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+ font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.halftitle { + font-size: 1.5em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.author { + font-size: 1.25em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.works { + font-size: .75em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Advertisement formatting. */ +.adpage { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .adpage { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.adtitle { + font-size: 1.35em; + font-weight: bold; + clear: both; +} + +.adauthor { + font-size: 1.25em; + clear: both; +} + +/* Hanging indent. */ +.hang { + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 3em; +} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77370 ***</div> + + +<figure class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop" id="cover_sm"> + <img class="x-ebookmaker-drop" src="images/cover_sm.jpg" alt="book cover" title="book cover"> +</figure> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noi halftitle">HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!</p> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noi author">By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR</p> + +<hr class="r30"> + +<div class="adpage"> + +<p class="noic"><i>Yardley Hall Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">FOURTH DOWN</li> +<li class="hang">FORWARD PASS</li> +<li class="hang">DOUBLE PLAY</li> +<li class="hang">WINNING HIS Y</li> +<li class="hang">GUARDING THE GOAL</li> +<li class="hang">FOR YARDLEY</li> +<li class="hang">AROUND THE END</li> +<li class="hang">CHANGE SIGNALS</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>Purple Pennant Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">THE LUCKY SEVENTH</li> +<li class="hang">THE SECRET PLAY</li> +<li class="hang">THE PURPLE PENNANT</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>Hilton Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">THE HALF-BACK</li> +<li class="hang">FOR THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL</li> +<li class="hang">CAPTAIN OF THE CREW</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>Erskine Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">BEHIND THE LINE</li> +<li class="hang">WEATHERBY’S INNING</li> +<li class="hang">ON YOUR MARK</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>The “Big Four” Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">FOUR IN CAMP</li> +<li class="hang">FOUR AFOOT</li> +<li class="hang">FOUR AFLOAT</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>The Grafton Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">RIVALS FOR THE TEAM</li> +<li class="hang">HITTING THE LINE</li> +<li class="hang">WINNING HIS GAME</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>North Bank Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">THREE BASE BENSON</li> +<li class="hang">KICK FORMATION</li> +<li class="hang">COXSWAIN OF THE EIGHT</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>Wyndham Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">THE FIGHTING SCRUB</li> +<li class="hang">BASES FULL</li> +<li class="hang">HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!</li> +</ul> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>Books Not In Series</i></p> + +<ul> +<li class="hang">THE LOST DIRIGIBLE</li> +<li class="hang">FOR THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS</li> +<li class="hang">KEEPING HIS COURSE</li> +<li class="hang">THE BROTHER OF A HERO</li> +<li class="hang">FINKLER’S FIELD</li> +<li class="hang">DANFORTH PLAYS THE GAME</li> +<li class="hang">THE ARRIVAL OF JIMPSON</li> +<li class="hang">FOR THE GOOD OF THE TEAM</li> +<li class="hang">UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN</li> +<li class="hang">BENTON’S VENTURE</li> +<li class="hang">THE JUNIOR TROPHY</li> +<li class="hang">THE NEW BOY AT HILLTOP</li> +<li class="hang">THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL</li> +<li class="hang">THE PLAY THAT WON</li> +<li class="hang">INFIELD RIVALS</li> +<li class="hang">FOLLOW THE BALL</li> +</ul> +</div> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<figure class="figcenter" id="i_frontispiece"> + <img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" title=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_263">TOM RAN THE RACE OF HIS LIFE</a></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1 class="nobreak">HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!</h1> + +<p class="p2 noic">BY</p> + +<p class="noi author">RALPH HENRY BARBOUR</p> + +<p class="noi works">AUTHOR OF “BASES FULL!”, “THE FIGHTING SCRUB,” ETC.</p> + +<div class="pad4"> +<figure class="figcenter" id="logo"> + <img class="illowe6" src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" title="logo"> +</figure> +</div> + +<p class="noic adauthor">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br> +NEW YORK :: 1925 :: LONDON</p> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noic">COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY</p> + +<p class="noic adauthor">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p> + +<p class="p6 noi works">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> +</div> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noic">TO<br> +THE MEMORY OF</p> + +<p class="noi author">PERCY DUNCAN HAUGHTON</p> + +<p class="noic">SKILLFUL PLAYER, INSPIRING LEADER,<br> +BRILLIANT COACH AND GALLANT GENTLEMAN</p> +</div> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + + +<table> +<colgroup> + <col style="width: 20%;"> + <col style="width: 70%;"> + <col style="width: 10%;"> +</colgroup> +<tr> + <th class="pr smfontr">CHAPTER</th> + <th class="tdl"></th> + <th class="smfontr">PAGE</th> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">I.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Coach and Player</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">II.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">New Quarters</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">11</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">III.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Wattles Is Well</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">25</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">IV.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">The First Game</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">36</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">V.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Clif Makes an Acquaintance</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">51</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">VI.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">The “Housewarming”</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">61</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">VII.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Over the Crossbar</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">75</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">VIII.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Slogans</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">89</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">IX.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">“No Defeats!”</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">101</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">X.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Just Kittens</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">115</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XI.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Lemuel John</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">127</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XII.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">A New Man Joins Up</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">139</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XIII.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">The Boy with the Funny Chin</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">150</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XIV.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Wattles on the Trail</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">167</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XV.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Triumvirate Conspires</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">179</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XVI.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Run to Earth</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">189</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XVII.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Mr. Bingham Is Stern</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">202</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XVIII.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Tom Has Nerves</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">212</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XIX.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Defeat by Telephone</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">222</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XX.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">The Camel Explains</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">232</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXI.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Loring Takes a Walk</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">248</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdrt">XXII.</td> + <td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">“Hold ’Em, Wyndham!”</a></td> + <td class="tdrb">261</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p> + +<p class="noi title">HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!</p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I"> + CHAPTER I + <br> + <small>COACH AND PLAYER</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">Clif Bingham paused in the doorway, clicked +his heels together and gave a military salute.</p> + +<p>“Reporting by order, sir.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Fine and dandy, Mr. Otis. Don’t I look so?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, pretty fit, thanks. As you remarked, don’t I +look so?”</p> + +<p>He did, and Clif said so. The coach was tanned to +the color of saddle leather and the hair on the top—well, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“You’ve got a corking tan,” Clif added in envious +tones.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“That’s a sea tan, then,” said Clif.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“When was that, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, about ten days ago; maybe the nineteenth or +twentieth.”</p> + +<p>“You wouldn’t have found me, Mr. Otis. We didn’t +get back from the other side until the twenty-second.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, abroad, eh? Lucky dog!”</p> + +<p>“Father and I went over in July. We had a sort of +reunion in Paris in August. You remember Loring +Deane, sir?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span></p> + +<p>“Deane? Yes, indeed. You met him over there?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t necessary,” chuckled the coach. “Did +Kemble come up with you?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>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—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“All the better. Fact is, Bingham, I’ve been wondering +how you’d shape as a tackle.”</p> + +<p>“Tackle!” exclaimed Clif.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>at it. Funny, though, that I’d been thinking of myself +as a fellow who could never be anything but an end.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know any <em>one</em> thing, Mr. Otis.”</p> + +<p>“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—<em>if</em> 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!”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t much time, is it?” reflected Clif.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Jordan, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Highland. Jordan comes the week after. Here, +look it over.”</p> + +<p>Clif took the typewritten sheet and read:</p> + +<ul> +<li>Oct.   4, Freeburg High School, at Home<br></li> +<li>Oct. 11, Highland School, at Highland<br></li> +<li>Oct. 18, Jordan Academy, at Home<br></li> +<li>Oct. 25, Cupples Institute, at Cupples<br></li> +<li>Nov.   1, Minster High School, at Home<br></li> +<li>Nov.   8, Horner Academy, at Horner<br></li> +<li>Nov. 15, Toll’s Academy, at Home<br></li> +<li>Nov. 22, Wolcott Academy, at Home</li> +</ul> + +<p>“What’s this Jordan Academy, sir?” Clif asked, +returning the schedule. “Is she supposed to be good?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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 <em>could</em> be done if—well, if +we proved good enough!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, of course. But—gosh, Mr. Otis, it would +be a wonderful stunt to get through without a defeat! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Otis smiled. “Are you together in dormitory?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I will. Well, see you at the field, sir.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II"> + CHAPTER II + <br> + <small>NEW QUARTERS</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Tom, you blamed idiot!” fumed Clif. “Cut it out!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span></p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr">Ah, mon cher ami!</i>” cried Tom, still clasping Clif +tightly. “<i lang="fr">Mon petit chou!