FULL-BACK FOSTER
"That's all, I guess," said Coach Driscoll in conclusion. "The main
thing is to play hard, fellows, and play fast. I don't think we'll have
to change our signals. If Kenwood was on to them she'd have showed it
before this. So tear in now and show what you can really do. No more
sleeping on the job, no more watchful waiting. Here's your line-up.
Stearns, Mellen, Cummins, Cantrell, Dobbins, Keith, Mistley, Cater,
Meldrum, Brown, Foster. On the run now!"
Myron, startled, gazed incredulously at the coach across the room. The
others were heaving toward the doors, and he jumped up and followed,
overtaking the coach in the corridor at the foot of the short stairway.
"I--you said--me, Mr. Driscoll?" stammered Myron.
"Yes," answered the coach calmly. "You're in, Foster."
"Oh!" He darted forward, stopped and sprang back again. "Thank you,
sir," he said gratefully.
"All right, my boy." Mr. Driscoll smiled. "You know what to do!"
Know what to do? Well, he rather thought he did, he told himself as he
trotted across the little space of turf to the rope. His lips were very
tight together and it wasn't until Joe smote him resoundingly between
the shoulders that he knew he had been spoken to.
"Good stuff, kiddo!" Joe was repeating. "Glad you're back. Go to it and
eat 'em up, Brother!"
The cheering was deafening. Across the trampled field the Kenwood
players were already throwing aside their blankets. Near at hand the
Warne Silver Cornet Band was blaring loudly, although all he got of it
was the insistent _thump, thump, thump!_ of the big drum. Then they were
clustered on the side-line for a last earnest word from Jud Mellen and a
minute later, spread over the east end of the gridiron, they awaited the
whistle.
Myron played through the first few minutes in a queer sort of daze. He
got his signals, fell into place and went through the plays, but it was
much as though some one else was doing it and he was only looking on.
What brought him to, in a manner of speaking, was a fine clout on his
head when, Kenwood having taken the ball on downs by a few inches, the
play piled through between Joe and Paul Keith and Myron found himself
a part of the squirming heap two yards behind his line. The blow from
some one's shoe cleared his brain very effectively and the some one who
played and the some one who looked on became instantly merged. Which,
perhaps, was a lucky thing, since a minute later, after Kenwood's
quarter had fumbled and Mistley had squirmed through on top of the ball,
he was called on to punt.
For an instant his nerves jangled badly while he awaited the ball with
outstretched hands, but when he had it between his gripping fingers he
forgot. A quick turn, a step forward, a swing of his long leg and a
fine, full thud of leather against leather! Off sailed the ball, well
over the up-flung hands of the enemy, straight toward the corner of the
field. He side-stepped a charging Kenwood forward, went down under the
kick and found his place again near the Blue's twelve yards. Back up the
gridiron presently, Kenwood kicking on the second down. Then a fake and
a run to the right by Meldrum for a scant yard, a short gain past tackle
on the left by Brown, and finally another punt, not so long this time.
And so it went, neither side gaining her distance, both reverting to
punts in the end.
Time was taken out for Cantrell, again for Katie, again for a Kenwood
end, and the game was slowing up. Two penalties were awarded, and the
opponents shared them. It was near the end of the third quarter now.
Brounker took Meldrum's place and Kenwood changed her left guard. Myron
was dirty and bruised and panting, but so they all were. Chas had a
long cut down one cheek that made him look like a desperado, but he was
grinning broadly every minute. Jud Mellen was everywhere, encouraging,
pleading, scolding, his voice sounding like the rasp of a file.
Brounker got clean away and was forced out at his own forty-six yards
after a twelve-yard gain. The Brown flags waved and a great cheer
crashed across the field. Myron charged straight at the centre, found a
hole awaiting him and sped through, Joe's voice growling above the rasp
of canvas and the laboured breaths of tired lungs. "_Atta boy, kiddo!
Atta boy!_" Back came the ball: Mistley had been off-side. Katie called
Stearns around and slammed the ball at him as he sped past, but Kenwood
had guessed the play and Stearns made less than a yard. Then Myron had
the ball overhead and was watching Stearns running back, far over on the
left. A long heave and a good one, but a Kenwood half spoiled it and
it was fourth down. Myron punted. A whistle blew.
The mouthful of water no more than dampened Myron's dry throat.
"Once I saw a whole pond full of this stuff," panted Chas as he took the
dipper from Myron.
