
+back or something. It took me two or three minutes to get it through my
+bean that we’d won!”
+
+“I wish I could have seen it,” murmured Loring.
+
+“So do I,” sighed Clif.
+
+That hairbreadth victory worked a swift and amazing change at Wyndham.
+The school had journeyed to Horner hoping, but fearing, and had
+returned convinced of success. Carlson’s place kick was regarded as
+something close to a miracle, and when miracles come to your aid you
+can’t help believing in your destiny. But Wyndham wasn’t overconfident.
+The narrow escape had left her a bit chastened, in spite of ultimate
+triumph, and the general feeling was that while the prize was to be
+won it must be worked for. “No Defeats!” was no longer a phrase to be
+shouted glibly. It was no longer merely a slogan. It had become an
+invocation. Clif would no longer have protested had some one likened it
+to “_On ne passe pas!_” One heard it less often during the following
+fortnight, but when it was heard it had a deeper significance, a more
+earnest sound.
+
+On Sunday the Triumvirate discussed the Camel after Tom had asked for
+information. He said he was surprised that they hadn’t told Mr. Otis
+before then and insisted that the coach ought to know at once. “We
+thought we’d wait and see if he turned up again,” said Loring. “If he’s
+learned anything he shouldn’t know it’s too late now, Tom, and ‘G. G.’
+couldn’t do anything about it. But if he comes back we might――well, we
+might teach him a lesson.”
+
+“Sure, that’s all right. Teach him all you want,” responded Tom; “but
+Mr. Otis ought to know about it, just the same. If some of the Wolcott
+football crowd sent the Camel over here to spy it’s well to know it.
+Maybe ‘G. G.’ would like to do something about it. I don’t know what,
+but something.”
+
+“Maybe you’re right,” Loring acknowledged. “You and Clif had better go
+over to the inn and see him.”
+
+They did. Coach Otis was interested, but not greatly concerned. “So
+that’s what you were up to when you got that busted collar bone, eh?”
+he asked Clif. “Next time you’d better come to me and let me handle it.
+What that fellow learned from watching our practice can’t be much, and
+certainly not nearly so serious as losing a good lineman just when he’s
+most needed. If you or Deane see him around again let me know and I’ll
+have a talk with him. I hardly think he’s been sent by the football
+team or the coach over there. More likely he’s doing it on his own
+hook, with some silly notion that he’s going to make some important
+discovery. Can’t imagine what, though. He must know that we don’t
+prepare for Wolcott until a couple of weeks beforehand, and that when
+we do we keep practice secret. To-morrow will be about his last chance
+of getting into the stand, so pass the word to Deane to keep his eyes
+peeled, will you?”
+
+Clif had thought that he wouldn’t mind being side-tracked so much
+after he could go over to the field and watch the team, but on Monday
+he found that it didn’t work out that way. Seeing the other fellows
+at practice just seemed to make his own lot the harder. He sat with
+Loring and Wattles and was rather a quiet companion for a while. Loring
+paid more attention to the stand than to the gridiron, searching the
+well-filled seats for the boy with the funny chin. He didn’t miss so
+much, either, for practice to-day was participated in only by the
+substitutes, and not all of those, and there was a rumor current along
+the bench that there was to be no scrimmage. Yet one mild sensation
+did materialize that afternoon. About ten minutes after the session
+had begun Clif, his gaze wandering along the players’ bench, discerned
+Lemuel John Parks. He passed the surprising news on to Loring and,
+after a minute spent on conjectures, arose and sought the subject of
+them. Lemuel John acknowledged that he had forsaken the second team.
+
+“Mr. Babcock sent me over here,” he explained, “so I guess it’s all
+right. I ain’t――haven’t spoken to any one about it, and maybe I’d ought
+to.” He ended questioningly. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Lemuel
+John looked frightened, for somehow you couldn’t associate fear with
+him, but he certainly did look awed. Tom shook his head.
+
+“Sit tight,” he advised. “‘G. G.’ knows you’re here and he will let you
+know when he wants you. Going to play guard?”
+
+“Well, I don’t know,” answered the big chap. “I guess so. Ain’t much
+else I could do, is there?”
+
+When Clif went back to Loring he found that youth in a state of mingled
+excitement and delight. “He’s up there,” he announced in low tones,
+as though feeling the distant Camel might overhear him. “Wattles just
+discovered him. Almost straight back and about two-thirds way up. Sort
+of up against the pillar. See him?”
+
+“Yes,” replied Clif after a moment’s search. “That’s he, all right.
+Guess I’d better tell ‘G. G.’”
+
+“Yes, but don’t let him see you point him out. He might get scared and
+beat it.”
+
+Clif had to wait several minutes before a chance to communicate with
+the coach occurred. Then he gave his message and cautiously located the
+Camel in the stand. But Mr. Otis was too far away to see him. Also, he
+was much too busy to waste time in the effort.
+
+“Hang the fellow!” he said impatiently. “I can’t talk to him now,
+Bingham. Look here, you go up there and see what he’s up to. Take some
+one with you.” Mr. Otis glanced along the bench. “Take that big fellow,
+Parker.”
+
+“Parks, sir?”
+
+“All right. Take him. Make that sneak talk, Bingham. Find out who sent
+him over here, and why. I wouldn’t――better not make any trouble, you
+understand. Unless he won’t answer questions, that is.”
+
+Clif beckoned to Lemuel John and passed around to the back of the
+stand where two stairways arose. On the way he put his companion in
+possession of the main facts of the case. “He will talk, I guess,
+Parks; but if he doesn’t we’ll have to make him. Then it’s up to you,
+for I couldn’t make a pig squeal tied up this way!”
+
+“Sure,” said Lemuel John. “I’ll persuade him.”
+
+The Camel sat next to a post. On the other side was a third classman
+of Clif’s acquaintance. Followed by Lemuel John, Clif pushed his way
+along the row which, while not closely occupied, was well sprinkled
+with fellows. “Move over, will you, Jordan?” asked Clif. Jordan
+obligingly moved and Clif seated himself by the Camel. Lemuel John
+pushed past and squeezed down beyond the post. The Camel viewed
+the operations with evident concern, if not suspicion. Clif opened
+conversation casually.
+
+“Hello,” he said.
+
+“Hello,” muttered the Camel.
+
+“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”
+
+The Camel turned then and got a fair view of the questioner. Recognition
+dawned and the puttylike chin trembled agitatedly. For a moment he
+seemed to be contemplating flight, but his first glance to the left
+revealed Lemuel John observing him calmly but interestedly past the
+pillar, and the idea vanished. He returned his gaze to the field. “No,
+I’m not,” he muttered.
+
+“Well, I suppose it doesn’t take you long,” said Clif. “How’s Goddard?”
+
+“All right.” The Camel moved restively. Then he broke out, weakly
+defiant, with: “Say, what’s the idea? What do you want, anyway?”
