REAL FRIENDS.
“Here, here, what in blazes do you think you are doing――catching
balloons? Use your hands, you chump! What are your hands made for,
anyway?”
“You fall on the ball like a lobster! Don’t sprawl all over yourself!
Drop flat and quick! You won’t break!”
“Well, do you call that a drop-kick? Where did you ever get the idea
that you could kick?”
“Oh, wake up! You’re sleeping! You are the deadest man I ever saw
breathing! Come to life!”
“You won’t do at all! It’s wasting time to fool with you!”
A dozen different coachers were at work on the Yale football eleven
and the substitutes, and they were working the men like slaves. Each
coacher seemed to have a particular man to whom he was giving his
attention, and he was expressing himself in vigorous language. It was
an absolute relief to hear a word of praise now and then.
“That’s better, Ridley; you’re coming.”
“Well done, Hodge! You’ve got the idea now.”
“That’s first-rate, Ibbson.”
“Do it like that――do it like that, Spofford!”
It was a scene of the greatest activity. All over the field men were
punting, running, dropping on the ball, tacking, and doing other
things required of football-players in practise. They seemed possessed
by a frenzied determination, and it mattered not how severely they
were criticized, they kept at it till told to stop. No man seemed to
get discouraged.
Yale was working into shape for the great game with Harvard.
Thanksgiving day was at hand, and sportlovers of the country were
waiting for the great contest that was to take place on Soldiers’
Field. In a few days the eyes of the whole nation, figuratively
speaking, would be turned on the chief gladiators of these two
representative colleges of the country. It almost seemed that already
the public at large was waiting breathlessly for the hour of battle to
arrive.
Harvard was confident, being flushed with repeated victories, and
remembering the glorious manner in which she had trounced Yale a year
before. It was said that never had a better team represented the
Cambridge college. Already betting had begun, and Harvard was the
favorite by long odds. Old sports predicted that Harvard would win.
They demonstrated that Harvard was at least a third stronger than
Yale. Then men on the two elevens were compared man for man, and the
comparison seemed to indicate that Harvard could not lose.
The newspapers said that Yale had one great player, and that one was
Frank Merriwell. That is, some of the papers said so; but there were
papers that persisted in declaring that Merriwell had deteriorated in
a frightful manner since his former days on the gridiron. They
declared that the year he had lost had been his ruin, as he had not
been able to get himself back to his old-time form.
There were plenty of men at Yale who believed these papers were
right――or pretended to believe it. There were a few men at Yale who
found a way to send out reports that Merriwell was entirely out of
condition, and that he had never fully recovered from injuries
received in other games. These men took care that the reports reached
the ears of newspaper men, and they rejoiced when they saw them
published broadcast by the papers. Merriwell saw these reports and
kept still. He smiled grimly to himself, and did not take pains to
deny anything. Even his most intimate friends found it difficult to
induce him to say anything about himself.
Frank was on the field this day, and he had been working hard with the
others. Now he was standing with some friends, enfolded in a sweater
and blanket, talking.
“What’s your opinion of our chances with Harvard?” asked Stubbs. “I
have confidence in you. If you say we’ll win――――”
“We’ll win――――” began Frank.
“Hooray!” cried Bink.
“――――if――――”
“Oh, there’s an if!” gasped Bink.
“――――we are not worked out of condition,” finished Frank.
“What do you mean?” asked another man. “Do you think the fellows are
being overworked?”
“They are being driven hard at a time when they should be handled with
the utmost care,” declared Merry. “It will make men slow to overwork
them, just as it will make spirited horses slow.”
“But undertraining is worse.”
“That’s all right, and it’s true enough. Still, if we are going into
the fight in the best shape, we should be handled with the utmost care
just now. I believe I have been doing too much lately, and I do not
feel at my very best.”
That was enough to cause one member of the group to prick up his ears.
Frank had not thought he had an enemy in the bunch around him, but
there was one present who quickly found an opportunity to slip away,
his heart filled with satisfaction. It is astonishing how soon the
report spread over the field that Merriwell had said the men were
being overworked. His actual words were twisted and distorted, and
they were made to seem even more than they actually did. The word was
being passed around in a very short time that he had criticized the
management of the eleven in the plainest language.