"Shut up!" begged the other. "There ain't no such thing!"
Jud dragged Chas aside and Joe joined Myron as they walked over to where
the umpire awaited them above the ball. "How's it going?" asked Joe.
"Some game, kiddo, believe me!"
"Can't we score, Joe?" asked Myron, scowling.
"Sure we can! We're going to! That centre of their line's just ready to
cave, kiddo. It's all-in from tackle to tackle. The new guy they put in
for Lampley's a cinch. Keep at 'em, Brother! You're going fine!"
And yet the last quarter was many minutes old before Myron found any
indication that Joe's prophecy was to come true. Then, very suddenly,
Brown romped through the Blue's centre and fought for eleven yards
before he was brought down. That was the first decisive gain through
the Kenwood line, and the Parkinson adherents shouted frantically. But
another attack at the same place was stopped for less than two yards,
and a third netted nothing. A skin-tackle play, Brounker carrying, gave
the Brown five yards more. Faking a punt, Myron sped to the left, cut in
and got the distance. Again came the Parkinson cheers.
"We've got them going, Parkinson!" cried Katie. "They can't stop us now!
Make this good, fellows! Play hard!"
"Hard! Hard!" croaked Jud, smiting the crouching men. "Into it! Get into
it, Parkinson!"
But there was a long road to travel and time was speeding, and although
three times the Brown made her distance by narrow margins, on the
twenty-three yards, with the Blue's goal beckoning, Kenwood rallied and
held through three downs. Then, while the shouting stands became silent,
Paul Keith fell back and judged the distance to the cross-bar. Kenwood
swayed and gasped, her quarter shrilly calling on his men to "_Block
this kick! Block it! Block it!_" Back sped the ball, was dropped--
A groan arose from the Brown stand. Far to the right of the goal
travelled the ball. The blue-stockinged warriors danced and shouted
in glee. Keith's head dropped despondently as he turned back up the
field. "Seven minutes to play," called the field judge. Then they were
battling again.
Perhaps that lost score had its effect, for Kenwood was soon in
Parkinson territory. As far as the thirty yards she went before she
was stopped. Her punt went over the line and the ball came out to the
twenty-five. Two attacks at the Kenwood centre brought the distance.
Kenwood had new material in her line now. Brown tried an end and got
three. But he was hurt and Vance took his place. Vance was stopped for
a slight loss when he tried left tackle. Myron gained four through left
guard and Brounker followed with three more. The tape left the ball in
Parkinson's possession. Another forward, Myron to Stearns, failed. The
ball was in mid-field now and there were but three minutes left. The
stands were already emptying slowly. Coach Driscoll began sending in
substitutes, fellows who had worked hard and deserved their letters. Joe
was gone, Cummins, Cater, even Keith, who alone might score a field-goal
should Fortune give the opportunity. Warren had taken Cater's place.
Warren was fresh and eager and undismayed. His signals came snappily,
and he pushed the wearied veterans hard.
"Make it go!" he chanted. "Make it go! Don't give up the ball! There's
time enough left to score. Here's where we get away from them. Come on,
Parkinson! Show your grit!"
Brounker and Vance gained. The Kenwood line was weakening fast now,
but Myron feared that it was too late. Vance again, past left tackle
on a criss-cross. Then Myron, sliding off left guard for the needed
distance. Well past the fifty-yard line now, and still going, but with
seconds remaining instead of minutes and the time-keeper's eyes glued
to the dial of his watch. If only they could get past those Kenwood
backs, thought Myron! The Blue line was pasteboard now, but the backs
still fought hard and held firm. Somewhere near the enemy's thirty
yards Warren called a sequence and Myron's heart leaped. If they played
quickly, smoothly, they _must_ get through! Brounker tried left of
centre and piled through, but was nailed by Kenwood's backs. Four yards!
Then, without signals, the team snapped into the next play. A quick
shift to the right, Brounker sprang away to the left, the ball sped back
straight from centre and Myron caught it. Kenwood sensed danger now and
shifted back to meet it, but Myron was already charging past the left of
the line, the interference working like a charm. He was through before
he realised it and only a surprised quarter-back stood between him and
the goal!