+
+Neighbors were observing them curiously now. There was something
+up, that was plain, and they wanted to be in on it. Clif laughed
+good-naturedly. “Why, all I want is a little information, Campbell.
+Suppose we go down where we can talk without being overheard.”
+
+“No!” The Camel was emphatic. “You talk right here.”
+
+“I think it would be better if the others didn’t hear,” insisted
+Clif gently. “They might――well, they might not like it; and if they
+didn’t――” He left the rest to the Camel’s imagination. After a moment’s
+consideration the Camel said: “All right, but you haven’t anything on
+me, and if you get funny I’ll――I’ll――” Then he saw Lemuel John again
+and stopped for good.
+
+They went down to the back of the stand, the Camel sandwiched between
+Clif and Lemuel John. Above, a line of faces stared down at them. Clif
+led the way to the farther end of the structure. “Now,” he said, his
+jesting manner gone, “let’s hear all about it. Who sent you over here,
+Campbell?”
+
+“No one sent me. I just came to――I wanted to see you fellows play
+football.”
+
+“We appreciate that, but why not stay at Wolcott and watch your own
+team? If you’re not an absolute idiot, Campbell, you know that you’re
+in wrong here. If we passed the word back to that crowd up there you’d
+be in for a peck of trouble.” The Camel, already distinctly uneasy,
+looked nervous. “Now we know that you haven’t been coming all the way
+from Cotterville two and three times a week just for amusement. We
+want to know who sent you, Campbell, and we mean to find out. So you’d
+better come clean if you know what’s best for you.”
+
+Evidently the Camel thought so, too. He took a furtive look at the
+faces still watching over the edge of the stand and cleared his
+throat. “It’s like I told you,” he said a trifle huskily. “No one sent
+me. The fellow I room with, Charley Goddard, is on our team. He’s
+quarter back.”
+
+“Oh, no, he isn’t,” said Clif. “Your quarter back is Monroe.”
+
+“Yes, but Goddard’s trying, too. He’s played two or three games.”
+
+“Oh, a sub, eh? All right, go ahead.”
+
+“He said it would help him if he knew something about――about――” The
+Camel hesitated and glanced doubtfully at Lemuel John. Lemuel John
+was in togs and loomed very large. “Well, if he knew the sort of game
+Wyndham played. Because he’s pretty sure to play quarter back part of
+the game, and if he handled the team well――”
+
+The Camel sort of ran down then. Clif nodded. “I see. You were to come
+over here and watch our fellows play and tell Goddard all you could
+find out so that he’d know what he was up against if he got a chance in
+the big game. Very pretty, Campbell. Your idea, you say?”
+
+The Camel nodded, watching the faces of the others anxiously. Clif
+looked at Lemuel John. “What do you think?” he asked.
+
+“He’s lying,” said the other calmly. “This Goddard got him to do it.”
+
+“He didn’t!” protested the Camel. “I offered to! Really, I did!”
+
+“Why?” asked Clif.
+
+“Because――” the Camel’s gaze fell.
+
+“Because Goddard’s your chum and you wanted to see him do well against
+our crowd and, maybe, make quarter back’s position next year?” The
+Camel nodded again. “But you knew you were doing something that wasn’t
+fair, didn’t you? You knew that that sort of thing wasn’t sporting?”
+
+“I suppose I did,” muttered the boy.
+
+“If Goddard didn’t put you up to it, at least he knows you’re doing it.
+On the whole I think Goddard’s the more to blame. How about it, Parks?”
+
+“Sure. Dirty rat, I’ll say.” The Camel looked resentful, but Lemuel
+John hadn’t dwarfed any since last viewed and the Camel swallowed his
+emotion.
+
+“Well,” resumed Clif, after a moment’s consideration, “I guess you’d
+better run along, Campbell. I’ll report this to our coach and he will
+do whatever he thinks best. But I don’t want to ever see you around
+here again. Get that? If you ever put your nose inside these grounds it
+will be the worse for you. We’ll walk along with you and see that you
+don’t lose your way going out.”
+
+They waited until the Camel had disappeared around the corner of Oak
+Street and then hurried back to the gridiron. “I guess,” said Clif on
+the way, “he told the truth, don’t you?”
+
+“Mostly. What really happened was this fellow Goddard thought up the
+scheme, suggested it to Funny Face and let Funny Face think it was an
+idea of his own. He don’t look to me like he had any too much brain!
+Gosh, though, you can’t get really riled with the fellow, seeing he
+did it just out of liking for this other fish. I suppose he thinks
+Goddard’s pretty fine, eh?”
+
+“I guess so, the poor chump,” agreed Clif.
+
+Mr. Otis was on the point of sending out a search party for Lemuel
+John when they got back to the bench, evidently having forgotten that
+he had detailed him for Clif’s mission. “Where on earth have you been,
+Parker――Parks?” he demanded. “You’re not supposed to leave the bench
+in the middle of practice! Get in there and see what you can do. Left
+guard. No, no, the other squad! You’d better show something if you want
+to stick around here, son!”
+
+Lemuel John went off as directed, offering no excuse, while Clif
+reported to Loring. The latter was inclined to be sympathetic toward
+the Camel. “It’s Goddard we ought to get after,” he said. “Trying to
+swipe our secrets is bad enough, but getting that poor boob to do the
+dirty work is worse. Have you told Mr. Otis?”
+
+“Not yet. Just have a look at him. Does he strike you as a――as an
+approachable sort of guy?”
+
+He didn’t. He was tagging the squad of which Braley was quarter
+and Lemuel John left guard, and his voice came across the field in
+decidedly irascible tones! Clif shook his head gently.
+
+“If you don’t mind,” he murmured, “I’ll wait until he has calmed down a
+mite.”
+
+Clif reported the result of the conversation with the Camel in the
+gymnasium, after practice, by which time “G. G.” was once more fairly
+placid. “Goddard, eh?” he said reflectively. “Yes, I think we have some
+dope on Goddard. Well, let it lie, Bingham. Goddard’s not much of a
+player and I don’t believe he will see action. If he does, what his
+friend has slipped him about us won’t do him a mite of good. I’m going
+to be too busy during the next fortnight to make trouble for any one
+outside our own crowd. Thanks, just the same, Bingham.”
+
+“Oh, that’s all right, sir. But doesn’t it seem as though Goddard ought
+to get called down, at least? I mean, it was sort of a dirty trick, and
+he oughtn’t to get off so easy.”
+
+“Bingham,” replied Mr. Otis, “you’ll learn by the time you’re a little
+older that those things sort of look after themselves. You think that
+if we let Goddard get away with this he will escape the penalty. But
+he won’t, my boy. Fellows who do that sort of thing provide their own
+punishment. I’ve seen it over and over. Bingham, the punishment the
+law inflicts on us is mighty trivial alongside what we inflict on
+ourselves!”
+
+Clif departed not wholly satisfied. What Mr. Otis had said might be
+quite true, but so far, he reflected, the only punishment sustained by
+any of the actors in the recent little drama had fallen to the lot of
+the innocent. He couldn’t quite discern why he should have a busted
+shoulder blade and Goddard and the Camel should get off scot-free!