All unconscious of this, Frank continued to talk with his friends. He
pointed out Harvard’s weak points, and told how he believed the
crimson might be defeated. He also spoke of Yale’s strength in certain
lines, but, outside of his remark about overtraining, he did not
mention any special weakness. Observing this, one of the party made
bold to ask him pointblank where the blue was weak.
Frank smiled, as he slowly replied:
“If we have a weakness in our play, and I don’t say that we have, the
man who talks about it is a chump. In the past, we’ve managed to get
the report abroad that we were weak just where we were strongest. This
year such a piece of strategy has been neglected till it is too late
for such a misleading yarn to do us much good.”
“Would you dare bet even money that Yale wins?” was fired at him.
“I am not a betting man,” he answered. “I never bet from choice,
although I don’t like to have a fellow flourish a roll under my nose
and tell me I haven’t sand enough to cover it. However, if I bet, I
shall back Yale, not from principle or sentiment, but because I
believe she will win.”
“Harvard says we haven’t a chance. You know there are Harvard men who
are saying Yale has seen her day.”
“There have always been Harvard men who made such talk.”
“That’s all right, but you must remember that she defeated us in all
lines last year.”
“Except debating,” spoke up another.
“Debating is outside athletics.”
“But not outside gymnastics,” laughed Stubbs.
“I am glad,” said an enthusiast, “that we have Merriwell back at his
old position as full-back.”
“That’s where he belongs!” cried several. “He’s a better punter than
Birch, and he can run faster.”
“But Birch is jealous.”
“Stop that!” exclaimed Frank sharply. “Fred Birch is not that kind of
a man. He is a corking player, and he’d get off the team if he thought
it could be strengthened by a better man. It’s not at all certain that
I shall be played at full-back, although I have been tried there.”
“Well, what do you think of this shifting around of the men?”
“There has been very little shifting of late. The team is pretty well
settled down. Of course there must be shifts when men are hurt, but I
think we have some substitutes who are fully as strong as the
regulars.”
At this moment two persons approached the group. They were Captain
Birch and Steve Lorrimer, the manager. There was a serious look on
their faces. In fact, Lorrimer seemed decidedly angry. The group
parted for him, and he stopped before Frank, with Birch slightly in
the background.
“Look here, Merriwell,” said the manager sharply, “what is this I’ve
heard that you are saying?”
“I don’t know, sir,” said Frank quietly. “What have you heard?”
“Have you been saying that you thought the team was overworked so that
it was not in condition?”
Frank’s lips came together for a moment. He saw there was a storm
rising.
“I believe I did make some such remark,” he answered.
“Well, you are making altogether too much talk! Why the devil did you
say it?”
“Because it is true?”
Lorrimer turned pale.
“Which means that I am an ass!” he retorted. “Are you overtrained,
Merriwell?”
“Well, I think I’ve been pushed over the mark a trifle.”
“Very well, sir; I’ll give you a chance to recuperate. There are
plenty of good men who are not overtrained, and we shall not need you
any more this season! You are retired from the team!”
This came like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Frank Merriwell dropped
from the eleven! Those present, with the exception of Frank himself,
seemed turned to stone by the astonishing words. Frank lifted his
eyebrows a bit, as if somewhat surprised, and then he said:
“Very well, sir. You are the manager of the team.”
“Perhaps,” said Lorrimer, “this will teach you not to talk so much!”
Birch did not say a word, but turned and walked away with the manager.
Bink Stubbs dropped limply into the arms of the fellow nearest him.
“My heart!” he gasped. “I don’t think it will stand the strain!
Merriwell dropped from the eleven! Wow!”
Then there was excitement. They crowded about Frank, expressing
themselves freely.
“It’s a shame!”
“An outrage!”
“It’s dirt!”
“I believe it’s a put-up job!”
“Why, Merriwell is the hope of the eleven!”
“We can’t win without him!”
Frank was the least ruffled among them.
“Don’t talk foolishly, fellows,” he said. “Of course, Yale can win
without me. I’m not the whole team.”