</i>”</p> + +<p>“Will you shut up?” cried Clif, struggling, amused +but annoyed. “Don’t be an ass, Tom! Quit it, I tell +you!”</p> + +<p>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. “<i lang="fr">Ah, mon cher Alphonse!</i>” +Tom would ejaculate in tones of delighted surprise. +“<i lang="fr">Mon cher Armande!</i>” 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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t as much sense as—as I thought you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>didn’t have!” Clif declared irately as he tossed Tom’s +suit case into a flivver. Tom chuckled and climbed in.</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr">Aller, cocher! Vit, vit!</i>” he directed. The driver +turned a slow, inquiring gaze upon him over a shoulder.</p> + +<p>“How’s that? Ain’t you fellers for the school?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Never better,” replied Tom. “Say, what’s the +colossal idea? Thought you were going to be at the +junction, you rotter!”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“Seen Loring?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Hot? It was awful! Say, any of the crowd back?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span></p> + +<p>“Four or five. Treader and Sim Jackson and two or +three more. How’s Mr. Otis?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Tom groaned. “Practice on a day like this? Is the +man not so well in his mind, perhaps?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“He say that?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Clif and Tom struggled out, Tom paid the driver—adding +a ten-cent tip and the seemingly irrelevant statement, +“<i lang="fr">Ma fenêtre donne sur le jardin</i>”—and they went +up the steps, occupied by several hesitant youths and a +number of bags, and entered West Hall.</p> + +<p>“Welcome home,” murmured Clif.</p> + +<p>Tom grinned and led the way to the slate stairway +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, at that,” remarked Tom above the clatter of +his shoes on the stone treads, “getting back doesn’t +seem so bad, Clif.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr">Le coup d’oeil est magnifique</i>,” agreed Tom.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to unpack, too,” he murmured. “The trunk +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I thought of that,” said Clif. “But they’re +worth it. Each of us has his own, you see.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but which is mine?” asked Tom suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“Well, I selected this side of the room,” replied Clif +carelessly, “so I suppose you take the window seat +nearest your bed.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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—”</p> + +<p>“Breeze!” protested Tom.</p> + +<p>“—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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span></p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“In my closet. Any other little thing you need? +Soap—sponge—wash cloth—”</p> + +<p>“Yeah, soap. Toss it to me. Atta boy. See you in +five minutes, Clif.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“Well, for one thing, he said he wanted me to try +playing tackle.”</p> + +<p>“Tackle! Tackle? My sainted Aunt Jerusha! +What for?”</p> + +<p>“Says we need tackles more than ends. Raiford’s +not coming back, he says.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what of it? He wasn’t such a much, was he? +Think you can do it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, Tom. I told him I’d have a try at +it, of course. I suppose I can learn, eh?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t have to keep on at it if I don’t show +the goods.”</p> + +<p>“No.” Tom sought a new position and kicked one +muscular leg free of the robe. “No, of course not. Oh, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Is that so? Don’t get fresh, young feller. I suppose +Joe Whitemill will be back. Of course <em>he</em> 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!”</p> + +<p>“I think you will, Tom. By the way, how’s your +father? I meant to ask before.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No, that little trip just sort of whetted my appetite,” +answered Tom. “Never mind, though. Summer will +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>be around again before you know it, and I’m going to +make dad take me to China.”</p> + +<p>“China? For Pete’s sake, why China?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. Why not China? For one thing, +I want to see how they make it.”</p> + +<p>“Make what?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“China.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>window seats and such wall decorations as the rules +permitted.</p> + +<p>“You’ve got a couple of pillows somewhere, haven’t +you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s he got in with him this year?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III"> + CHAPTER III + <br> + <small>WATTLES IS WELL</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>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—”</p> + +<p>“I thought Wolcott wasn’t allowed to do that, sir!” +protested Johnny Thayer indignantly. “Any more +than we are!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Gosh!” growled the big full back. “I don’t +think—”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, Johnny,” said some one. “You’re out of +order!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>the grindstone, and I don’t want to hear any squeals +if I turn it fast!”</p> + +<p>There were chuckles of amusement from the old +hands, but some of the new candidates looked a bit +uneasy and exchanged doubtful glances.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Again there was a ripple of amused appreciation from +his audience. Mr. Otis’s grim mouth didn’t relax, +however.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Quite well, sir, thanks.” Wattles’ long and bony +countenance relaxed in a restrained smile. “And you, +Mr. Tom?”</p> + +<p>“Never better, old boy! Hello, there, Loring! +Glad to see you again, sonny!”</p> + +<p>Clif, too, exchanged handclasps with Wattles and +followed Tom inside. “Have a breakdown?” he asked +as he greeted Loring.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>may have been Ye Signe of Ye Olde Washe Tubbe. +Well, how are you, you chaps? Tom, you look fat!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“All for one and one for all!” proclaimed Loring.</p> + +<p>“Sit down. Wattles, lift that truck off this chair like +a good fellow. That’s it. When did you come up, +Clif?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Just comfortable,” murmured Tom. “I say, Wattles, +don’t you find that black clothes attract the flies?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>Wattles, busily unpacking a wardrobe trunk, looked +around a trifle blankly. “Flies, sir? I don’t think I +ever noticed, Mr. Tom.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.) +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Last winter in a frivolous moment some one—Tom, +I fancy—commenting on the unfailing regularity with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV"> + CHAPTER IV + <br> + <small>THE FIRST GAME</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“I’m sorry,” said Clif, “that I missed seeing your +folks, Loring.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That shover will have to do some driving to get back +to New York in time for a meeting to-night,” observed +Tom.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr">Mon cher Edouard</i>,” murmured Tom. “Say, your +father doesn’t drive the car himself, does he?”</p> + +<p>“No, he says it makes him nervous, but the real +reason is that he can’t smoke comfortably.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see anything wrong with his driving,” Tom +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>objected. “I felt a heap safer last year when he had +the wheel than when you had it, old timer.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Wattles straightened and looked thoughtfully at a +handful of Loring’s cravats. “Well, sir, there was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Great stuff, Wattles!” Tom applauded. “Wonderful +suspense! But what <em>did</em> he do? Don’t tell me you +woke up just then!”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.” Wattles smiled reminiscently. “The fact +is, Mister Tom, I was most fearfully alarmed. I was +sitting beside Edouard, sir, and—”</p> + +<p>“Wattles, for the love of Mike, get on!” exhorted +Loring.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll say so!” exclaimed Tom. “How fast were you +going, do you suppose, Wattles?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>wheels and curb in order that the car should surmount +the—ah—obstacle.”</p> + +<p>“You’re blamed right it did,” agreed Tom. “I’ll +vociferate that, at twenty-five an hour, that was some +stunt!”</p> + +<p>“And you say that Edouard was a trifle flustered on +that occasion?” asked Loring with a chuckle.</p> + +<p>“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 ‘<i lang="fr">Sacre +bleu!</i>’ as he went up on the pave—sidewalk!”</p> + +<p>“Imagine a New York taxi driver confining himself +to ‘<i lang="fr">Sacre bleu</i>’ in Edouard’s place,” laughed Clif. “Evidently +he’s a man of few words and considerable self-restraint.”</p> + +<p>“Funny,” remarked Loring, with a wink at Clif, +“that I never heard of that piquant adventure, Wattles.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Tom,” Loring replied. “I’ll be ready for +you.”</p> + +<p>Clif groaned. “I was hoping you chaps had forgotten +that beastly game,” he said. “Got any new +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ve got several new ones, Clif,” answered +Loring. “One of them’s on football, too.”</p> + +<p>“That reading’s forbidden us,” said Clif virtuously. +“Who wrote it?”</p> + +<p>“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!’”</p> + +<p>“‘All for one and one for all!’” echoed Loring.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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!” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>joke, and the audience knew it. However, it was interesting +if only for its humor.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>proximity to the Wyndham goal line there was only +time for high school to run off a few plays before the +horn sounded.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>Photographs were also liberally displayed in Number +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you call real chow?” asked Tom +anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Hot dogs and rolls, olives, ginger cookies, bananas +and ginger ale,” replied Clif triumphantly.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Help!” yelped Tom. “Say, who’s going to pay for +this banquet? I’m mighty near broke.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right. Olives are scratched. And aren’t +bananas a bit heavy after hot dogs, Clif? I’ve got my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Gosh, that’s so! Table starts Wednesday, doesn’t +it? Bananas are scratched, too, Tom!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V"> + CHAPTER V + <br> + <small>CLIF MAKES AN ACQUAINTANCE</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>He had tried to prevail on Tom to accompany him, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No, I’d better come again,” said Clif. “It’s getting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>toward six o’clock. Just tell him, will you, that Clif +Bingham called, and that I’ll drop around later.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Well—” began Clif again. Then he found himself +in the chair, induced partly by Parks’ friendly grin and +partly by a big brown hand.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s that?” inquired Clif.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>visit. “You ought to,” the other drawled on. “Finest +state in the union. Providence is my town.”</p> + +<p>“What?” exclaimed Clif.</p> + +<p>“I said Providence was where I live—or did live.” +Parks looked a bit wistful after the correction.</p> + +<p>“Well, I live in Providence, too,” laughed Clif. +“That’s why I was surprised. Providence, Rhode +Island, though.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t say? Rhode Island? That’s the smallest +state there is, ain’t it? Course size ain’t a heap +important, though.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s oil country, eh?” asked Clif interestedly. +“I’ve always wanted to see an oil field.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Are you—I mean are your folks interested in oil +wells, Parks?”</p> + +<p>“Yeah, some interested. It was like this. Pop +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“It must be fine,” agreed Clif after a moment.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Gosh,” said Clif. “That must have been exciting!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span></p> + +<p>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—<em>were</em> 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!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“You said your father had to give in finally.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t tiresome a bit,” protested Clif. “I want to +hear it. But doesn’t Walt talk? He used to.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah, he talks.” Parks grinned. “I said <em>me</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” Clif laughed. “You mean Walt wants to do +all of it.