CONSPIRACY
"Full-back!" exclaimed Myron. "Why, I never played it! I don't know it!
I----"
"Piffle! What's the difference? Any chap who can play half well can play
full-back decently. Besides, I've got a strong hunch that you'd make a
good one, Foster. You aren't as heavy as I'd like you, but you're fast
and you start quick and you hit 'em hard. When it comes right down to
it, I'm not sure I wouldn't as soon have a lighter man who can jump
off quick as a heavier one who gets going slow. But the big idea about
turning you into a full-back is that you'll have a fair show for that
position. I like Steve Kearns, but he ought never to have been taken
back from the line. He was a mighty promising tackle last year until
Desmond got damaged and we had to have a full-back in a hurry. As for
Williams and Bob Houghton, they aren't more than fair. There's a nice
job waiting for a smart, steady full-back who'll live on the premises
and be kind to the dogs, Foster. And I nominate you."
Myron made no answer for a moment. This thing of having some one else
arrange his affairs was a bit startling. Finally he said, doubtfully:
"Aren't we forgetting that Driscoll and Mellen have something to say,
Cummins?"
"Not a bit of it. What we've got to do is show them that you are the
fellow they want there. Then they'll simply have to have you."
"It would be learning a new game, though."
"Rot! The positions aren't very different. Just think a minute." Myron
thought. Then:
"How about punting?" he asked dubiously.
"I've seen you do thirty," answered Chas.
"You seem to have made a life study of me," laughed Myron. "Yes, I can
do thirty, and better, too, I guess, but I've never had much of it to
do and I don't believe that I can place my kicks, and I don't know how
I'd get along if a bunch of wild Indians was tearing down on me. I'd
probably get frightfully rattled and try to put the ball down my neck,
or something."
"You'd need practice, of course," Chas granted. "I could show you a few
things myself, and if you went after the position Driscoll would see
that you got plenty of punting work. Don't let that worry you. The thing
to do, and it may not be so easy, is to persuade Driscoll that you have
the making of a good full-back."
"Ye-es." Myron was silent a minute. "I'd like to ask you something,
Cummins," he said at last.
"Shoot!"
"What other changes are you considering on the team?"
Chas chuckled. "None, just now. I had thought--but never mind that.
You see, what I want to do, Foster, is to fix things so that when next
September rolls around I'll have the making of a good team. A lot of
this year's bunch will graduate, you know. I've got to make sure that
there'll be other chaps to take their places. For instance, Steve
Kearns, even if he was a corking good full-back, wouldn't do me any good
next fall because he won't be here. Don't get it into your bean that I'm
queering this year's team for the sake of next year's, though, because
that's not the idea. I wouldn't do that if I could."
"I begin to believe you could, all right," said Myron. "I have a notion
that if you thought it would be better to have some one else captain
you'd talk Mellen into resigning!"
"Well, I dare say I'd try it," laughed Chas. "Now what do you say?"
"About this full-back business? Why, I'm willing, Cummins. I'm not
getting anywhere as a half-back, and I guess I wouldn't do much worse at
the other stunt. But what I don't see is how I'm to persuade the coach
to let me change."
"I know. I haven't got that quite doped out yet. I don't believe just
asking for a chance to play full-back would do. He might fall for it,
and he might not. You let me mull that over until tomorrow and I'll see
if I can't hit on some scheme. Meanwhile, if I were you I'd sort of
put myself through an exam and see how much I knew about playing full.
You might take a book that I have along with you and read what it says
about it. It's not a very new book, but it's the best that's ever been
written, and there isn't much difference in a full-back's job then and
now. I'll see you at the field tomorrow. By the way, are you going with
the team Saturday?"
"To North Lebron? I don't know. I don't suppose Driscoll will take me
with the squad, but I might go along and see the game."
"You'd better. It doesn't hurt a fellow to see all the football he can,
even if he sees it from the stand. Got to beat it? Well, here's the
book, old chap. And mind, not a word to any one about this business.