Ahead and at his right sped Vance, tuckered but still game. Behind him
weary feet pounded. In his ears was a mighty noise that he knew for
the wild, imploring shrieks of friend and foe. Through it came the
dull _thump, thump!_ of the bass drum. Twenty yards more now, and the
quarter, white-faced and desperate, running toward him with clutching
fingers. Then Vance was down, run out, and Myron was alone. Fifteen
yards and the Kenwood quarter-back poising for his tackle! Myron gave a
little toward the side-line, slackened his pace and then, with a final
demand on his strength, sprang forward again at renewed speed. The
quarter-back leaped. Myron felt his arms at his hips as he spun on his
heel. One arm fell away, but a hand closed inside his leg above the knee
and a great weight pulled at him. One plunge, a second, and the last
line was swimming in his sight. Then, as if by a miracle, the clutching
hand was gone, and, freed of the dragging burden, Myron stumbled, fell
to his knees, recovered and went on, straight across the last white line
to victory!
[Illustration: _Straight across the last white line to victory_]
* * * * *
Parkinson did not add a goal to her touchdown. She did not even try,
for the crowd that overspread the field refused to be dispersed, and,
since the last second of play had ticked itself off just before Myron
had reached the line, no one insisted very hard. Parkinson was satisfied
with that lone 6; and if Kenwood was not, why, that was of small moment!
Blue banners waved, the band led, the victors followed, caps floated
across the goal bars, the big drum said _Thump! Thump! Thump!_ and
pandemonium reigned supreme over Parkinson Field.
* * * * *
Some four hours later, Andrew Merriman, crossing the campus on his way
to Sohmer, almost collided with a small and visibly excited youth who,
panting an apology, added: "They've elected the new captain! I got it
from a waiter!"
"Have they, son? Well, who is he?"
"Bet you couldn't guess! I've told three fellows already and not one of
them guessed right!"
"Then there's no use in my trying," replied Andrew amiably. "Suppose you
tell me."
"It's--_Cummins_!"
"_No!_"
"Yes, it is! What do you think of that? Why, no one expected _he'd_ get
it!"
"No one," chuckled Andrew as the youngster disappeared into the gloom.
"Anyway, no one but Cummins!"
THE BUNNY BROWN SERIES
By LAURA LEE HOPE
Author of the Popular "Bobbsey Twins" Books
Wrapper and text illustrations drawn by FLORENCE ENGLAND NOSWORTHY
=12mo. BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING.=
This new series by the author of the "Bobbsey Twins" Books will be
eagerly welcomed by the little folks from about five to ten years of
age. Their eyes will fairly dance with delight at the lively doings of
inquisitive little Bunny Brown and his cunning, trustful sister Sue.
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE
Bunny was a lively little boy, very inquisitive. When he did anything,
Sue followed his leadership. They had many adventures, some comical in
the extreme.
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON GRANDPA'S FARM
How the youngsters journeyed to the farm in an auto, and what good times
followed, is realistically told.
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE PLAYING CIRCUS
First the children gave a little affair, but when they obtained an old
army tent the show was truly grand.
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT CAMP REST-A-WHILE
The family go into camp on the edge of a beautiful lake, and Bunny and
his sister have more good times and some adventures.
BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT AUNT LU'S CITY HOME
The city proved a wonderful place to the little folks. They took in all
the sights and helped a colored girl who had run away from home.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
THE BOBBSEY TWINS BOOKS
For Little Men and Women
By LAURA LEE HOPE
Author of "The Bunny Brown" Series, Etc.
=12mo. BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING.=
Copyright publications which cannot be obtained elsewhere. Books that
charm the hearts of the little ones, and of which they never tire. Many
of the adventures are comical in the extreme, and all the accidents that
ordinarily happen to youthful personages happened to these many-sided
little mortals. Their haps and mishaps make decidedly entertaining
reading.
THE BOBBSEY TWINS
THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN THE COUNTRY
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT THE SEASHORE
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SCHOOL
Telling how they go home from the seashore; went to school and were
promoted, and of their many trials and tribulations.
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SNOW LODGE
Telling of the winter holidays, and of the many fine times and
adventures the twins had at a winter lodge in the big woods.
THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON A HOUSEBOAT
Mr. Bobbsey obtains a houseboat, and the whole family go off on a tour.
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT MEADOW BROOK
The young folks visit the farm again and have plenty of good times and
several adventures.
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT HOME
The twins get into all sorts of trouble--and out again--also bring aid
to a poor family.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
--Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were corrected without comment.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.