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“But you weren’t! You said your father refused to +leave.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah,” agreed Parks dryly; “but ma didn’t. Ma +generally gets her way. So we come—gosh ding it, +<em>came!</em>—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.”</p> + +<p>“In other words,” said Clif, smiling at the other’s +embarrassment, “you’re disgustingly wealthy now!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span></p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“You said your father got a job, Parks. What sort +of a job was it?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But if he has so much money already—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“How long is that?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“Eighteen years. Kind of old to be in the second +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’ll like it after you’ve been here a while,” +Clif assured him. “It’s a corking good school.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You and him was together here last year, weren’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>The big fellow sighed. “Guess you were more his +style. Well, I’ll tell him you were asking for him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Me?” Parks looked startled. “Shucks, you don’t +want me to your party, Bingham! I—I wouldn’t know +what to say!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know,” drawled Parks, shifting his +weight to the other foot beside the table. “Maybe if +Walt goes, though—”</p> + +<p>“Righto! I’m counting on you.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI"> + CHAPTER VI + <br> + <small>THE “HOUSEWARMING”</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, shut up,” said Tom. “Who cares? What I +want to know is—”</p> + +<p>“Nice eyes and a big mouth that—”</p> + +<p>“—is why we have to be saddled with him? He +doesn’t know any of the others, does he?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>quite a hit when he gets known, and you and I, old son, +will get the credit for introducing him to society.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Fair enough! You’ll like him, though, when you +get to know him. All set? Let’s go, then.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Tom,” he greeted. “How are you?”</p> + +<p>“First rate, thanks,” replied Tom, shaking hands and +viewing the other appraisingly. “How’s yourself?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Glad to,” answered Walt. “By the way, what’s +the number?”</p> + +<p>“Forty. On the corner, just around from where +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>Tom was last year. About nine o’clock. And, by the +way, I asked Parks to come.”</p> + +<p>Walt smiled. “Did he accept?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sort of. Conditionally, as you might say. If +you came, he seemed to think he would.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Parks.”</p> + +<p>“I mean his first name. It’s Lemueljohn.”</p> + +<p>“It’s <em>what</em>?” demanded Clif.</p> + +<p>“Lemueljohn,” chuckled Walt. “At least that’s the +way it sounds. Of course, it’s really two words.”</p> + +<p>“Sounds like a breakfast food,” commented Tom +boredly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Lemuel John,” muttered Tom, as Walt went on +toward the recreation room. “He must be a prize!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a heap to learn about playing tackle,” +answered Clif ruefully. “Much obliged, ‘Wink.’”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Mighty decent of you,” answered Clif. “Especially +as we’re both after the same job!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Come a-bustin’, old chap! By the way, don’t forget +the blow-out to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Not so’s you’d notice it! I’ll be on hand. As the +fellow with the hare lip said: ‘Iyawyawyawfluller!’”</p> + +<p>“What’s it in English?” laughed Clif as the other +hurried toward the showers.</p> + +<p>“‘I’m all of a flutter!’” translated “Wink.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>hosts. Literature attended in the person of Walter +Treat, this year an assistant editor of the school +monthly, <cite>The Lantern</cite>. 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>youth with red cheeks and a general air of “go-get-it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been there three, four times,” answered Lemuel +John.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>Billy said, puzzled: “Three or four times? Why don’t +you come out every day? What are you trying for?”</p> + +<p>It was Walt who explained. “He thought you were +asking if he watched practice, Billy. He doesn’t play.”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t!” Billy stared at Lemuel John in unconcealed +amazement. “He looks like he ought to. +Haven’t you ever played, Parks?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Who’s that?” asked the other.</p> + +<p>“Well, Guy Owens or some of the football fellows.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“He’s assistant manager,” corrected Walt rather unnecessarily.</p> + +<p>“Still, he might have called himself manager, at that,” +laughed Clif. “Steve’s feeling his oats a bit this year.”</p> + +<p>“What did you tell him?” demanded Tom.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I said I didn’t know anything about the game. +He said it wouldn’t take me long to learn. Said the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Keno!” exclaimed Loring. “You’re mine, Parks!”</p> + +<p>“Huh?” Lemuel John faced this new distraction +with a blank expression on his big countenance. “What +did you say, stranger?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” answered Loring gratefully. “I’ll remember +that.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span></p> + +<p>“Yeah, I’d be glad to,” said Lemuel John.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Jeff Adams swung the conversation to football the +next moment. “Who’s taking the trip to-morrow, +Billy?” he asked lazily.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it lets you in,” said “Wink,” “but it’s a dollar +to a bean that I don’t get there.”</p> + +<p>“Sure you will,” said Tom. “Who’s going to keep +the water bucket filled?”</p> + +<p>“Sit on a tack,” responded “Wink” graciously. “And +toss me a couple of cookies, while you’re up.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not up,” said Tom; “but when hospitality calls +I respond with alacrity. Clif, attend to the gentleman’s +wants.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Too expensive,” said Walt. “It’s all right for you +fellows, making the trip in nice, comfortable automobiles, +but the rest of us—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span></p> + +<p>“Say, we’ve got the new buses, haven’t we?” exclaimed +“Wink.” “Gee, I hope I get to go!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Patriotism,” began Walt indignantly.</p> + +<p>“He’s going to-morrow,” announced Lemuel John +calmly. “I told him I’d pay the fares if he would.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“You should worry,” chuckled “Swede.” “At that, +I dare say you’ll turn in the expense to <cite>The Lantern</cite>!”</p> + +<p>“A fat chance!” said Walt. “Gosh, I even have to +buy my own typewriter ribbons!”</p> + +<p>“Who’s going to win, Billy?” asked Loring.</p> + +<p>“Wyndham,” replied the right guard.</p> + +<p>“I’ll bet we don’t,” said “Wink.” “Highland’s laying +for us this time, Billy.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Psychology my eye!” said “Wink.” “What about +last year?”</p> + +<p>“We won. Nine to nothing, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>until the game was nearly over. If Highland had had +any sort of an offense—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“‘G. G.’” said Clif, “was pretty doubtful about to-morrow’s +game a week or so back.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“You’ll get through left guard all right, Tom, if you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span></p> + +<p>“Just the same,” began Clif as he arose to find another +bottle.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!’”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Swede” glanced at his watch and rolled off the bed, +and the stampede began.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII"> + CHAPTER VII + <br> + <small>OVER THE CROSSBAR</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>that in his opinion the explanation was pretty +poor.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Houston misjudged one of Talley’s efforts and had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“<em>Block that kick! Block that kick!</em>” chanted Highland.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Tom didn’t make the mistake of trying to run with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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! +<em>Wyndham!</em> 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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, you silly coot, or he’ll hear you,” admonished +Clif, grinning.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Sounds as if you didn’t particularly admire Longwell,” +said Clif.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span></p> + +<p>“He’s saving you, ‘Wink,’” laughed Clif. “Keeping +the best for the last, you know.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, not as bad as that, ‘Wink.’ Cheer up and +see the old team march down the field.”</p> + +<p>“Yeah, look at it march! Sproule got ahead of his +interference and we’re set back two yards. A swell +march we’ll make!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>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.</p> + +<p>He got up at last, rather dizzy and winded, to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII"> + CHAPTER VIII + <br> + <small>SLOGANS</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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!”</p> + +<p>“Won’t do,” said Loring. “Middle letter’s <em>E</em>, I told +you.”</p> + +<p>“<em>E?</em> I thought you said <em>A</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you don’t spell ‘wig’ with an <em>A</em>, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Sure he does,” said Clif. “Or an <em>O</em>! You don’t +know Tom’s abilities in the spelling line. Why—”</p> + +<p>“Shut up,” remarked Tom, concentrating frowningly +on the problem. “Three letters, you said. Middle +one’s <em>A</em>.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, give me patience!” sighed Loring. “Here, look +for yourself, imbecile! <em>E! E! E!</em>”</p> + +<p>Tom accepted the book and looked. “Yes, that’s +right,” he announced calmly. “Middle letter’s <em>E</em>.” Clif +howled and Loring shook his head sadly. “Might be—‘kepi’! +Bet you that’s it! ‘Kepi’! <em>K, e, p</em>— Gee, +there’s too many letters!”</p> + +<p>“Tom, as a cross-word puzzle solver you’re a perfectly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>wonderful half back,” laughed Loring. “Give +me the book, moron.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it says, ‘Head covering,’” muttered Tom, +“and if it isn’t ‘hat’ or ‘cap’ or ‘wig’ what the dickens +is it?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what we’re supposed to find out,” replied +Loring dryly. “What’s the matter with your brains, +Clif?”</p> + +<p>“I never could wrestle with those crazy things,” answered +Clif. “They give me a headache. Or they +would if I’d let them.”</p> + +<p>“Middle letter’s <em>E</em>,” murmured Tom, a far-away look +in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“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 <em>K</em> and ending +in <em>S</em>?’ ‘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!”</p> + +<p>“What <em>was</em> the six-letter word meaning fried insects?” +inquired Tom interestedly.</p> + +<p>“Dried, Tom, not fried. It was—here it is. +‘Kermes.’ I don’t just know how you pronounce it, +but—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You’re thinking of ‘kumiss,’ Tom. This particular +word means an insect that’s used to make cochineal of.”</p> + +<p>“What’s cochineal?” asked Tom.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“<em>What!</em> Mean to say I’m eating dried insects when +I have red candy?”</p> + +<p>“Well—”</p> + +<p>“<em>Fez!</em>” exclaimed Clif explosively.</p> + +<p>“Huh?” asked Loring. “What did you say?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Fez!</em>” repeated Clif triumphantly, pointing at the +book.</p> + +<p>“Fez? By Jove, that’s it! Clif, you’re a wiz!” +Loring seized his pencil. “How did you happen to +think of it?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Funny we couldn’t think of it!”</p> + +<p>“What’s it mean?” asked Tom.</p> + +<p>“That makes this word ‘Mizpah,’” continued Loring +unheedingly. “Let’s see. Yes, that’s right! And this +one—”</p> + +<p>“What’s a mizpah?” asked Tom doggedly.</p> + +<p>Clif placed a pillow firmly against Tom’s face and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>kept it there in spite of protests until the latter had +promised smotheredly to ask no more questions!</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Proud to know,” remarked Tom, “that the conversation +in our <em>salon</em> was worthy a second thought, Mr. +Deane.”</p> + +<p>“You remember some one—wasn’t it you, Clif?—said +he’d like to see the football team end the season +without a beating.”</p> + +<p>Clif nodded. “Yes, I said it, and got sat on by the +crowd.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’d like to see it, too,” resumed Loring earnestly. +“Wouldn’t it be possible?”