+
+Followed a hectic week at Wyndham, or, at least, a hectic five days.
+The football squad worked hard and long every afternoon and then put in
+most of an hour in the gymnasium in the evening. Two graduates arrived
+on the scene Wednesday and helped Mr. Otis and Mr. Hilliard during the
+rest of the season. At least, they were supposed to help. Sometimes
+it seemed that they were just in the way. Mass meetings became almost
+nightly events, and the enthusiasm and the determination to beat
+Wolcott grew hourly.
+
+Lemuel John Parks must have satisfied Mr. Otis as to his right to
+remain with the first team, for he stayed on the squad, received
+a flattering amount of attention from the coaches and seriously
+threatened Breeze’s title of first substitute left guard. Lemuel John
+was all that could be desired of size, strength and willingness. If he
+had had a year of football experience behind him he would have ousted
+Smythe beyond a doubt. But Lemuel John, although he listened with
+almost painful intentness to the coaches and tried very, very hard, was
+undeniably lacking in technic. Effort, no matter how intense, will fail
+of its objective if wrongly applied. Yet Lemuel John made progress,
+and Mr. Otis recognized promising material for another year and said
+so to Loring one afternoon. Loring, although not officially connected
+with the team, was a privileged person and as such admitted past the
+dead-line of patroling Juniors whose proud duty it was to keep the
+public out of the stand and at a respectable distance from the gridiron.
+
+“Deane,” said “G. G.” “you’ve really got a good eye for talent. That
+big fellow is quite as promising as you said and you did us a real
+service when you discovered him. I only wish we had gotten hold of him
+earlier!”
+
+“Well, I didn’t really discover him, Mr. Otis,” answered Loring. “All
+I did――that is, the three of us――was to persuade him to report to Mr.
+Babcock. I’m glad you think he will make good, sir, for I think so,
+too. Next year he ought to be a corking good lineman, oughtn’t he?”
+
+“Yes, I think so, Deane. He’s not so bad right now. If only he knew a
+little more, I’d――” Mr. Otis pursed his lips, frowned and strode off
+quickly. “Cotter! _Cotter!_ Do that just once more if you want to quit
+the team! That wasn’t your man! You knew it wasn’t! Jackson, let’s have
+that again. Now let me see you do that right, Cotter!”
+
+The game on the fifteenth, that with Toll’s Academy, was looked on
+as no more than a practice contest and proved such. Wyndham, using
+a second-string line-up through most of the second half, ran up
+twenty-eight points and held Toll’s scoreless. The adversary was light
+and not too well trained, and the home team might have made that score
+larger by two more touchdowns had Coach Otis seen fit. For the first
+time that season the Dark Blue’s left side was as firm as its right.
+Lemuel John and Weldon worked together well and hardly a dent was made
+between left end and center. Tom, too, came in for glory, for he scored
+two of the four touchdowns while he was in the line-up. It really
+seemed that the Wyndham football team had found itself at last, and
+on Sunday the school awoke in a hopeful frame of mind and turned its
+eyes on the sporting pages of the morning papers. Among other things,
+it read that Wolcott had yesterday entertained Minster High School
+and, with her team liberally peppered with second- and third-string
+players, had swamped the enemy to the tune of 47 to 0! As Wyndham’s
+score against Minster had been 24 to 3, the papers that Sunday morning
+provided food for thought.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXI
+
+                          LORING TAKES A WALK
+
+
+Clif got rid of some of his splints and bandages on Tuesday, although
+he still had to carry his arm in a sling. That afternoon Dan Farrell,
+the trainer, stopped to inquire about the injury and remained to talk
+for a few minutes with Clif and Loring. Presently Loring asked: “You’re
+going to let Clif in for a while next Saturday, aren’t you, Dan?”
+
+“Me? Sure, I won’t stop him. It’s up to the coach, my boy. He’ll run
+him in for a bit, likely. But, listen, Bingham, keep that shoulder down
+if you play.”
+
+“Would it get broken again?” asked Clif.
+
+“No, it’s as good as ever it was, or it will be Saturday. But there’d
+be no sense in taking chances. If I was you I’d find me a harness and
+wear it; that is, if you think you’ll be playing any.”
+
+“A harness? Where would I get one, Dan? Say, look here, if I had a good
+heavy pad on this shoulder why couldn’t I play all right?”
+
+“For a time you might, but you’d need to be very careful. Tell you what
+I’ll do, seeing it’s you――” Dan winked at Loring――“I’ll fix you up a
+pad that’ll work fine. I’ve got part of an old one in there and all I
+need is some felt and a bit of leather and――” Dan stopped and closed
+his eyes. When he opened them again he slapped Clif on the knee.
+“There’s a fellow in the village who runs a bit of a harness shop, and
+I’ll take the thing over to him and have him do it. Sure, ’twon’t be
+any job at all!”
+
+“Why, that’ll be fine,” said Clif. “If there’s any expense, Dan, you
+must let me――”
+
+“Expense! Where would there be? The little man won’t be asking me money
+for a few stitches. If he does I’ll beat him up with his own hammer!
+Stop over after practice and let me study the build of you, my boy.”
+
+Clif had been attending the evening football sessions in the gymnasium
+and no one had said him nay. Even if he couldn’t play again until next
+season, he was still a member of the team and under team rules. But
+that Tuesday night he absented himself from “skull-drill” and went to
+the mass meeting in assembly hall and sang and cheered with the others.
+Over the back of the platform hung a long banner that bore the legend
+in big blue letters “NO DEFEATS” and on the platform sat the musical
+clubs――the mandolin and guitar and the orchestra――and the evening’s
+speakers. It was all very inspiring and Clif thrilled many times. Todd
+Darlington, first class president, was in charge, and toward the end
+made a speech that carried the already excited throng fairly off their
+feet. It was so good, indeed, that Clif wondered how he had ever gained
+the impression that Todd was a bit of a four flusher. Even the two
+faculty members looked impressed by its eloquence! There was a parade
+afterwards, with more singing, much more singing, and more cheering.
+The thing wasn’t over until just before ten, and Clif returned to
+Number 40 rather hoarse and limp to find Tom already in bed.
+
+“Wind the cat and put the clock out,” murmured Tom sleepily. “And call
+me early, mother dear, for I’m to be――to be――”
+
+Then came a gentle snore.
+
+Meetings of the Triumvirate were few that week. Once, on Wednesday,
+Clif and Tom stopped at Loring’s room, after supper, on their way
+to the gymnasium. Usually the door was ajar, but now it was tightly
+closed, and when, after a brief knock, Tom tried to open it it was
+found to be also locked. From beyond it came the voices of Loring and
+Wattles.
+
+“Just a minute, fellows!”
+
+“One moment, please!”
+
+Tom looked at Clif, slightly puzzled. “What’s the idea?” he muttered.