It's between you and me, Foster."
Myron found Joe and Andrew Merriman in the room when he got back, and
he took his part in the talk for a half-hour or so. When Andrew went he
pushed his school books aside and opened the little blue-bound volume
that Cummins had loaned him. Joe, across the table, half-hidden by the
drop-light, knotted his fingers in his hair and groaned at intervals. At
ten both boys yawned and went to bed. Myron was not a sparkling success
in Latin class the next forenoon.
A three o'clock recitation made him somewhat late for practice and
Cummins was trotting about the gridiron in signal work when he arrived
at the field. Mr. Driscoll sent him over to the second team gridiron to
join the third squad and so, after all, he didn't learn from Cummins
whether the latter had found a solution to their problem. Nor did he run
across Cummins again that day. The first team was let off early, all
save the punters and goal-kickers, and Cummins had left the gymnasium
when Myron got there at half-past five. He considered looking him up at
his room after supper, but he had rather more than half promised Joe to
go over to Merriman's and so decided not to.
There was no practice for the first the next afternoon, but the other
squads were put through a full day's work. To Myron's surprise, Cummins
took command when scrimmage time came, Coach Driscoll disappearing from
the field. Myron found himself at left half on the second squad, with
Houghton at full-back. In that position he played for five minutes. Then
Cummins, who was evidently very hard to please today, called a halt.
"That'll do, Bob," he told Houghton. "O Billy! Got a full-back there?"
"I have not," answered the trainer. "I've got a half here. Want him?"
"Wait a minute." Cummins ran his eye over the second squad backs.
"Foster, have you ever played full?" he growled.
"No," answered Myron.
"Want to try it? All right, fall back here. Send your half in, Billy."
Myron heartily wished that Cummins hadn't shifted him, for while he had
a very fair notion of a full-back's duties, he wasn't at all keen about
displaying his knowledge under those circumstances. He was, he felt,
bound to make a hash of the job, and there were several fellows within a
few yards who would be tickled to death to have him do so. He was glad
he had discounted his failure by acknowledging his inexperience. When
Cummins had asked him, he hadn't known whether the temporary coach had
expected him to say yes or no. He didn't know yet, but he felt that his
reply had certainly been the better one.
Cummins wasn't gentle with him. Every mistake he made, and he made many,
was pointed out to him in emphatic language. Myron wanted to pinch
himself to make certain that he wasn't dreaming. Cummins had conspired
with him to get him into the position of full-back and now he was
snarling and growling at him quite as though Myron had forced himself
into the place on false pretences. Myron thought that in consideration
of the circumstances Cummins might have dealt a little less harshly
with his shortcomings. But, on the whole, Myron didn't do so badly.
He honestly believed that he was playing as well as the deposed
Houghton. Cummins didn't let him punt, for which he was grateful, and he
encouraged Warren, who was playing at quarter, to use many end plays.
Outside of tackle, Myron was usually successful whenever he received
the pigskin, and he once or twice made good on plunges at the centre
of the line. There, however, his lack of weight told somewhat. In the
first twelve-minute period the second squad got one touchdown and goal
and might have had a second score if Cummins had not put them back from
the eight yards to the eighteen on some whim of his own. Third got the
ball on downs six inches from the last white streak and punted out of
danger, and the second was mad enough to rend Cummins limb from limb!
When a five-minute rest came Cummins called Myron from the bench and led
him into the field. To those watching it was perfectly evident that Chas
was telling the green full-back how absolutely rotten he was. They would
have been surprised had they heard the conversation out there.
"You weren't half bad, old chap," said Chas eagerly, yet scowling
ferociously still. "You slowed up once or twice when you hit the line,
though. Try to keep going hard. A good way to do is to think of the
other fellow's goal line instead of his players. Sort of make yourself
think that's where you're going. You'll get farther before you're
stopped, if you are stopped. How do you like it?"