</p> + +<p>“You heard what ‘Swede’ said.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, eight to three wasn’t so worse,” protested +Tom.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>as it seems to be generally agreed that we’re starting off +with a better gang?”</p> + +<p>“Why, if that’s all you want to know,” replied Tom, +“I’ll answer you, old son. Ever try to say ‘Nebuchadnezzar’ +twenty times?”</p> + +<p>“No, and I don’t propose to. Talk seriously a minute, +Tom.”</p> + +<p>“I am serious. You asked a question and I’m trying +to answer it so you’ll understand it.”</p> + +<p>“What’s ‘Nebuchadnezzar’ got to do with it?”</p> + +<p>“Say it twenty times and you’ll see.”</p> + +<p>“Meaning that I can’t do it?”</p> + +<p>“Meaning that it’s extremely unlikely. Go ahead and +I’ll count.”</p> + +<p>“Nebuchadnezzar,” began Loring.</p> + +<p>“One,” murmured Tom.</p> + +<p>“Nebuchadnezzar, Nebuchadnezzar—” At the fourteenth +repetition Loring paused to take a long breath.</p> + +<p>“Fourteen,” said Tom. “Don’t stop!”</p> + +<p>“Nebuchadnezzar, Nebuchadnezzar, Nebuchadneber—”</p> + +<p>“Whoa! Seventeen, old son. That’s not so bad, +either.”</p> + +<p>“He was getting his ‘nezzar’ a good deal like ‘nazzer’ +along about the twelfth time,” chuckled Clif. “Well, +what’s the moral, Tom?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span></p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Tom shrugged. “Oh, well, nothing’s strictly impossible, +they say. I suppose I mean that the chances are +all against it.”</p> + +<p>Loring nodded thoughtfully. “Just the same, it +would be worth trying, wouldn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Sure! I’d be tickled to death to tell my grandchildren +that I played on the famous unbeaten Wyndham +Team. <em>But</em>—”</p> + +<p>“Forget the ‘buts’ a minute. Just to prove that it +isn’t impossible, there’s Notre Dame.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take the bet,” said Loring, his eyes twinkling.</p> + +<p>“Huh? Well, when was it?”</p> + +<p>“Some time ago, to be sure. Twelve years, to be +exact.”</p> + +<p>“What? Twelve years ago? Heck, were they playing +football here as long ago as that?”</p> + +<p>“Our young friend is evidently laboring under the +delusion that the game was not known here until he +joined the team,” said Clif.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span></p> + +<p>“<em>What?</em> Do you mean that that guy played <em>here</em>? +Well, what do I know?”</p> + +<p>“He was All-American two years,” murmured Clif, +impressed.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Football was different then,” hazarded Tom.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“You bet!” said Clif, and Tom nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well, then!” said Loring triumphantly.</p> + +<p>“Well, what?” asked Tom. “Heck, no one’s said +the team isn’t willing to work for a clean slate, nor that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Fair enough,” agreed Clif. “But here’s the idea, +Tom, which you seem to miss—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t miss it at all,” said Tom doggedly. “I know +what he’s getting at—”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Yeah, and then you get a swelled head and blow up!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“I won’t have to,” growled Tom. “It’ll beat itself +by being overconfident!”</p> + +<p>“There’s that danger, yes. But it can be guarded +against. Now, honestly, isn’t it worth trying?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p> + +<p>“Trying? Sure! I’ll try! Only, as good as I am, +Loring, I can’t win all those six games alone.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Society for Maintaining the Inviolability of the +Football Schedule,” offered Tom, grinning.</p> + +<p>“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 <em>believe</em> in it! We <em>fight</em> for it!”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said Tom, nodding. “‘They shall not +pass.’”</p> + +<p>“That’s it!” agreed Loring eagerly. “‘They shall +not pass!’ By Jove, fellows, what a slogan!”</p> + +<p>Clif shook his head. “We couldn’t use it, Loring. +It wouldn’t be—wouldn’t be decent. What I mean +is—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>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—’”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, Tom, you’re out of order,” commanded +Clif sternly.</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute,” laughed Loring. “What’s good +all the way, Tom?”</p> + +<p>“Biffam’s No-Spring Counter Scales,” answered +Tom, grinning.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Don’t call it anything,” grunted Tom. “What’s it +going to be?”</p> + +<p>“‘Win, Wyndham!’” suggested Clif.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Sure. ‘Don’t Give Up the Ship!’ ‘The Bigger +They Are the Harder They Fall!’ ‘Knock ’Em Down +and Throw ’Em Out!’”</p> + +<p>“That’ll do from you,” said Loring. “We’ll let the +slo—the motto go for awhile. We’ll think of something. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>The question now is, how are we going to start +the ball a-rolling?”</p> + +<p>“Propaganda,” said Tom.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Here am I,” murmured Tom.</p> + +<p>“The word was influential, Tom, not inconsequential,” +said Clif sweetly.</p> + +<p>“Ouch! Well, such as which, Loring?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What about Jeff Ogden?” asked Tom.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Huh, I get you,” said Tom. “Want to make it +look spontaneous, as it were.”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly, but rather as if it wasn’t a scheme of +the football players to work up support.”</p> + +<p>“How about Walt Treat?” asked Clif. “Walt’s on +<cite>The Lantern</cite>, you know, and we really ought to have a +corking good editorial—”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span></p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“We’ll do that, too, Tom,” said Loring, “but not +just yet. As I see it, we want to be—be insidious—”</p> + +<p>“What’s insidious?” asked Tom.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX"> + CHAPTER IX + <br> + <small>“NO DEFEATS!”</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>you didn’t resent it. You simply considered that it +was Todd Darlington speaking.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“He gives me a severe pain, anyhow,” muttered Tom.</p> + +<p>“I also got the impression,” Loring continued, “that +he disapproved of the idea on grounds of good form. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>He appeared to think that creating a ‘hullabaloo,’ as he +called it, would be undignified.”</p> + +<p>“Sacred Ibis of the River Nile!” Tom exploded. +“How’s it any more undignified than cheering at a +game? He’s crazy!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Neither does that big stiff,” said Tom indignantly. +“Heck, I’d go ahead with it now if only to show him +up!”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t show him up a bit,” answered Loring +smilingly, “because he didn’t say a word against it, +Tom.”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t say—” Tom gasped. “You’re cuckoo!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“So’s my grandmother’s gray goose!” jeered Tom.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span></p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, forget Darlington,” said Tom disgustedly. +“What’s the next thing to do? How about Sam +Erlingby?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Sam will be over on the diamond about four,” said +Clif. “They’re having fall practice, you know.”</p> + +<p>Loring nodded. “That’s so. I’ll run him down. +Any one thought of a six-letter word meaning a rallying +cry?”</p> + +<p>Every one had, but none of the suggestions met with +the approval of the whole and the selection of a slogan +was again deferred.</p> + +<p>On Tuesday night Loring had better news. Sam +Erlingby had pledged enthusiastic support, and so +had two other fellows of influence. “And,” narrated +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>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!’”</p> + +<p>“Great stuff!” applauded Clif. “He’s dead right.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You said a mouthful,” declared Tom. “Better not +have it look like a kid’s party.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Gosh, talk about mixed metaphors!” exclaimed +Tom, grinning.</p> + +<p>“Never mind the metaphors,” laughed Loring. “I +believe you’re right, Clif. Only, how?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t believe Jordan’s dangerous,” answered +Clif carelessly. “It’s a small school.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes,” said Clif, addressing Loring. “I +think that if we had a third member in this Triumvirate +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>who didn’t try to turn everything into a joke we’d get +along faster.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Is he still at that?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“For Pete’s sake!” ejaculated Tom. “But I didn’t +suppose ‘Homer’ knew law, even if he does lay it down +pretty often!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span></p> + +<p>Tom chuckled. “I’d certainly like to be around when +Wattles makes his first speech to a jury!”</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose he really means to be a lawyer?” +asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Who’s Coke?” asked Tom.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t want to profit by your ignorance,” answered +Clif maddeningly. “Keep your money, Thomas, +and found an asylum for boneheads.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“How do I know you won’t throw the game if I bet +all this vast sum with you?” laughed Clif.</p> + +<p>“Oh, talk sense,” Tom grumbled.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“You make me ill,” fumed Tom. “Will you bet or +won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“You insist? Well, what do you want to bet, +Tommy? Mind now, there’s a hard winter approaching, +so don’t be reckless.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll bet you the ice-cream cones at Burger’s!”</p> + +<p>“Ye gods, what an anticlimax!” moaned Clif. “I +expected you to say five dollars at the very leastest.”</p> + +<p>“You didn’t. I don’t bet for money, and you know it. +Make it—make it <em>two</em> cones, then!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want your old hand! All I want is those +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>cones. And I’ll get them, too. You’re so blamed +cocksure, you dumb-bell, it’ll do you good to lose!”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Climb a tree,” said Tom. “The last fumble I made +was when we played the Rome ‘Gladiators,’ about 700 +B.C.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p class="noic">NO DEFEATS!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X"> + CHAPTER X + <br> + <small>JUST KITTENS</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span></p> + +<p>“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!</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Holmes didn’t appear and the identity of the +bill posters remained unrevealed for the present.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>at a game! “No Defeats! No Defeats! No Defeats!” +Swell, what? If a miracle took place and Wyndham <em>did</em> +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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>car from front bumper to rear. Then he asked sternly: +“Dad, when did you have the car washed last?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span></p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Only fair,” replied Clif ruefully. “I wish ‘G. G.’ +hadn’t switched me from end.”</p> + +<p>“Hm,” said Mr. Bingham dryly. “As a matter of +fact, Clif, I meant in your school work.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Very neat,” said Mr. Bingham. “But, look here, +son, won’t the faculty get up on their ear, eh?”</p> + +<p>“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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“I should say not!” Mr. Bingham shook his head +sadly. “My goodness, what the present generation is +coming to I don’t know!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>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—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“How many? Let’s see. There are just under two +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>hundred fellows this term, I think. Better have two +hundred and—and twenty-five.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; and big. You know, sort of—sort of +startling!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, dad. Say, those buttons will be great, +won’t they? Gee, I’ll bet we’re going to put this thing +over big!”</p> + +<p>“Fine! But can you do it, son? I mean, can you +get through without being beaten?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“To-day? How’s that?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span></p> + +<p>“What do you think?” Mr. Bingham sat down, +selected a cigar from a leather case and sighed comfortably.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Well, but <em>is</em> this Jordan crowd so good, son?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The <em>X</em> in your problem, eh? Well, we’ll hope for +the best. Are you playing this afternoon?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>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—”</p> + +<p>“Jeff Adams? He’s your captain?