+From inside came various sounds suggesting haste. Then the door was
+opened by Wattles. “Yes, sir, come in, please, Mr. Tom. Good evening,
+Mr. Clifton.” Wattles sounded a trifle breathless, Clif thought. Loring
+had a paper on his knees and the room looked as usual.
+
+“What’s going on in here?” demanded Tom suspiciously.
+
+“Going on?” repeated Loring. “What do you mean?”
+
+“Oh, well, locked door.” Tom waved toward the portal. “Mysterious
+sounds. Wattles looking foxy. Yes, you are, Wattles; decidedly foxy!
+Come clean, Loring. Where’s the body hidden?”
+
+But Loring declared that no murder had been committed, and, since their
+time was short, the visitors didn’t pursue the inquiry further. In
+fact, they didn’t think of it again until Friday night.
+
+The last real work of the season was held Thursday, and on Friday the
+school, lately barred from the gridiron, paraded in force and watched
+the first and second take part in a brief scrimmage that was mostly
+all punting. After that the second disbanded, cheering themselves and
+the first team and Mr. Babcock and, finally, themselves once more, and
+romped off the field with much dancing and horse play. The first team
+players disappeared by ones and twos toward the gymnasium, a squad of
+second substitutes ran through signal drill and then it was over save
+for the shouting. That lasted until every member of the squad, the
+coach, the assistant coaches, the managers, the trainer and the team
+had been cheered, and only ended outside the gymnasium entrance with
+one last mighty “long cheer, fellows, with nine Wyndhams!”
+
+And so, amazingly sudden, the eve of battle arrived.
+
+Clif and Tom came back from the gymnasium about twenty minutes to
+eight, after a brief session before the blackboard. There was to be
+another drill in the forenoon and to-night Mr. Otis had been lenient.
+The two had promised Loring to drop in on him if they returned before
+study hour and so they turned in at East Hall and Tom rapped on the
+closed door: one ... one, two; the Triumvirate’s particular signal.
+Once more Wattles’ voice came forth.
+
+“One moment, please!”
+
+Tom turned to Clif and shook his head. “I smell a mystery,” he
+muttered. “If it was Christmas Eve, now――”
+
+But just then the door was pulled open and Tom lapsed into silence.
+Halfway across the room stood Loring. No, that isn’t exactly so, for
+he didn’t stand, but to the amazed regard of the two in the doorway
+he seemed to. At least, he was erect, and never before had Clif or
+Tom seen him so. Under each armpit was a crutch, and the toe of one
+foot rested on the floor. The other foot was held poised, as if to aid
+in the difficult feat of balancing. Having opened the door, Wattles
+swiftly returned to Loring, hovering about him anxiously. Any one well
+acquainted with Tom could have foretold his next words.
+
+“_My sainted Aunt Jerusha!_” exclaimed Tom slowly, awedly,
+incredulously.
+
+Loring chuckled, and, chuckling, swayed precariously. Wattles sprang
+forward, but Loring recovered his equilibrium. The visitors came slowly
+in, as though expecting the spectacle to vanish into thin air if they
+moved precipitately, and Clif closed the door gently behind him and
+leaned on it.
+
+“My first public appearance,” said Loring somewhat excitedly.
+“Semipublic, that is. I’m going to use these things to-morrow, and I
+wanted you chaps to see them first. I’m not very expert yet. Wattles
+has heart failure, almost, whenever I try them!”
+
+“You do very well indeed, sir,” said Wattles, watching anxiously.
+
+“Do you mean, Loring,” Clif asked, “that you can use them? That you
+won’t have to get around in the chair any more?”
+
+“So the doctor says. Of course, I’m supposed to start off pretty
+slowly, Clif. A few minutes a day at first.”
+
+“Sacred Ibis of the River Nile!” murmured Tom, all eyes. It was his
+second-choice invocation, and its use proved that he was gradually
+recovering. “Crutches, by gum! What ... do ... I ... know?”
+
+“All ready for the great exhibition, Wattles?” asked Loring.
+
+“Yes, sir,” answered Wattles nervously.
+
+“Let’s go then!” Loring advanced one crutch, set his heel lightly to
+the floor, advanced the other. It was a slow and halting progress he
+made, a series of hitching maneuvers that looked painfully difficult,
+but he finally reached the other end of the room, Wattles close behind
+him, and his arms half advanced.
+
+“Great!” said Clif.
+
+“I’ll be dingfoozled!” breathed Tom.
+
+Turning was something Loring couldn’t accomplish without aid as
+yet, and Wattles had to steady him while he prepared for the return
+trip. “You see,” Loring explained as he came hitching back, “I’m
+supposed to let a little of my weight on my feet, but――” he smiled
+apologetically――“I’m so blamed scared yet that I don’t do it――much.
+It’s awfully new stuff to me, fellows, but I guess I’ll get the hang of
+it in time. These things are adjustable, you see. After a while they’ll
+be shortened a fraction of an inch, and, if I don’t bust something
+meanwhile, some day I’ll be putting my whole foot down flat. At least,
+that’s what Wattles says. He and the doctor worked this business up
+between them.”
+
+“It was the crutches Wattles brought back that day I was here,” said
+Clif. “That long bundle. Loring, it’s just wonderful!”
+
+“Well, if you think so,” answered Loring, “how about me? All right,
+Wattles. We’ll call it a day. No encores to-night. Gosh, the old chair
+feels pretty good again! I wonder if I’ll really ever put this away in
+the attic.” He patted the arms of the wheel chair as he spoke. “It’s
+been a pretty good pal!” He looked whimsically at the crutches of which
+Wattles had relieved him and shook his head. “Clever contraptions,
+Wattles old chap, but I don’t feel at home with them yet!”
+
+“No, sir; very likely, sir,” said Wattles. “I fancy it will require
+some time, Mr. Loring, to become fully accustomed to them, but I
+predict, sir, that you’ll have no use for the chair by spring.”
+
+“Spring?” mused Loring. He shook his head. “Wattles, you’re an
+optimist!”
+
+Tom, fully recovered from his surprise, spouted questions now. When had
+Loring known first about the crutches? How long had he had them? Would
+he be able to go up and downstairs on them? Didn’t it make his legs
+feel funny to hang ’em down like that? Was he really going to use them
+to-morrow when he went out?
+
+The doctor had spoken of crutches nearly a year ago, Loring answered,
+but only since he had returned from abroad had the matter been talked
+of seriously. He had had them two weeks. Wattles had brought them from
+the express office the day of the Horner game, and Clif had fussed him
+by asking what they were. As for going up and downstairs, why, Loring
+had his doubts about that, but Wattles declared that there’d be no
+difficulty once he had become proficient in the use of the things. And
+yes, he was going to make a public appearance to-morrow if his courage
+didn’t fail him. The gong clanged its warning and the visitors made for
+the door. Not, though, before Tom had gravely shaken Loring’s hand.
+
+“I’m so glad, Loring,” he declared earnestly, “I can’t say it. I――I――
+Come on, Clif!”