“Well, you are a big part of it,” asserted Stubbs.
“I told you Birch was jealous!” cried the fellow who had made the
assertion. “He’s had Merriwell kicked off.”
“I can’t think that,” said Frank, shaking his head. “Fred Birch would
not do it.”
“Somebody did it.”
“Somebody has carried the report that I said the men are being
overtrained. All right. It will not do any harm. Somebody had to say
so, for it is true. It may serve to open Lorrimer’s eyes, so he’ll not
push the fellows so hard. If it does that, I’ll have performed the
greatest possible service for the eleven, even though I am dropped.”
“It can’t stand!”
“Lorrimer can’t drop you that way!”
“Why don’t you appeal?”
“His word’s not law!”
“Yes, you can appeal,” said Stubbs eagerly. “You must do that,
Merriwell. Lorrimer has done this thing without authority. He’ll get
called down for it if you make a fuss.”
“I shall not make a fuss,” said Frank. “I’m not going to raise a row
just now. It might be the ruin of the eleven. It is a bad time to have
anything of the kind occur.”
“But it’s better to raise a row than to be unjustly kicked out.”
“Not better for Yale.”
“Well, there will be row enough,” declared one fellow. “Wait till this
news spreads. Why, you’ll hear the worst howl ever raised.”
“My friends will not raise any trouble,” said Frank.
“They will, just as hard.”
“But I object to it.”
“That won’t make any difference.”
Frank turned and left the field. He saw some men getting onto a car as
he came out, and he recognized two or three of them. He did not catch
that car, but he took the next one. Stubbs accompanied Merriwell. The
little fellow was exasperated, and the more he thought about it the
angrier he became. He actually swore.
“It will all come out in the wash,” laughed Merry.
“It’s a dirty trick!” snapped Bink. “You must know that your enemies
have been working to hurt you.”
“Well, I have seen something of it.”
“Sure thing. Take the newspaper stories. They’ve been saying you had a
bad knee, a lame shoulder, and all that sort of guff. Those yarns have
come from Buck Badger and Chickering’s set.”
“How do you know they came from Badger?”
“Badger is your enemy.”
“But he has been keeping pretty quiet of late.”
“He’s been waiting. How he’ll rejoice now when he knows you have been
thrown over! Oh, say, it makes me so thundering mad that I can’t keep
still!”
Bink was rather comical in his rage. It seemed that he must be
ludicrous, no matter what he did.
“I feel just like thrashing the ground with Buck Badger!” he declared.
The idea of little Stubbs “thrashing the ground” with the burly
Westerner made Frank laugh outright.
“Oh, laugh!” shouted Bink, drawing the attention of the passengers on
the car. “I don’t know what you are made of if you will laugh now!”
“Well, I’m not going to cry. I have done my duty for Old Eli, and my
conscience is clear.”
They left the car on arriving at the college. A group of students
hailed Frank as he appeared on the campus. It was cold weather, and
the college men were warmly dressed, so they did not mind gathering in
the open air to “talk it over.” In the group Frank saw the same men
who had boarded the car ahead of him.
“Come here, Merriwell!” cried Puss Parker. “Is it true?”
“Yes, it is true,” chorused the others.
“Is what true?” asked Frank.
“That Lorrimer has dropped you from the eleven.”
“I think it’s true.”
There was a shout of rage.
“The man is a lunatic!” snarled Parker.
“He ought to be shot!” roared Roger Stone.
“If Harvard beats us without Merriwell being given a chance on the
team, Lorrimer ought to have a coat of tar and feathers!” declared
Phil Porter.
“Merriwell will be on the team!”
“Of course he will!”
“They’ll have to take him back!”
“Look here, old man,” said Parker to Frank, “we stick by you, and
we’ve got to do what we can to see you back onto the team. Here is my
hand.”
He grasped Frank’s hand and shook it. The others crowded about and
shook hands with Merry, also. Every man of them expressed his
confidence in Frank and admiration for him. It stirred Merriwell and
touched his heart.
“Boys,” he said, with genuine feeling, “it’s worth being kicked off
the eleven just to find out how stanch my real friends are!”