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Hm, reversed, yes. Lunching with me, son?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I can’t. Best I can do is dinner to-morrow. +May I bring Tom?”</p> + +<p>“Surely, and another chap if you like. How’s my +friend Walter?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Tom!”</p> + +<p>“Huh?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take a maple walnut!”</p> + +<p>Tom only shook his head incredulously.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later the game began.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In the locker room, Clif leaned over Tom’s shoulder +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>Then Clif hurdled a bench and made the corner of +the alley just ahead of a shoe.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI"> + CHAPTER XI + <br> + <small>LEMUEL JOHN</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t play much of a game,” demurred Lemuel +John modestly, setting his men. “I guess Deane +can beat me, all right.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the wrong thought,” Tom protested. “Confidence, +Parks, confidence! Summon the will to win, +my lad! Remember, my happiness depends on you!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, let him alone,” said Clif. “How do you expect +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>him to play while you’re hanging over him and talking +guff? Go sit down, you poor nut.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I guess he didn’t try very hard,” said Lemuel John. +“He—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Prepare for insults!” hissed Tom dramatically.</p> + +<p>“No, I was only going to say that I can generally tell +beforehand what your move will be. Parks makes me +guess.”</p> + +<p>“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, <i lang="fr">mon cher</i> Alphonse!”</p> + +<p>But Clif fought him off, refusing to be embraced.</p> + +<p>After a while Sam Erlingby took himself off, first +conducting a whispered conference with Clif outside the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“I had a hunch he could,” replied Tom. “I sort of +like the big queer.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” agreed Loring thoughtfully. “I wonder if +he’s a sample of the sort they raise where he comes +from. Wisconsin, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Some place up there,” answered Tom vaguely.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“I was wondering about that,” said Loring. “Why +shouldn’t he play, Clif?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>Desmond, Smythe, Breeze, Weldon; a bunch of guards +and tackles; and I don’t see many new fellows that look +awfully promising.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Tom. “Grant that he’s a wonder, +Loring, and what about it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Meaning,” asked Tom dubiously, “that you think +Parks’ playing on the Scrub would hold the first team +to a clean record?”</p> + +<p>“Why not? If Parks turned out to be a good guard +or tackle—”</p> + +<p>“Too slow for tackle,” said Clif.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span></p> + +<p>“And us linemen who do the honest-to-gosh work,” +said Clif.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“In the other team’s way, you mean,” Clif laughed.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, have a heart!” Tom protested. “Let some one +else do it. Get Guy on his trail.”</p> + +<p>“All right, let Owens try him first. If Owens fails +we’ll get after him.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“That’s the stuff,” commended Tom. “Or—hold +on; who’s captain of that bunch?”</p> + +<p>“Warner. Plays left guard,” said Clif.</p> + +<p>“Hm, I wonder if he’d be keen for another guard!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ‘Cocky’ will take fellows on any time if he likes +their looks,” Tom said, yawning. “But I’d certainly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>hate to be in Parks’ shoes. ‘Cocky’ will sure make +him hustle!”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you say? You really ought to have +him, George. He’s got the making of a nice player.”</p> + +<p>“Who said so?” asked Warner incredulously.</p> + +<p>“I’ve heard several fellows say so. Besides, you’ve +only to look at him!”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>I thought you were trying to tell me that he was looking +for a chance on—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, I understand,” jeered Warner; “but I’ve got +plenty of troubles without hunting them, Clif. <em>I</em> don’t +want the chap!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want you to coax him,” replied Clif cheerfully. +“Coaxing probably wouldn’t fetch him. You’ve +got to threaten him.”</p> + +<p>“Sounds all right,” said Warner dubiously; “but he’s +ten pounds heavier than I am and I guess he’s got a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>better reach. Still, I can leave the door open, and +I’m plumb certain I can outrun him!”</p> + +<p>“See him to-day, will you, George?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII"> + CHAPTER XII + <br> + <small>A NEW MAN JOINS UP</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“He wasn’t on the bench with the second when they +came across,” said Tom. “I guess Warner forgot it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Clif found Lemuel John alone at a little after nine. +He was writing a letter and Clif apologized for disturbing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“N-no,” said Clif awkwardly; “but I’ve been rather +busy, what with one thing and another. Walt off for +the evening?”</p> + +<p>“Down the hall,” said Lemuel John. “He asked me +along, but I didn’t care about it. I saw you play this +afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, did you? Er—were you—I mean, you weren’t +playing yourself, were you?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know him,” said Clif. “Of course you told +him you did want to.”</p> + +<p>“No.” Lemuel John shook his head. “I told him it +wouldn’t be any use.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess he didn’t take that for an answer,” +replied Clif, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, he did. Why not? Shucks, I couldn’t +learn football, and I told him so.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know you couldn’t?” Clif asked.</p> + +<p>“Walt says so. I asked him one day if he thought I +could and he said no pretty emphatic.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>over to East with me, won’t you? To Loring’s, I +mean.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> + +<p>“Good! Because you can do quite a bit for the cause, +I think.”</p> + +<p>“I can?” Lemuel John smiled incredulously.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I see what you mean,” answered the other.</p> + +<p>“Well, the second can do with more players, Parks. +And it occurred to us that you might be just the fellow +to help out.”</p> + +<p>“Shucks, no, Deane! I wouldn’t be any good. I’ve +never played a bit.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span></p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Lemuel John grinned. “I guess they don’t know +what it is,” he answered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t see, then, why you don’t go out +to-morrow and report for the second.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, shucks, I don’t know!” Lemuel John looked +frowningly from one to another. “Think they’d want +me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t grabbed +you long ago.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What did he say then?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“Said maybe I knew best, or something like that.”</p> + +<p>“The silly coot!” commented Clif disgustedly. “I +told him—” Then he caught a cautioning look from +Loring and stopped.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>you more than two or three days to get onto the ropes.”</p> + +<p>“Think so? Well, I don’t know. I can be pretty +dumb sometimes, Bingham.”</p> + +<p>“At that, you’ll have nothing on the rest of ’em,” +Tom chuckled. “There’s a chap on the Scrub named +Kinsey—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The gentleman flatters you, Loring,” said Tom.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“He’s a plain nut,” laughed Clif. “Pay no attention +to him, Parks. No one else does.”</p> + +<p>“Now I guess you’re the one that’s stringing me. +Well, I’m going to think over what you said, Deane.” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>He began to assemble his long legs preparatory to +arising, but Loring motioned him back.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ve got some spare parts,” answered Tom +dubiously, appraising Lemuel John’s frame; “but +maybe they won’t fit.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I guess I’ll have to buy those,” said Lemuel +John, grinning. “I wear a nine.”</p> + +<p>“A nine! Sacred Ibis of the River Nile, Parks! If +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>I ever see you coming my way there’ll be a half back +missing from the first!” And Tom shook his head +awedly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” asked Loring solicitously, “where is your +father, Parks?”</p> + +<p>“New York City. It’s kind of dull down there for an +active man like dad. Good night.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Think he will make the second?” asked Clif when +the door had closed behind the visitor.</p> + +<p>“I certainly do,” answered Loring. “Don’t you, +Tom?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Tom haltingly, “I don’t ... know!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>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!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII"> + CHAPTER XIII + <br> + <small>THE BOY WITH THE FUNNY CHIN</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“You’re glad <em>you</em> thought of it!” exclaimed Clif. +“Well, of all the colossal nerve!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The idea of holding a meeting to aid in putting the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>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 <cite>The Lantern</cite> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span></p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>use concerning Loring, for popularity suggests a sort +of easy familiarity lacking in his relations with the +school <i lang="fr">in toto</i>. 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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>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!</p> + +<p>Wattles arose with a murmur of respectful greeting +and Mr. Otis said: “No, no, Wattles, keep your seat. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>I’ll sit over here for a minute. Well, Deane, I haven’t +had a real word with you this fall. How are you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, fine, thanks, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you look it; what I can see of you! How are +those legs coming along, my boy? Any improvement?”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I hope he’s right. What do you say, Wattles?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, we’re better than we were. If we had a few +more pounds in the line we’d pass for a fair team.”</p> + +<p>“Especially on the left side, I guess,” said Loring.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span></p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a fellow coming along,” said Loring carelessly, +“who may be useful on that side later, Mr. +Otis.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve—what?” asked the coach, puzzled.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Who are you talking about?” asked “G. G.,” +frowning.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span></p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Just how does he happen to be your discovery?” +asked “G. G.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“The Triumvirate?” smiled Mr. Otis.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Gosh, Mr. Otis!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Otis, what do you think our chance is of getting +through without a licking, sir?” asked Loring +quickly.</p> + +<p>“What? Oh, that business. Well, frankly, Deane, I +think our chance is about one in three.”</p> + +<p>“Gee,” murmured Loring dejectedly. “But we’ve got +through half the schedule, sir.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t really mean that you think Wolcott’s +going to win this year, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps I don’t quite think it, but—oh, hang +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Gee,” Loring muttered. “‘No Defeats!’”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s a noble ambition, anyway,” replied +“G. G.,” smiling down reassuredly, “and it’s no disgrace +to strive for perfection, Deane.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” agreed Loring mournfully, “not even if +you stub your toe going after it.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, absolutely, sir,” said Wattles gravely!</p> + +<p>A little later Loring said: “Wattles, there’s the +fellow with the funny chin again. Halfway up the +stand, alongside the post.”</p> + +<p>Wattles looked and assented. “Quite so, Mr. Loring,” +he answered. “I don’t think he’s one of our +crowd, sir.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Wattles again turned his head and appraised the +subject of Loring’s disparagement. “Well, sir, he’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>not such an unpresentable young—er—person,” he +protested fairly.