+
+Outside, hurrying toward the staircase, Tom blew his nose, startlingly
+loud. Well, for that matter, Clif felt a trifle sniffly himself.
+
+Saturday dawned brightly. The morning was cold, but by noon the sun had
+toned down the nip of the northerly breeze that blew almost straight
+down the gridiron. Overhead, the sky was very blue, with here and
+there a scurrying cloud. Freeburg was very blue, too, for the old
+village had brought out the flags that once a year swung over porches
+or hung in windows. Going to the inn at half-past eleven, Clif found
+that vine-draped edifice colorfully patriotic, with a huge blue banner
+flapping over the entrance. Mr. Bingham had arrived a few minutes
+before in the renovated car and there was just time for a few minutes
+of conversation on the porch before Clif had to hurry back for the
+early luncheon. The inn was well tinged with brown by the time he left,
+for Wolcott arrived in numbers just before noon and the team and many
+of its followers invaded the hostelry for lunch.
+
+At half-past one Clif and Tom went across to the gymnasium and changed
+into togs, some of the last to arrive there. Clif sought Dan and had
+the shoulder protector strapped and laced into place. He had had the
+use of his arm for several days now and, although Mr. Otis had not been
+consulted, Clif hoped that the formidable appearing contrivance of
+brown leather and gray felt would suggest to the coach that he was able
+to take more than a merely incidental part in the day’s proceedings.
+
+The stand filled early, and long before two o’clock the settees and
+chairs provided for the visitors were exhausted. Scurrying youths
+invaded the nearer rooms in East Hall and replenished the supply with
+anything they could lay hands on. Wyndham’s cheering section was well
+into its stride by the time the dark blue squad trotted across the
+field from the gymnasium, and the noise that broke forth then was
+surprising. Blue megaphones and pennants gyrated and, on the staff,
+the big Wyndham flag snapped briskly in the breeze, while beneath it a
+long white banner bearing the blue-lettered legend “No Defeats” wrapped
+itself artistically about the pole. While both teams were occupying
+the field a shrill-voiced junior in the stand proclaimed excitedly and
+pointed beyond the fringe of automobiles that encircled the track. A
+murmur of surprise arose and grew to a shout of acclaim. Coming from
+the front of East Hall was a figure on crutches. Very slowly he came,
+and with obvious effort, pausing frequently in the course of that
+hundred-yard journey between the hall and the big limousine which held
+two anxious faces. Close behind him strode the thin, black-clad form of
+Wattles.
+
+“It’s Loring Deane!” some one shouted. “On crutches!”
+
+The cheer that went up was not evoked by the white-sweatered cheer
+leaders. It was a wholly spontaneous roar that grew in volume as
+Loring came hitching onward over the turf. Not even the cheer which
+had greeted the team had been louder. Megaphones, flags, caps waved.
+The stand was on its feet, incredulous but delighted, shouting
+congratulations, encouragement.
+
+“Good boy, Deane!” “Keep a-coming!” “A-a-a-ay, Deane!” “Attaboy!”
+“Deane! Deane! Deane!”
+
+Loring kept a-coming and Wattles followed a stride behind, his long
+arms ready to go to the rescue if his charge stumbled. It is doubtful
+if Wattles even heard that cheering and shouting, so intent was he. And
+then, at last, Loring reached the big car, Wattles took the crutches
+and the long journey was over. Settling down between his father and his
+mother, Loring smiled proudly but tiredly. “I did it,” he said rather
+faintly. He looked at his father. “The fellows seemed――pleased, I
+thought, dad,” he said.
+
+Mr. Sanford Deane nodded. “Sounded that way,” he answered huskily. Then
+he, too, blew his nose quite startlingly.
+
+Wolcott won the toss and, choosing the north goal, at exactly three
+minutes past two o’clock kicked the ball away. From that moment until
+seven minutes before three the shouting was never utterly stilled, the
+excitement never on the wane. When the rivalry is as intense as it was
+on Wyndham field that twenty-second day of November it is not necessary
+that great deeds be performed by the opponents. Excitement remains at
+fever heat even if neither team so much as threatens the adversary’s
+goal. Cheers are given for no more startling an event than a one-yard
+gain or an incompleted forward pass. Even when Couch broke the chin
+strap of his head harness and had to be supplied with a new one by
+Trainer Farrell the Wyndham section cheered as one man!
+
+An outsider, a person not sympathetically interested in either the
+Dark Blue or the Brown, would doubtless have found those fifty minutes
+tame and uninteresting. He might even have said, and without fear of
+successful contradiction, that the contending teams played at times no
+better than mediocre football. There were three fumbles in the half, of
+which two were accredited――or discredited――to Wyndham, and each team
+lost twenty yards through penalties. Several opportunities were wasted,
+by Wyndham and Wolcott both, and more than once signals were muddled
+by the quarter backs. But this was preparatory school football and not
+a college game, and the supposititious outsider would doubtless have
+recalled the fact and been lenient in his criticisms. I can be no less.
+
+Both teams played raggedly at times, more from overeagerness than
+from any other cause, and, as was not unusual, seemed too awed by the
+opponent to press any advantage that might come to it. As when, in the
+second quarter, Wolcott, having advanced to Wyndham’s twenty-eight
+yards, switched from the attack on the Wyndham left, an attack which
+had carried her slowly but surely from the middle of the field, and
+sent her backs at the other side of the enemy line. Two downs were
+thrown away against an impregnable defense, and Wolcott, seemingly at
+a loss, tried Couch’s end and only succeeded in gaining two yards. As
+a last resort, the ball was tossed over the center and Captain Ogden
+pulled it down.
+
+For her part, Wyndham got as far as the Brown’s thirty-two just before
+the end of the half, wasted two tries at the center, with Ogden
+carrying, and then lost ground when Houston, attempting a quarter-back
+sneak, was thrown behind his line and was forced to punt. Wyndham had
+started with her strongest line-up: Drayton and Couch, ends; Weldon
+and Cotter, tackles; Smythe and Desmond, guards; Carlson, center;
+Houston, Kemble, Sproule and Ogden, backs. But before the second period
+was at an end three changes had been made. Drayton, hurt in a tackle,
+had given way to Jeff Adams, Smythe had been replaced by Breeze and
+Tom had been succeeded by Stiles. The opportunity to try a field goal
+came to neither side, unless Wolcott could be said to have had such
+an opportunity when, with one down left and eight yards to go, she
+had stood on Wyndham’s twenty-six. But the breeze was still fresh and
+Wolcott had chosen to forward pass instead. The first half ended with
+the ball in Wolcott’s possession on her forty-one, ended with Wyndham
+and Wolcott still cheering loudly and defiantly and with the issue no
+nearer decided than it had been an hour before.