"All right," answered Myron, a bit grumpily. "But considering that I've
never played it before it seems to me you might let up on me a bit. You
go on as if I'd murdered my grandmother!"
"Why, sure," chuckled Chas. "You don't want those fellows to think I'm
pulling for you, do you? It's got to look like an accident, don't you
see? I want to be able to tell Driscoll tonight that you went in at
full in an emergency and played a corking good game. Then, if he has
half the sense I think he has, he will put you in there himself the
first of the week and look you over. By the way, want to try a little
punting in the next period?"
"I don't believe I'd better," answer Myron. "I guess I'd rather not."
"Maybe you're right. If you made a mess of a punt it would sort of take
off a few good marks. All right. Now see if you can do a little better
still this half. And don't mind my growls, old chap. You're getting no
worse than any other fellow would get."
Twelve more minutes of hard playing followed in which the third turned
the tables with a long run that netted a touchdown. But the try-at-goal
failed and, after the second had battered its way to the enemy's twelve
yards, Warren's attempt at a drop-kick went wide and the referee, the
assistant manager, blew his whistle. In that second period Myron did a
little better because he was learning his duties, but it would be an
exaggeration to say that he showed phenomenal ability as a full-back.
He made several good games, gains, was strong in defensive play and got
off one very pretty forward pass to Mistley that netted twenty yards.
In short, Chas had to show a little more enthusiasm than he actually
felt when he spoke to Coach Driscoll that evening. There had been a
final conference in the coach's room at half-past seven attended by the
trainer, the managers and seven of the players, and the last problem
of the morrow's game had been solved more or less satisfactorily.
Afterwards, Chas remained behind with Jud Mellen and Farnsworth and
Harry Cater for a sociable chat. None of them meant to talk football,
and none of them did for a full quarter of an hour, but it is difficult
to keep the subject uppermost in the mind out of the conversation, and
presently Jud said thoughtfully:
"I wish we had about three more good plays, Coach."
"We've got enough, Cap," was the confident reply. "No use trying to
remember too many at this time of the season. Better know ten or twelve
well than half know twenty. It isn't lack of plays that will beat us
tomorrow, if we _are_ beaten----"
"Sure to be," interpolated Katie cheerfully.
"Well, it'll be because we haven't got our attack working, then. Musket
Hill is well ahead of us in development, and that's going to count,
fellows. However, we may show them something, at that."
"By the way, Coach," said Chas, "I ran out of full-backs this afternoon
and used that fellow Foster through most of two periods. He wasn't half
rotten, if you ask me. He'd never played it in his life, either."
"Foster? What happened to Houghton?"
"It wasn't his day," said Chas. "So I had to find some one else for the
second squad."
"Houghton hasn't had a day for a good while," murmured Farnsworth drily.
"For the love of Mike," exclaimed Jud Mellen, "if we can make a
full-back of Foster, let's do it, Coach! It's the weakest position on
the team right now."
"I've been thinking that Kearns would come on," said Mr. Driscoll, "but
he doesn't seem to get the hang of it."
"He works hard enough," said Katie.
"How did you happen to choose Foster?" asked the Coach of Chas. "You had
Wiborg. He's played full."
"Don't think he was there. I asked Billy and Billy only offered me a
half."
"Wiborg wasn't out today," explained the manager. "He's been having some
trouble with the Office. Nothing serious, I believe, but he asked for a
cut."
"You say Foster showed up pretty well, Cummins?"
"He really did, Coach. Of course, I don't know how he'd be at punting,
but he made some mighty good gains from kicking formation and went into
the third pretty hard from close in."
"He could be taught enough punting to get by with," suggested Captain
Mellen. "Maybe he'll be a find, Coach. I've said right along that he
looked good."
"No harm in trying him," mused Mr. Driscoll. "If Kearns doesn't show
something tomorrow we'll need a good full-back. Much obliged for the
tip, Cummins. Well, good night, fellows. Get a good sleep and be ready
with the punch tomorrow. We want that game if we can get it!"