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Wattles allowed himself a smile. “I do see the +resemblance, Mr. Loring, and that’s a fact. A camel, +yes, sir. Oh, undoubtedly.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I’d say, sir, that he’s just looking on a bit, like +the rest of us.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Quite possibly, Mr. Loring. I—er—the word is +not—”</p> + +<p>“It means cross-eyed or something, and I dare say +it doesn’t occur in Blackstone.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I don’t think it does.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>Wattles chuckled politely. “It would be a temptation, +sir, and no mistake,” he agreed.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I say, Wattles,” laughed the other, “a fellow +can’t stop to exchange cards, you know, in such an +event!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span></p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Wattles,” chuckled Loring affectionately, “you’re a +delight!”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, sir,” replied Wattles.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV"> + CHAPTER XIV + <br> + <small>WATTLES ON THE TRAIL</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>“Why, what—what—” stammered Loring in evident +concern.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>“Lemuel John,” said Clif, sinking into a chair, with +a sigh.</p> + +<p>“Lemuel John?” echoed Loring. “What about +him?”</p> + +<p>Clif pointed to a left eye which had the ensanguined +appearance of a piece of raw beef. “This,” he replied +briefly.</p> + +<p>“You mean you had a scrap?” exclaimed Loring.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Not really!” ejaculated Loring almost joyfully. +Clif once more registered reproach. Tom nodded and +waved a hand toward Clif.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“But—but Lemuel John didn’t—didn’t <em>hit</em> you, +Clif!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>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—”</p> + +<p>“Passing by!” jeered Tom. “You were just aching +for trouble, and you sure got it!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that you were down?” asked Loring +interestedly.</p> + +<p>“Down? By no means. I was standing on my feet. +Anyway, some one’s feet. Then the cyclone passed.”</p> + +<p>“Did you hold them?” Loring’s voice was eager.</p> + +<p>“Hold who?” inquired Clif.</p> + +<p>“Why, the second!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>hyena on the Scrub you sure played a dirty trick on +your friends.”</p> + +<p>“Good, was he?” asked Loring eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Good? No, as a player he was rotten. He broke +all the commandments. He got out of position, he +charged standing up, he—he—”</p> + +<p>“But he got through,” chuckled Loring.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>A howl went up from the others. “Yes, you did!” +scoffed Clif. “You were the one who couldn’t see him +with a spyglass!”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, spyglass?” asked Tom, grinning. +“No one offered me any spyglass. I just had +a feeling—”</p> + +<p>“Is Lemuel John really as bad as Tom says, Clif?” +Loring interrupted.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Funny Mr. Babcock let him play so soon,” mused +Loring.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“<em>You</em> 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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“I should think you’d done enough of it,” chuckled +Tom.</p> + +<p>“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!’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>Clif’s face still showed the marks of Lemuel John’s +enthusiasm!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Leeson’s is just across, sir,” said Wattles.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, he just passed.”</p> + +<p>“You might sort of keep him in sight then. I’m +rather curious to know where he’s going.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, doesn’t he? Well, carry on.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>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,” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>reported the amateur detective. “A small car. In fact, +sir, a flivver.”</p> + +<p>“A car, eh? Which way did he go? Was he alone?”</p> + +<p>“Alone, sir, yes. He went east.” Wattles waved a +hand.</p> + +<p>“East? Where was the car?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But Pierson Street doesn’t lead anywhere,” Loring +protested. “We were on the other end of it last +spring.”</p> + +<p>“It goes as far as the road where the stone machine is, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Stone machine? What— Oh, the rock crusher! +Of course! And that leads over that way to Stoddard—no, +Elm Street.”</p> + +<p>“To Stoddard, too, sir. I believe it crosses Elm.”</p> + +<p>“And Stoddard Street goes over to the old turnpike!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And the old turnpike— Gee, I wish I had a map!”</p> + +<p>“They have them at Leeson’s, Mr. Loring.”</p> + +<p>“Right you are, Wattles! On to Leeson’s.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, sir?” Wattles commented.</p> + +<p>“Yes! And don’t you see what that means?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span></p> + +<p>Wattles’ cough was deprecatory. “I’m afraid I don’t, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Why, think, man! Where does the state road go +from here?”</p> + +<p>“I believe it goes to Canaan, sir, and then—”</p> + +<p>“Canaan, my eye! Before Canaan, I mean?”</p> + +<p>“Before Canaan? Why, to be sure, sir! Cotterville!”</p> + +<p>“Cotterville, Wattles! And I’ll bet you that chap is +on his way back to Wolcott right this minute!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV"> + CHAPTER XV + <br> + <small>THE TRIUMVIRATE CONSPIRES</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” agreed Tom, “when we know anything. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>But we don’t yet. If Wattles had only got the number +of the car—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Say, how about Wattles?” asked Clif. “Couldn’t he +follow the fellow and see where he goes?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“But I couldn’t get away from the field in time,” +Clif objected.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Treadwell Street,” said Clif, laying a finger on the +map.</p> + +<p>“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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>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—”</p> + +<p>“Painter’s colic,” suggested the irrepressible Tom.</p> + +<p>“But wouldn’t he recognize me?” asked Clif doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“‘Hink’ Connell’s got a false mustache,” said Tom, +chuckling. “It’s red, but—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think the rules say anything about being +outside the grounds at supper time,” said Loring.</p> + +<p>“Maybe not,” remarked Clif pessimistically, “but +that wouldn’t mean a thing if they didn’t like it. +They’d make a rule.”</p> + +<p>“I’d do the job if I could drive a flivver,” said +Lemuel John.</p> + +<p>“So would I,” said Loring. “Seems to me, Clif, you +can think up more objections—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“You arrange for the flivver in the morning,” advised +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we can try,” said Loring. “If we can’t make +it go the first time we can try again, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Sorry about our game, Parks,” said Loring.</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” answered the big chap. “This +other thing’s been right interesting.”</p> + +<p>“Well—oh, by the way, you’ll keep it under your +hat, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Eh?” asked Lemuel John. “Oh! Sure, don’t you +worry. I’ll keep the old trap shut tight, Deane.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Beg pardon, sir,” said Wattles in the proper tones +for a conspirator, “but the—er—the young man’s there +now.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t all look together,” Loring warned. “Where +is he, Wattles?”</p> + +<p>“In the further section, sir. Fourth row from the +top and next to the post.”</p> + +<p>“Right-o!” whispered Loring. “See him, Clif? +It’s all right; he isn’t looking this way.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I see something,” said Tom cautiously, “but I’m +not sure it’s real. Say, don’t they have ’em queer over +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>at Wolcott? Heck, fellows, that dumb-bell hasn’t got +sense enough to spy on a—on an ant’s nest!”</p> + +<p>“You can’t tell,” said Clif. “Folks aren’t always as +foolish as they look, Thomas. You ought to know +that.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Think you’ll know him when you see him in the +car?” interrupted Loring.</p> + +<p>“Yes, unless he hides that chin,” chuckled Clif. “All +right, fellows, Paul Revere rides at five o’clock!”</p> + +<p>“‘One if by land and two if by sea,’” murmured +Tom. “Summon the chariot, Wattles.”</p> + +<p>“Get a good five minutes start of him, Clif,” Loring +advised. “Maybe you can be taken sick or something, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Mr. Clifton,” replied Wattles quite +animatedly. “The car will be there, sir.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Otis’ voice summoned the players from the +bench and Clif and Tom hurried off. Loring turned +to Wattles.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh, I’ll make it quite clear to him, sir,” said +Wattles.</p> + +<p>Whereupon, having set his black derby carefully in +place and buttoned his coat, he made off with unhurried +dignity.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI"> + CHAPTER XVI + <br> + <small>RUN TO EARTH</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>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 <em>was</em> the Camel?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>the right of way, its rails perched well above the road +level.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>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.</p> + +<p class="noic">Mr. Charles Wayne Goddard.</p> + +<p class="noic">Mr. Chester Fontaine Campbell.</p> + +<p>Then he knocked, a voice said: “Yeah? Come on +in!” and Clif pushed the portal open.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Goddard?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“Not in. Gone to supper, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Clif, still looking fascinatingly at the chin, +which waggled engagingly when the Camel spoke. +“Well, I’ll drop around later.”</p> + +<p>He started out, but the Camel was curious. “Who’ll +I tell him called?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Clif smiled engagingly. “Henry Ford,” he replied. +Then he closed the door and went away, chuckling.</p> + +<p>The Camel’s name was Campbell; Charles—no, +Chester Fontaine Camp—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII"> + CHAPTER XVII + <br> + <small>MR. BINGHAM IS STERN</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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—</p> + +<p>Mr. Frost hung up then and became active.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>head and a number of scratches that, while superficial, +gave him a decidedly battered appearance. Finally the +doctor stood up and smiled genially.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. What’s a clavicle, doctor? Collar bone?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Two or three weeks!” cried Clif. “Gosh, I’ve got +to be fixed up a whole lot quicker than that, sir!”</p> + +<p>The doctor paused in unrolling a bandage and lifted +his eyebrows inquiringly. “That so? What’s the +hurry?”</p> + +<p>“Why—why—I’m on the team, sir!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>is until I see him on Friday, and don’t let him move +that arm any.”</p> + +<p>“Gosh, I couldn’t if I wanted to!” grumbled Clif.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Looks like it,” Tom acknowledged. “Tough luck, +old scout. Wish it had been me.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“I guess so. It’s all over school. I haven’t seen him +since supper, though.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe you’d better drop around there and tell him +that I’m all right.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>thing’s awkward! I don’t see why he has to tie me up +like—like a—”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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—”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Did you drive over, dad?” he asked carelessly.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“How come? It was in the shop only five weeks +ago.”</p> + +<p>“Was it? It seems longer.” Mr. Bingham sounded +quite surprised. “How time doesn’t fly, eh?”</p> + +<p>“You’d better come clean, sir,” said Clif severely. +“What happened to the car?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>and with much detail in spite of Clif’s nodded assurance +that he did remember. “Well, yesterday afternoon I +was coming around that corner—”</p> + +<p>“How fast, dad?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not very fast. Maybe twenty or twenty-five. +And—”</p> + +<p>“Or maybe thirty-five. All right. Then what?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Which did you hit, dad? The oil wagon or the +other one?