+
+In the gymnasium five coaches talked earnestly amidst the confusion
+of sounds, and just before the intermission was over Mr. Otis had his
+say to the whole team. He didn’t say much and he didn’t scold once. He
+scarcely uttered a word of criticism now. The first half had contained
+some mistakes, he said, but that was what a first half was for; to
+get the bad football out of the system! Now all they had to do was go
+back there and, profiting by former errors, win the game! Wolcott, he
+declared, was an overrated team. If she wasn’t she would have had the
+game tucked safely away before this. They must get rid of the idea that
+Wolcott couldn’t be knocked down and trampled on, for she could. It
+would take a better team to do it, but the team was right here.
+
+“I want a score in each of these periods, Wyndham. Give me two scores
+and I’ll promise you a victory. Keep your eyes open and your heads up.
+When you tackle, tackle for keeps. Charge low and keep on going, you
+linemen. And all of you――” Mr. Otis’ fist shot out――“_fight_!”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXII
+
+                          “HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!”
+
+
+Clif found himself beside Lemuel John when he got back to the bench.
+Lemuel John was enjoying――enduring would be a better word――his first
+big game as a player, and he was considerably wrought up. For that
+matter, so was Clif, and Clif was not exactly a tyro. The usual
+ecstatic cheering died down and Carlson sent the ball away on a long
+journey into the south. Wolcott was unable to advance by rushing
+from her seventeen and punted to Wyndham’s forty-six. The Dark Blue
+revealed her campaign then and there by returning the kick on first
+down. The Brown’s safety man was caught napping and chased the ball
+over the line. From the twenty Wolcott reeled off six around Drayton
+back at left end, and made it first down on the next try when the whole
+backfield concentrated on Breeze. But a second attempt to negotiate
+the enemy’s left end failed, and, after two thrusts at Cotter, Wolcott
+again punted from her thirty-seven.
+
+Ogden made the best of Carlson’s poor pass and kicked to Wolcott’s
+twenty-eight, the wind aiding a weak punt. Wolcott chose to make a
+fair catch and the ball was stepped forward to her forty-three when
+Couch interfered. Wolcott used a fake kick to throw the pigskin to her
+right end, who was unguarded, but the wind aided the opponents and the
+pass grounded. A second attempt, across the line, went for two yards,
+Sproule nailing the receiver. On a cross buck Breeze was put out of
+the way and Wolcott plowed through for five. With something less than
+three yards to go, the Brown faked a kick and threw a long pass across
+the field. Her left half caught, ran eight yards and was tackled hard
+by Stiles. Time was called and Coach Otis sent Williams in at right end
+for Couch. Wolcott twice gained through the Wyndham left and made first
+down on a delayed pass with quarter going inside right tackle. The ball
+was now on Wyndham’s thirty and the Dark Blue’s adherents were shouting
+hoarsely for Wyndham to hold.
+
+Smythe was sent back to left guard and Tom relieved Stiles. A minute
+later, after Wolcott had smashed once at the defenders’ center,
+Longwell replaced Cotter after the latter had failed to respond to Dan
+Farrell’s first-aid treatment. Cotter was helped off to a loud cheer
+from the stand. Wolcott got four yards on two attempts at the line and
+then shot her full back past Williams for three more, taking the ball
+to the twenty-three. A tall half back retreated to the thirty-five
+yards and surveyed a rather difficult angle. The Wolcott quarter knelt
+on the thirty-two and patted the sod smooth. Cries of “_Block that
+kick!_” drowned the signals as the ball shot back. The pass was good
+and the quarter quickly and deftly cocked the pigskin, but the wind was
+still a factor and the ball started away with too much elevation and,
+after pausing undecidedly in the air, descended well short of the goal
+line and to the right of the posts. And when it came down Tom was under
+it.
+
+An instant later Clif was on his feet, waving his arms as well as that
+shoulder pad would allow him to and shouting at the top of his lungs.
+And Lemuel John was shaking both clenched fists at the speeding runner
+and talking pure Wyoming at him. After all, it was rather simple,
+that run of Tom’s. For only a moment at the beginning of the race
+was the outcome in doubt. He was almost stopped by a Wolcott tackle
+before he had found his stride, but after that, while a hastily formed
+interference cut a path for him, and when the interference had been
+left behind, he had a clear field to the Wolcott goal line. He was
+pursued all the way by the enemy’s fleetest runners, but he ran the
+race of his life and at the end of it a clear ten yards separated him
+from the nearest adversary.
+
+Wyndham stood on her feet and went wild, stark, staring crazy, and
+the cheer leaders shouted and waved in vain. The pandemonium that was
+let loose had neither rhythm nor coherence, but it was whole-souled
+and prodigious! After a while the leaders did manage to evoke several
+thunderous pæans, the final one waning a trifle toward the end as
+Houston prepared for the try-for-point. Wolcott was savage and
+desperate and Houston’s foot never touched the ball. The whole Wyndham
+left side caved in and the Brown poured through the breach. But six
+points looked very large just then and Wyndham was triumphant.
+
+The quarter had ended during Tom’s eighty-nine-yard scamper, and Tom,
+for one, was probably glad of the minute’s respite. The blue cohorts
+shouted and waved and thumped each other on the back, and every one on
+that particular side of the gridiron was very, very happy. As though to
+emphasize the triumph the long white banner above the stand unwrapped
+itself from the mast and whipped out in the breeze, displaying to the
+gaze of the Wolcott supporters the legend “No Defeats!”
+
+Wyndham now had only to defend, but that might prove no easy task, for
+Wolcott had the wind behind her and would play with the desperation
+of a team who has all to gain and nothing to lose. Wyndham chose to
+kick off and Carlson sent the ball low and far. But the Dark Blue ends
+couldn’t cover that kick and a Wolcott back made twelve yards after
+the catch. The Brown uncovered everything she had then, and she had
+several things unsuspected of the adversary. One was a reverse play in
+which the quarter back, with a tackle preceding him, ran wide around
+the short end, the attack being apparently aimed the other way. Wolcott
+used this to advantage until, after many yards had been lost, Wyndham
+solved it. Wolcott ripped through Smythe and inside Weldon, found a
+weak spot at Williams until that youth was relieved in favor of Wells
+and twice used short forward heaves for five- and six-yard gains. It
+took Wolcott eight minutes to reach the Dark Blue’s thirty-four yards,
+and there the tide was turned.
+
+Time was called for a Wolcott half back, and Coach Otis seized the
+opportunity to send a fresh center in and to substitute Tom with
+Whitemill. Clif was trying hard to catch the coach’s eye, but he didn’t
+succeed. Ellison, at center, steadied the Dark Blue line at once,
+and two attempts by the enemy to make ground between tackles yielded
+but three yards. On third down the Wolcott full back smashed past
+Longwell for six more, however, placing the pigskin inside Wyndham’s
+thirty-four. Wolcott wanted that last yard badly and had no desire
+to yield possession of the ball almost within striking distance of
+the goal. Yet she doubted her ability to make first down by straight
+rushing. She solved the problem to her own satisfaction by faking a
+forward pass, with full back throwing, and developing an end-around
+play. Perhaps the trick might have succeeded had she chosen her
+right end to carry, but she didn’t, and Drayton spoiled a very neat
+attempt by refusing to believe too implicitly in the pass. When the
+enemy runner sought to cut in Drayton was awaiting him. He let the
+interference pass and then took the man with the ball, and Wolcott,
+when the chain was trailed off the field again, had missed her distance
+by some inches.
