It is a glorious autumn day. The smoky air with just a nip of the
coming frost in it hangs still over the trees, through whose bare tops
and interlacing boughs the genial sunlight falls in a golden glory upon
the grass below. The nip in the air, the golden light, the thrilling
uncertainty of the coming match, the magnitude of the issue at stake,
combine to raise the ardour of football enthusiasts to the highest
pitch.
The record of each team is unique. Each has gone through the
championship series without a single reverse. Perhaps never in their
history have both universities been more worthily represented than by
the teams that are to contest to-day the championship of the Dominion.
The McGill men are the first to appear on the campus, and are welcomed
with loud and generous cheers, which are, however, redoubled upon the
appearance of the 'Varsity champions.
Many eyes are turned upon the Fairbanks carriage. The young ladies are
well known in University circles; but the quaint old lady, looking so
handsome in spite of her plain black bonnet, awakens the curiosity of
the crowd, which only increases when it becomes known that she is
Shock's mother.
"Do you see Hamish, my dear?" inquires the old lady. "They are so much
alike I cannot distinguish him."
"Go and bring him," cries Betty, and Lloyd returns in a moment with
Shock and little Brown.
"Mother! mother! This is awful. You won't like it a bit. You'll think
I'm getting killed many a time."
But the old lady only smiles placidly. "Indeed, and I'm not afraid for
you. Run away, Hamish, and be careful of the laddies."
"Don't tell him that, Mrs. Macgregor," pleads Brown. "He's far too
gentle as it is."
Some few minutes are spent in arranging for the kick-off.
"Oh, I do wish they would start," exclaims Betty, standing up in the
carriage. "If they would only start!" she repeats. "I want to have a
chance to shriek."
"There they go!" exclaims Lloyd.
It is McGill's kick. Huntingdon, the big captain and centre forward,
takes it magnificently, following up hard with his whole team. Pepper,
the 'Varsity full back, however, is at the spot and returns into touch.
In the throw-in McGill secures the ball, and by a swift rush makes
fifteen or twenty feet, when, amid the cheers of the spectators, both
teams settle down into their first scrimmage.
These are the days of close scrimmage play, when nine men on each side
put their heads down with the ball between them, and shove for dear
life. Picking out, heeling out, or kicking out is strictly forbidden
and promptly penalised.
The first scrimmage results in a dead ball. Once more a scrimmage is
formed, but again the result is a dead ball. Over and over again this
play is repeated with very little gain on either side. It gradually
becomes apparent, however, that McGill in a scrimmage is slightly
heavier. Foot by foot they work their way toward the 'Varsity goal.
The cries of "Hold them, 'Varsity! Hold them, 'Varsity!" and, "You've
got 'em, McGill! You've got 'em!" indicate the judgment of the
spectators.
"Ay," says the old lady, "they are a bit heavy for them, I doubt."
"Who!" inquires Betty, much amused.
"The Montreal lads. But we will be waiting a meenute."
It is a very slow game for the crowds that line every side of the
field. Neither team will let the ball out. Again and again the quarters
nip up the ball and pass, but the tackling is so hard and swift that
the halves cannot get away, and by passing ground is almost always lost.
"Keep it in!" is the word. Inch by inch towards the 'Varsity goal the
McGill forwards fight their way.
Suddenly the McGill scrimmage weakens and breaks up. Their quarter
seizes the ball, passes it low and swift to Bunch, who is off like the
wind across the field, dodges through the quarters, knocks off Martin
and Bate, and with The Don coming hard upon his flank, sets off for the
'Varsity line with only Pepper between him and a touch-down.
But Pepper is waiting for him, cool and steady. As Bunch nears him he
crouches like a cat, creeping slowly to meet his coming foe. Ten feet
from the line straight at the full back goes Bunch. At two paces
distance he changes his mind and swerves to the left with the hope of
dodging past.
But he has ventured too far. Pepper takes two short steps, and like a
tiger springs at his foe, winds his arms round his hips and drags him
down, while The Don from the side leaps fiercely on him and holds the
ball safe, five feet from the line.
'Varsity goes wild with relief.
"Pepper! Pepper! Red hot Pepper!" they chant rapturously in
enthusiastic groups here and there, as Pepper's red head emerges from
the crowd piled upon him and the prostrate Bunch. Again and again rises
the chant, as the full back returns at a slow trot to his place behind
the line.
"Indeed, it is Pepper is the grand laddie," says the old lady
approvingly. "Many's the game he has saved, Hamish will be telling me."
"Now, McGill!" calls out a Montreal man, leading his fellows. "Stone
wall! Stone wall! Shove 'em in! Shove 'em in!"
But the 'Varsity captain is alive to his danger, and getting his men
low down he determines to hold the enemy fast till the fury of their
attack be somewhat spent, or till fortune shall bring him aid.
"Get up! Get up there, 'Varsity!" yells the McGill contingent.
"Look at 'em saying their prayers!" shouts a boy.
"They need to," answers another.
"Get up, 'Varsity! Get up! Don't be afraid!" they yell derisively.
"Make 'em stand up, referee," a Montreal man insists.
Again and again the McGill captain appeals to the referee, who
remonstrates, urges, and finally orders the 'Varsity to get up or be
penalised.
Campbell perceives that something must be done. He moves Shock from the
centre to the left wing of the scrimmage and calls in Martin and Bate
from half.
By this time every 'Varsity man is on his feet, for he knows that Shock
is about to lead the "screw" and before the scrimmage is well formed
the McGill stone wall is broken, and Campbell is boring through it with
the bat, gaining a good ten feet and by a quick re-form ten more.
"Man, man, take heed. Yon's a dangerous game, I'm thinking," murmurs
Shock's mother anxiously, to the amazed amusement of Lloyd, who
replies, "Why, Mrs. Macgregor, you seem to know the game as well as the
rest of us."
"Ay, Hamish has often showed me the working of the screw, and it is not
to be depended upon in a place like yon."
The 'Varsity team breathe freely again and go in with new vim, while
McGill settles down on the ball to recover steadiness.
But the 'Varsity captain has seen the screw work and resolves to try it
again. Once more he move Shock to the wing, signals to the quarters,
and again the Montreal stone wall is demoralised. But instead of
Campbell boring over the prostrate form of his big centre with the ball
the McGill captain, securing it, passes to Carroll, his quarter, who
dashing off as a feint to the right, passes far across the field to
Bunch on the left.
Bunch as usual is in his place, catches beautifully and is off down the
field like a whirlwind, dodging one, knocking off another, running
round a third, till between him and the goal line he has only the half
back, Martin, and the full.
The McGill people go wild again. "Bunch! Bunch!" they yell frantically,
crowding down the line after him. "He's in! He's in!"
But not yet. Red Pepper is swiftly bearing down upon him, and as he
comes within reach springs at him. But the wily Bunch has learned to
measure that long reach, and dodging back sharply, he slips round
Pepper and makes for the line ten yards away.
A long groan goes up from the 'Varsity support, while from a hundred
McGill throats rises the cry again--"He's in! He's in! A touch! A
touch!"
But close upon him, and gaining at every foot, is The Don, the fleetest
man in the 'Varsity team. For half a second it looks as if Bunch must
make the line, but within three yards of the goal, and just as he is
about to throw himself toward it, Balfour shoots out his arm, grasps
his enemy by the back of the neck, and turning round, hurls him back
with terrific force to the ground and clambers on top of him. It is a
fierce tackle, giving great satisfaction to all the 'Varsity
supporters, but to none more than to Mrs. Macgregor, who, as she sees
the unfortunate Bunch hurled to earth, exclaims with quiet
satisfaction, "That will be doing for ye, I'm thinking."
"Isn't she a great old warrior?" says Lloyd aside, to the young ladies.
"The Don! The Don!" cry the 'Varsity contingent. "We-like-Don!
We-like-Don!" they chant, surging across the corner of the field in the
wildest enthusiasm.
"Keep back! Keep back! Give him air." The referee, and the captains
with their teams, push the crowd back, for Bunch is lying motionless
upon the ground. "It's simply a case of wind," says little Carroll, the
McGill quarter, lightly.
"The want of it, you mean," says big Mooney, hauling Carroll back by
the neck.
In a few minutes, however, the plucky McGill half back is up again, and
once more the scrimmage is formed.
Gradually it grows more evident that McGill is heavier in the
scrimmage, but this advantage is offset by the remarkable boring
quality of the 'Varsity captain, who, upon the break up of a scrimmage,
generally succeeds in making a few feet, frequently over Shock's huge
body. As for Shock, he apparently enjoys being walked upon by his
captain, and emerges from each successive scrimmage with his yellow
hair fiercely erect, his face covered with blood, and always wreathed
in smiles. No amount of hacking and scragging in a scrimmage can damp
his ardour or ruffle the serenity of his temper.
"Isn't he ghastly?" exclaims Lloyd to the young ladies at his side.
"Perfectly lovely!" cries Betty in return.
"Ah, the old story of the bloodthirsty sex," replies Lloyd. "Hello,
there goes half time," he adds, "and no score yet. This is truly a
great game." Eagerly the men are taken charge of by their respective
attendants, stripped, rubbed, slapped, and sponged.
Up come Shock and Brown. The blood on Shock's face gives him a
terrifying appearance.
"Oh!" cries Helen anxiously, "you are hurt."
"Not a bit," he replies cheerily, glancing in surprise at her.
"How do you like it, Mrs Macgregor?" inquires Brown.
"Man, laddie, they are a grand team, and it will be no easy matter to
wheep them."
"Don't you think now that Shock is a little too gentle with them?" asks
Brown wickedly.
"Well, it will not do to allow them to have their own way altogether,"
she replies cautiously. "But run away, Hamish, and get yourself put
right. There is much before you yet."
"Say, old man," says Brown as they trot off, "it's no credit to you to
be a great centre. You'd disgrace your blood if you were anything else."
Into the 'Varsity dressing room strolls old Black, the greatest captain
of the greatest team 'Varsity has ever seen.
"Well, old chap," he calls out cheerfully to Campbell, "how goes it?"
"All right," says Campbell. "They are a great team, but I think we are
holding them."
"They are the greatest team McGill ever sent here," replies Black.
"Oh, thanks, awfully," says Campbell, "but they are hardly up to the
team of four years ago."
"Quite, I assure you, and you are holding them down."
"Do you think so?" There was no anxiety in the captain's tone, but
there was a serious earnestness that somehow caught the ear of all the
men in the room.
Black noticed it.
"Yes, you are holding them so far, without a doubt. Their weight tells
in the scrimmage, and of course we do not know their back play yet, and
that fellow Bunch Cameron is a wonder."
"That's what!" sings out little Brown. "But what's the matter with The
Don?"