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t hit either of them,” said Mr. Bingham indignantly. +“They hit me. Both of them. At once and +simultaneous.”</p> + +<p>“Geewhillickens! And you mean to say the car +isn’t hurt much?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What happened to you, sir?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“I like your nerve! And—and lecturing me like you +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>did about being careful! And you running into two +things at once in broad daylight—”</p> + +<p>“No, no, Clif! Not <em>broad</em> daylight, really! It was +getting along toward five o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“That’s broad daylight,” said Clif uncompromisingly. +“I had my trouble when it was pitch dark! Gee, you’ve +got a crust, dad!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>His father laughed. “Son,” he said, “it looks like +a tie. Let’s call it off. What do you say?”</p> + +<p>Clif nodded, smiling. “Guess we’d better. Just the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Well, they told me six days,” said Mr. Bingham. +“And, look here, what about the Lizzie you were driving? +Who settles for that?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t all for pulling it out,” Clif laughed. “It got +busted up pretty well, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, I don’t want—”</p> + +<p>“Of course not! I understand that. But there’s +Christmas coming along pretty soon—”</p> + +<p>“Six weeks and more,” jeered Clif.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“You’re going to get an edition de luxe of the <cite>Rules +of the Road</cite>,” said Clif sternly. “That’s what you’re +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Grateful for what?” asked Clif suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“Grateful to find you with nothing worse than a +broken collar bone, Clifton,” answered Mr. Bingham +gently.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Some one’s got to take it,” replied his father lightly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll use some of it for the doctor. Thanks, +dad.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Up here?” exclaimed Clif incredulously.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bingham nodded. “Little idea of my own. +Rather clever, don’t you think?”</p> + +<p>“Well, but—will they let you?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"> + CHAPTER XVIII + <br> + <small>TOM HAS NERVES</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Sure do miss you, Bingham,” said Lemuel John in +taking leave. “You were a mighty nice fellow to play +against.”</p> + +<p>“Huh,” laughed Clif, “you liked me because you +could put it all over me!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>to refuse him that comfort; but there was no +satisfaction in such a sop!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Only to dad, and he didn’t repeat it.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose we’d better tell Mr. Otis. He hasn’t been +back since. The Camel, I mean. Maybe he suspected +something, eh?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if he should come back—” Loring paused +and viewed Clif thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” mused the latter, “you can’t make trouble +for a fellow just because he comes and watches +the football practice.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span></p> + +<p>“Not—er—officially,” agreed Loring.</p> + +<p>“No, not officially.” Then they looked at each +other a moment in silence. Finally Clif smiled. Then +Loring smiled.</p> + +<p>“We’ll wait a few days before we say anything to +Mr. Otis, I guess,” Loring said. “How is the shoulder?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Too bad you can’t see the game to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Rotten! Are you going over? You said last +week—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, but who—how—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Good stunt,” agreed Clif. “I’d sure like to see that +game, though. Tom says no one seems very hopeful.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“She was last year, too.” Clif shook his head +gloomily. “What price ‘No Defeats’?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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 +<em>got</em> to win!”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>consider the possibility of defeat. Calm and serene, I +face the impending struggle with—with unshaken confidence!”</p> + +<p>“A-a-ay!” cheered Loring.</p> + +<p>“‘No Defeats’ is my motto, and long may it wave +o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Go to thunder,” said Loring pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Tie that outside,” advised Clif. “Where do you get +all this soft pedal stuff?”</p> + +<p>“Coach’s orders,” replied Tom with dignity. “After +nine-thirty—”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t nine-thirty yet, you poor boob!”</p> + +<p>“It is by my watch. At least, it’s nine-twenty-eight.”</p> + +<p>“Your watch!” jeered Clif. “What good’s a watch +that’s soaked two or three times a week?”</p> + +<p>“This valuable and inflammable—I mean infallible +timepiece has never been pawned, I’d have you know.”</p> + +<p>“No, but you take it into the bathtub regularly. How +many times do you suppose you’ve had it under water, +Tom?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“How was the meeting?” asked Loring.</p> + +<p>“Noisy. Jeff made a pretty good spiel, though.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span></p> + +<p>“They didn’t call on you for a speech, by any +chance?” Clif inquired.</p> + +<p>“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—’”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Wrong. Mr. Babcock used it one day last week in +hygiene. What else, Tom?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Did you really sit on the platform?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“Me? I wouldn’t go near it! Sit up there to be +stared at and try to look like a dog-gone hero? Not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“What was the spirit of the meeting?” asked Loring.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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—’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span></p> + +<p>“Blessed if Tom hasn’t got nerves!” marveled Clif.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got something,” growled the accused. “You +would, too, if you’d listened to ‘G. G.’ this evening in +the gym.”</p> + +<p>“What did he say?” inquired Loring.</p> + +<p>“Never mind,” answered Tom darkly. “He said +plenty. He said things no gentleman can say to another +without fighting!”</p> + +<p>“Did you fight him?” asked Clif innocently.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Well, have you?” asked Loring quietly.</p> + +<p>Tom’s head came up and he glared across belligerently, +one shoe suspended in air. Then he grinned. +“You wait and see,” he muttered.</p> + +<p>“Atta boy!” applauded Clif, laughing.</p> + +<p>“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 <em>my</em> hair!”</p> + +<p>“<em>What!</em> Did he say that?” exclaimed Clif.</p> + +<p>“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!’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, lovely!” Clif gurgled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span></p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Well, Tom, you know you did work up a patent-leather +finish one night in Paris,” said Loring. “Maybe +it still shows.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>To Tom’s puzzlement, the others again went into +gales of laughter. “You make me sick,” he informed +them aggrievedly.</p> + +<p>“You’re so—so beautifully literal,” chuckled Loring.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to suggest,” Clif laughed, “that we change +that slogan to ‘No Slickum!’” Wattles’ appearance +relieved the situation.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX"> + CHAPTER XIX + <br> + <small>DEFEAT BY TELEPHONE</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Loring. “How does it look, +Charley? Who’s going to win?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Charley. Thanks.” Loring hung up, +glanced a question at Clif and received a shrug for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the dickens! How did it happen, Charley?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we must be playing pretty rotten,” said Loring +dejectedly.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Gee!” said Loring. “Well, we can’t win against +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>that sort of luck, I guess! Must have been a corking +run, though.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“What about the field, Charley. Has it stopped +raining?”</p> + +<p>“No, but it’s just sort of a Scotch mist, you know. +I don’t believe it’ll make much difference. Well, good-by.”</p> + +<p>“Two to nothing at the end of the half,” announced +Loring. “Horner blocked a kick and Sproule was +thrown for a safety.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“We scored it and she gets it,” he answered despondently.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“End of the half.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, then, we’ve still a chance, haven’t we?” Wattles +brightened perceptibly. “I fancy Mr. Tom will be +heard from, sir.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Forty-two yards! My word, sir, but that was +extraordinary. I’d like to have seen it.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad I didn’t,” growled Clif. “It must have +been awful when they called him back.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>Wattles returned in a minute. “Mr. Sanford, sir, on +the wire.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“I came out ahead of the mob, Deane.” Sanford +sounded a bit breathless. “Knew I couldn’t get to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“I see. Well, thanks awfully for phoning, Charley. +Drop in soon and let me hear all about it.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Deane. Very glad to have—”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“They defeated us, sir?” asked Wattles anxiously.</p> + +<p>Loring nodded. “Final score, fellows,” he announced +to the small audience. “Horner won, two to +nothing.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“‘No Defeats!’” murmured Loring.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“And some one’s got to lose,” said Loring reflectively. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>“They say an occasional defeat is good for a team’s +morale.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Good scheme, Clif. Neither do I, I guess. I say, +Wattles, find that cross-word book, will you?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 <cite>Times</cite> last +week.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“For the love of lemons, Wattles, what have you got +there?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Wattles smiled deprecatingly, glanced at Loring and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“Skink? How would you spell skink, for Pete’s +sake? <em>S, k, i, n, k</em>, skink. The <em>T</em> is silent as in +‘Oolong.’”</p> + +<p>“Well, but—”</p> + +<p>“Beg pardon, Mr. Loring,” said Wattles, withdrawing +his head from the closet; “but there appears to have +been a mistake about the score.”</p> + +<p>“Score?” Loring looked up a trifle blankly. “What +score?”</p> + +<p>“The score of the football game, sir. I fancy Mr. +Sanford was in error.”</p> + +<p>“Huh? How come?” Clif swung about eagerly. +“What did you hear, Wattles?”</p> + +<p>“Why, sir, in the village they had it three to two, in +our favor.”</p> + +<p>“Gosh!” Clif looked questioningly at Loring. Loring +shook his head.</p> + +<p>“They’ve probably got it wrong, Clif. Sanford +would know best, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but it wasn’t over when he phoned! Look +here, I’m going to call up and find out!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, what was it? Hang it, Wattles, if you know +anything—”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Final,” they read. “Wyndham 3, Horner 2. Carlson, +Wyndham, kicked placement from forty yards just +before whistle. Congratulations!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX"> + CHAPTER XX + <br> + <small>THE CAMEL EXPLAINS</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“Who was off-side?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>Tom looked blank. “I couldn’t see,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Well, you heard, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span></p> + +<p>“Of course he didn’t mean to do it,” agreed Clif. +“All right. What about Carlson’s kick?”</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“I wish I could have seen it,” murmured Loring.</p> + +<p>“So do I,” sighed Clif.</p> + +<p>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 “<i lang="fr">On ne passe pas!</i>” One heard it less often +during the following fortnight, but when it was heard +it had a deeper significance, a more earnest sound.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe you’re right,” Loring acknowledged. “You +and Clif had better go over to the inn and see him.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Sit tight,” he advised. “‘G. G.’ knows you’re here +and he will let you know when he wants you. Going +to play guard?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know,” answered the big chap. “I +guess so. Ain’t much else I could do, is there?”