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diff --git a/77370-0.txt b/77370-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..52b1a68 --- /dev/null +++ b/77370-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8057 @@ +*** 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 *** |