+
+Wyndham tried the Wolcott left tackle for a scant yard and then punted.
+The punt went too high for the best results and the wind shortened it,
+bringing it down just beyond midfield. And from there, with some six
+minutes remaining, Wolcott launched her final and supreme offense.
+
+She brought in fresh reserves first; a new quarter, a new full back,
+two linemen; and, not many plays later, again switched quarter backs.
+She no longer placed much reliance on trick plays, but smashed
+hard on tackles and left guard positions, using straight bucks for
+the most part. There was no doubt but that Wyndham was weakening.
+Wolcott crossed the Dark Blue’s forty in four plays and went on to
+the thirty-four in two more. There, however, a fumble by the quarter
+brought a moment’s pause in her advance. She recovered the ball for an
+eight-yard loss and the offending player was returned to private life.
+Mr. Otis, half a dozen yards along the bench, cupped his hands and
+spoke a single word to Clif.
+
+“Goddard,” he said.
+
+Wolcott went on desperately, retrieving her loss and three yards more
+by an unexpected and well-worked double pass that put her on the
+defenders’ thirty-one. From there to the twenty she smashed four times
+at Smythe, and when the referee waved to the linemen Smythe was of very
+little present use. Greene took his place, and at the same time Clif
+went in for Weldon. “You’ve been asking for it all the afternoon,” said
+“G. G.” dryly. “Go ahead and show me. Dan says you can stand the gaff,
+but I’d save that bad shoulder all I could.”
+
+Time was running fast now and Wolcott knew it and played like so many
+demons. Wyndham knew it and longed desperately for the horn. She could
+safely pull in her secondary defense now, for the enemy had settled
+down to hammer-and-tongs football. Why should she risk a forward pass
+when she could make ten yards in four downs? And why should she attempt
+a field goal when only a touchdown could avert defeat? It was the
+Wyndham secondary defense that saved the day more than once, since the
+line was weakening fast. Captain Jeff was into everything and played a
+hero’s part that afternoon. But the enemy drew nearer at every play,
+fighting not only Wyndham but time. Back on her twelve yards, the Dark
+Blue called a halt. Both teams were plainly tuckered, yet not a player
+left his feet. Less than two minutes remained, but two minutes was more
+than enough to turn what had seemed a certain victory into a tie or a
+defeat for the Dark Blue. New men came on for both teams; Jackson for
+Houston, Craigie for Desmond, Coles for Longwell, on the Blue’s side.
+Then the whistle blew and the final struggle began.
+
+Wolcott had one down left with which to reach the ten yards and she
+used it in trampling over Greene, and again the chain was moved on.
+Clif had forgotten that he wore a shoulder pad, forgotten that he had
+ever had a broken collar bone. He remembered little except that his
+back was close to the last white line and that Wolcott must not reach
+it. Sim Jackson was fairly beside himself, croaking supplications and
+insults almost in a breath. Captain Ogden, ready to drop, reeled weakly
+down the line, thumping backs and pleading hoarsely. Clif found himself
+saying “No Defeats! No Defeats!” over and over as he dug his cleats
+anew and settled himself.
+
+From further down the field came an unceasing wave of sound. Over
+and over and over it boomed, deep, measured, imploring: “_Hold ’em,
+Wyndham! Hold ’em, Wyndham! Hold ’em, Wyndham!_”
+
+The enemy surged again, the lines met, writhed and struggled for a long
+moment. Then the whistle shrilled and the referee emerged from the
+confusion. “Second down! About seven!”
+
+Almost three yards that time, thought Clif in dismay as he crawled
+to his feet again. They had come straight at him and he had failed!
+Something hurt horribly somewhere, but he hadn’t time to think of that.
+Wolcott was giving signals again. No, a whistle had blown. Some one was
+coming on. For whom? Gosh, it was Lemuel John! Wyndham was cheering
+now: “Rah, rah, rah, Parks!” “Rah, rah, rah, Greene!” Yes, Greene was
+out, and here was Lemuel John, pale, earnest and startlingly big. Clif
+took heart. If only the enemy would smash at left guard now!
+
+But the enemy didn’t. A back slid off to the left and when the dust of
+battle had settled the ball was close to the four yards. Almost three
+yards at a time! Lemuel John could talk now, and he did. “Back yonder
+they’re telling us to hold ’em, fellows!” shouted the big fellow.
+“What do you say we do it? What have they got we ain’t? Not a thing,
+pardners! Come on and heave ’em back!”
+
+“That’s the stuff!” croaked Sim Jackson. “Don’t let ’em have another
+inch, Wyndham! Hold ’em! You can do it! I’m telling you you can!
+_Won’t_ you hold ’em, fellows?”
+
+And from the stand came the measured slogan again, “_Hold ’em,
+Wyndham!_”
+
+Four to go and two downs! Wolcott was playing fast, for the timer’s
+watch was ticking off the seconds at breakneck speed. Again the
+attack came and again it was aimed at the left tackle. But this
+time Clif wasn’t hurled before it. Something big moved forward and
+met the onslaught. The attack paused. Then out of the mêlée strode
+Lemuel John. He strode forward, and with him, held tightly, was a
+struggling half back, the ball clutched to his stomach. The whistle
+blew, but Lemuel John went on in spite of opposition, went on until he
+was back near the ten-yard line. There he released the captive, set
+him down very carefully on his feet and grinned into his convulsed,
+sweat-streaked face.
+
+“Try again, young feller,” said Lemuel John.
+
+And Wolcott tried again, while the Wyndham stand still laughed
+ecstatically, tried and failed utterly when a back sped the ball over
+the line in a last desperate effort to conquer and Captain Jeff smote
+it mightily to earth!
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Thought I’d drop in and see did you get damaged much,” drawled Lemuel
+John as he came into Loring’s room and faced the Triumvirate after
+supper that evening. He looked at Clif as he ended his statement.
+
+“Not badly,” smiled Clif. “I thought the pesky thing was busted again,
+but ‘Doc’ says no. He said things unfit for publication, though, and
+asked me right to my face if I was――well, a particularly profane kind
+of a fool!”
+
+“Bet you couldn’t answer that,” chuckled Tom.
+
+“Well, I didn’t know,” said Lemuel John, accepting Loring’s invitation
+and easing his big frame onto the edge of a chair. “I saw you looked
+sort of pained when I got there and I heard afterwards that you’d hurt
+the shoulder again.”
+
+“Parks,” said Tom―― “No, by heck, I’m going to call you Lemuel John!
+Anyway, I was going to say that I’ll bet you anything you like, from a
+doughnut to a covey of cows――I mean herd, don’t I?――that you could be
+elected captain if they’d hold the election right now!”
+
+Lemuel John smiled and shook his head. “You’re kidding, I guess. I
+didn’t do anything. Didn’t have any chance to. I just fooled with that
+kid a bit because I thought our fellows sort of needed a laugh. They
+was――were all sort of excited, you know; kind of wrought-up like; and
+I was scared they’d let those other fellows push that ball over before
+they’d got hep to the fact that the other fellows wasn’t any better
+than they was――were――was?” Lemuel John looked helplessly at Loring.
+
+“Were,” said Loring gravely.
+
+“Yeah. Well, that’s all there was to that. Guess folks did get a good
+laugh, but, shucks, ’twasn’t anything to do.”
+
+“Wasn’t it?” said Clif. “Well, it did the trick, just the same. Those
+murderers were on their way to a touchdown, and no mistake!”
+
+“I’ll say they were,” agreed Tom. “I was just closing my eyes so as
+not to see the tragedy. And another thing, fellows: if Wolcott had got
+that score she’d certainly have won, because that left half of hers
+hasn’t missed but one ‘try’ this season. Lemuel John, you’re a poor
+little half portion, and oughtn’t to be allowed to take part in such a
+strenuous pastime as football, but you sure saved the old game!”
+
+“Oh, shucks,” muttered Lemuel John.
+
+
+                                THE END
+
+
+
+
+                         BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
+
+
+                          _North Bank Series_
+
+Three Base Benson
+
+How an ungainly youth outlived the jeering of his school mates and won
+their respect with his presence of mind, and how he made the nine and
+gained a nickname by his prowess at bat.
+
+
+Kick Formation
+
+Jerry Benson, after establishing himself as a baseball player, turns
+to football. Once more he uses his head, and it is his resourcefulness
+more than any other quality which makes him a hero.
+
+
+Coxswain of the Eight
+
+The trials of a young fellow who is too small for the athletic teams,
+but who longs to put his school spirit in action. He finds his
+opportunity in trying out for coxswain.
+
+
+                       _Some Books Not in Series_
+
+For the Good of the Team
+
+A prep school football story, telling of a brilliant player who proved
+a failure as captain, but who finally pocketed his pride and worked
+heartily for the good of the team.
+
+
+The Fighting Scrub
+
+Gives proper credit, at last, to the hard-used scrubs. Describes a
+season in which the fighting spirit of the scrub team and the part
+played by a crippled onlooker were the features.
+
+
+Follow the Ball
+
+Describes a boy’s full year, telling of athletics and other activities
+and of the events of the vacation season as well.
+
+                              _Each_ $1.75
+
+
+                         _Yardley Hall Series_
+
+Forward Pass
+
+The boy who likes football will find a good technical description of
+the game in this book as well as a fine story showing how the newest
+tactics work out in practice.
+
+
+Double Play
+
+A story to follow “Forward Pass,” relating new adventures in the life
+of the hero. Baseball has a large place in the story, but other school
+events are entertainingly described.
+
+
+Winning His “Y”
+
+“Money-bags” and “Miss Nancy” are two nicknames given Gerald Pennimore
+when he arrives at Yardley, due to his father’s millions. How he lives
+them both down and wins his “Y” make an exciting story.
+
+
+For Yardley
+
+Another Yardley story with Gerald Pennimore well to the fore among
+the characters. Why Gerald was put on probation and how he bore his
+punishment are the chief matters of interest.
+
+
+Change Signals
+
+Kendall Burtis comes from the country and this is the story of how he
+develops into a star kicker and the hero of the big game of the season.
+
+
+Around the End
+
+Kendall Burtis has developed into a star player, when suddenly it is
+discovered that someone has turned traitor and sold the team’s signals
+to Broadwood. Kendall is accused, and the outcome is a surprise to
+everyone.
+
+
+                        These Are Appleton Books
+
+                   D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, New York
+
+
+
+
+                        STORIES FOR MEN AND BOYS
+
+
+INFIELD RIVALS
+
+By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR $1.75
+
+How Tom Landers made the high school team after learning pitching and
+other things from a most unusual coach.
+
+
+FILIBUSTER
+
+By GORDON HALL GEROULD $1.75
+
+A boy’s accidental but thrilling share in the dangers and daring of
+Cuba’s rebellion against the Spanish.
+
+
+THE BOY SCOUTS’ OWN BOOK
+
+Edited by FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS $1.75
+
+Stories by famous writers, all dealing with the things in which Scouts
+are interested.
+
+
+MEDICINE GOLD
+
+By WARREN H. MILLER $1.75
+
+An adventurous hunting trip in Canada, to which an Indian tradition
+adds an exciting mystery.
+
+
+THE LISTENING MAN
+
+By JOHN A. MOROSO $1.75
+
+Stories about a New York detective, who masks his keenness under an
+appearance of disarming simplicity.
+
+
+RATS’ CASTLE
+
+By ROY BRIDGES $1.75
+
+Thrilling adventures of two boys, with a mystery and the atmosphere of
+old pirate days to sharpen the interest.
+
+
+DEEP SEA HUNTERS IN THE SOUTH SEAS
+
+By A. HYATT VERRILL $1.75
+
+Adventure and strange sights in far lands mark this absorbing story of
+a voyage through the Panama Canal and the South Pacific.
+
+
+                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+                          New York      London
+
+
+
+
+ESTABLISHED FAVORITES FOR BOYS
+
+
+THE YOUNG TRAILERS SERIES
+
+By JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
+
+Using the stirring facts of American history and the romance of real
+frontier life, Joseph Altsheler writes in the Young Trailers Series
+(eight books which may be read independently), tales of thrilling,
+daring and actual achievement.
+
+
+THE HALF BACK
+
+By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
+
+In this, the most famous of all his famous stories of school and
+college life and sport, Barbour combines the sound ideals and the
+exciting incidents which have made him a favorite.
+
+
+LITTLE SMOKE
+
+By W. O. STODDARD
+
+There is always keen interest in an Indian story. Little Smoke gives
+a real picture of Indian life, and at a stirring and significant
+time――that of the Custer Massacre.
+
+
+HIGH BENTON
+
+By WILLIAM HEYLIGER
+
+“School’s too slow, I want to go to work,” said Steve Benton. What he
+learned by following that course is told in an unusual and splendid
+story――a real novel for boys.
+
+
+THE SUBSTITUTE
+
+By WALTER CAMP
+
+The great Yale athletic authority puts all his knowledge of football,
+of college and the men who go there, and all his magnificent
+sportsmanship in this rousing story.
+
+
+LITTLE JARVIS
+
+By MOLLY ELLIOTT SEAWELL
+
+A little known but truly heroic incident from the records of our navy.
+A true story of the sea, of warships, of battle, and of glorious
+devotion to duty.
+
+
+                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
+                          New York      London
+
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+ Transcriber’s Notes:
+
+ ――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
+
+ ――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
+
+ ――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
+
+ ――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77370 ***