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>him. Almost straight back and about two-thirds +way up. Sort of up against the pillar. See +him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” replied Clif after a moment’s search. “That’s +he, all right. Guess I’d better tell ‘G. G.’”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but don’t let him see you point him out. He +might get scared and beat it.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Parks, sir?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” said Lemuel John. “I’ll persuade him.”</p> + +<p>The Camel sat next to a post. On the other side was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Hello,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Hello,” muttered the Camel.</p> + +<p>“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose it doesn’t take you long,” said Clif. +“How’s Goddard?”</p> + +<p>“All right.” The Camel moved restively. Then he +broke out, weakly defiant, with: “Say, what’s the idea? +What do you want, anyway?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span></p> + +<p>“No!” The Camel was emphatic. “You talk right +here.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“No one sent me. I just came to—I wanted to see +you fellows play football.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Evidently the Camel thought so, too. He took a +furtive look at the faces still watching over the edge +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, he isn’t,” said Clif. “Your quarter back is +Monroe.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but Goddard’s trying, too. He’s played two or +three games.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, a sub, eh? All right, go ahead.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>The Camel nodded, watching the faces of the others +anxiously. Clif looked at Lemuel John. “What do +you think?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“He’s lying,” said the other calmly. “This Goddard +got him to do it.”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t!” protested the Camel. “I offered to! +Really, I did!”</p> + +<p>“Why?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“Because—” the Camel’s gaze fell.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span></p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I did,” muttered the boy.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>fish. I suppose he thinks Goddard’s pretty fine, eh?”</p> + +<p>“I guess so, the poor chump,” agreed Clif.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“Not yet. Just have a look at him. Does he strike +you as a—as an approachable sort of guy?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“If you don’t mind,” he murmured, “I’ll wait until he +has calmed down a mite.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span></p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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! +<em>Cotter!</em> 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!”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI"> + CHAPTER XXI + <br> + <small>LORING TAKES A WALK</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Would it get broken again?” asked Clif.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>“Why, that’ll be fine,” said Clif. “If there’s any +expense, Dan, you must let me—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>wasn’t over until just before ten, and Clif returned to +Number 40 rather hoarse and limp to find Tom already +in bed.</p> + +<p>“Wind the cat and put the clock out,” murmured +Tom sleepily. “And call me early, mother dear, for +I’m to be—to be—”</p> + +<p>Then came a gentle snore.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Just a minute, fellows!”</p> + +<p>“One moment, please!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What’s going on in here?” demanded Tom suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“Going on?” repeated Loring. “What do you +mean?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>And so, amazingly sudden, the eve of battle arrived.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“One moment, please!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span></p> + +<p>Tom turned to Clif and shook his head. “I smell a +mystery,” he muttered. “If it was Christmas Eve, +now—”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“<em>My sainted Aunt Jerusha!</em>” exclaimed Tom slowly, +awedly, incredulously.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“You do very well indeed, sir,” said Wattles, watching +anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean, Loring,” Clif asked, “that you can +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>use them? That you won’t have to get around in the +chair any more?”</p> + +<p>“So the doctor says. Of course, I’m supposed to +start off pretty slowly, Clif. A few minutes a day at +first.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“All ready for the great exhibition, Wattles?” asked +Loring.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Wattles nervously.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Great!” said Clif.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be dingfoozled!” breathed Tom.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>down flat. At least, that’s what Wattles says. He and +the doctor worked this business up between them.”</p> + +<p>“It was the crutches Wattles brought back that day I +was here,” said Clif. “That long bundle. Loring, it’s +just wonderful!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Spring?” mused Loring. He shook his head. +“Wattles, you’re an optimist!”</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad, Loring,” he declared earnestly, “I can’t +say it. I—I— Come on, Clif!”</p> + +<p>Outside, hurrying toward the staircase, Tom blew his +nose, startlingly loud. Well, for that matter, Clif felt +a trifle sniffly himself.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>before noon and the team and many of its followers +invaded the hostelry for lunch.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“It’s Loring Deane!” some one shouted. “On +crutches!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Good boy, Deane!” “Keep a-coming!” “A-a-a-ay, +Deane!” “Attaboy!” “Deane! Deane! Deane!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sanford Deane nodded. “Sounded that way,” +he answered huskily. Then he, too, blew his nose quite +startlingly.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>defiantly and with the issue no nearer decided than it +had been an hour before.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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—“<em>fight</em>!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span></p> + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII"> + CHAPTER XXII + <br> + <small>“HOLD ’EM, WYNDHAM!”</small> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="cap">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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +“<em>Block that kick!</em>” 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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span></p> + +<p>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 <a href="#i_frontispiece">he ran the +race of his life</a> and at the end of it a clear ten yards +separated him from the nearest adversary.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Goddard,” he said.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>From further down the field came an unceasing wave +of sound. Over and over and over it boomed, deep, +measured, imploring: “<em>Hold ’em, Wyndham! Hold +’em, Wyndham! Hold ’em, Wyndham!</em>”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span></p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“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! <em>Won’t</em> you hold +’em, fellows?”</p> + +<p>And from the stand came the measured slogan again, +“<em>Hold ’em, Wyndham!</em>”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“Try again, young feller,” said Lemuel John.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Bet you couldn’t answer that,” chuckled Tom.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Parks,” said Tom— “No, by heck, I’m going to +call you Lemuel John! Anyway, I was going to say +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Were,” said Loring gravely.</p> + +<p>“Yeah. Well, that’s all there was to that. Guess +folks did get a good laugh, but, shucks, ’twasn’t anything +to do.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, shucks,” muttered Lemuel John.</p> + + +<p class="p2 noic">THE END</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noi author">BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR</p> +</div> + +<hr class="r30"> + +<p class="noic"><i>North Bank Series</i></p> + +<p class="noi adtitle">Three Base Benson</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">Kick Formation</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">Coxswain of the Eight</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>Some Books Not in Series</i></p> + +<p class="noi adtitle">For the Good of the Team</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">The Fighting Scrub</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">Follow the Ball</p> + +<p>Describes a boy’s full year, telling of athletics and +other activities and of the events of the vacation season +as well.</p> + +<p class="noic"><i>Each</i> $1.75</p> + + +<p class="p2 noic"><i>Yardley Hall Series</i></p> + +<p class="noi adtitle">Forward Pass</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">Double Play</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">Winning His “Y”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">For Yardley</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">Change Signals</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi adtitle">Around the End</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="p2 noic">These Are Appleton Books</p> + +<hr class="r30"> + +<p class="noic">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, New York</p> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noic adauthor">STORIES FOR MEN AND BOYS</p> +</div> + +<hr class="r30"> + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">INFIELD RIVALS</span><br> +By RALPH HENRY BARBOUR <span class="flright">$1.75</span></p> + +<p>How Tom Landers made the high school team after +learning pitching and other things from a most unusual +coach.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">FILIBUSTER</span><br> +By GORDON HALL GEROULD <span class="flright">$1.75</span></p> + +<p>A boy’s accidental but thrilling share in the dangers +and daring of Cuba’s rebellion against the Spanish.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">THE BOY SCOUTS’ OWN BOOK</span><br> +Edited by FRANKLIN K. MATHIEWS <span class="flright">$1.75</span></p> + +<p>Stories by famous writers, all dealing with the things +in which Scouts are interested.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">MEDICINE GOLD</span><br> +By WARREN H. MILLER <span class="flright">$1.75</span></p> + +<p>An adventurous hunting trip in Canada, to which an +Indian tradition adds an exciting mystery.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">THE LISTENING MAN</span><br> +By JOHN A. MOROSO <span class="flright">$1.75</span></p> + +<p>Stories about a New York detective, who masks his +keenness under an appearance of disarming simplicity.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">RATS’ CASTLE</span><br> +By ROY BRIDGES <span class="flright">$1.75</span></p> + +<p>Thrilling adventures of two boys, with a mystery and +the atmosphere of old pirate days to sharpen the interest.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">DEEP SEA HUNTERS IN THE SOUTH SEAS</span><br> +By A. HYATT VERRILL <span class="flright">$1.75</span></p> + +<p>Adventure and strange sights in far lands mark this +absorbing story of a voyage through the Panama Canal +and the South Pacific.</p> + +<hr class="r30"> + +<p class="noic">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p> + +<p class="noi">New York <span class="flright">London</span></p> + + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="noic adauthor">ESTABLISHED FAVORITES FOR BOYS</p> +</div> + +<hr class="r30"> + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">THE YOUNG TRAILERS SERIES</span><br> +By <span class="smcap">Joseph A. Altsheler</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">THE HALF BACK</span><br> +By <span class="smcap">Ralph Henry Barbour</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">LITTLE SMOKE</span><br> +By <span class="smcap">W. O. Stoddard</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">HIGH BENTON</span><br> +By <span class="smcap">William Heyliger</span></p> + +<p>“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.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">THE SUBSTITUTE</span><br> +By <span class="smcap">Walter Camp</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="noi"><span class="adtitle">LITTLE JARVIS</span><br> +By <span class="smcap">Molly Elliott Seawell</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="r30"> + +<p class="noic">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p> + +<p class="noi">New York <span class="flright">London</span></p> + + + + +<hr class="chap"> +<div class="tnote"> +<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p> + +<p class="smfont">Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.</p> + +<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p> + +<p class="smfont">Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.</p> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77370 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |