THE FIRST LINE-UP
Evidently Dr. Churchill surmised that something unusual had occurred,
for he changed his slow pace to a faster gait as he approached the
football squad, in front of which stood Professor Tines, traces of anger
still on his unpleasant face.
"Ah, young gentlemen, at football practice, I see," remarked the doctor,
smiling. "I trust there is the prospect of a good team, Mr. Lighton. I
was very well pleased with the manner in which the baseball nine
acquitted itself, and I trust that at the more strenuous sport the
colors of Randall will not be trailed in the dust."
"Not if I can help it, sir; nor the boys, either," replied the coach.
"That's right," added Captain Holly Cross.
"I see you also take an interest in the sport," went on Dr. Churchill
to Professor Tines. "I am glad the members of the faculty lend their
presence to sports. Nothing is so ennobling----"
"Sir," cried Professor Tines, unable to contain himself any longer, "I
have been grossly insulted to-day. I wish to enter a most emphatic
protest against the continuance of football at this college. But a
moment ago, as I was crossing the field, reading this Greek volume, I
was knocked over by the ball. I now formally demand that football be
abolished."
Dr. Churchill looked surprised.
"I want the guilty one punished," went on Professor Tines. "Who kicked
that ball at me?"
"Yes, young gentlemen, who did it?" repeated the proctor, for he thought
it was time for him to take a hand. "I demand to know!"
"It wasn't any one in particular, sir," answered Coach Lighton,
determined to defend his lads. "It was done on a new play we were
trying, and it would be hard to say----"
"I think perhaps I had better investigate," said Dr. Churchill. "Young
gentlemen, kindly report at my study in half an hour."
"If you please, sir," spoke Phil Clinton, "Professor Tines asked us to
call and see him."
"Ah, I did not know that. Then I waive my right----"
"No, I waive mine," interrupted the Latin teacher, and he smoothed out
some of the pages in the Greek book.
"Perhaps we had better have them all up to my office," proposed the
proctor. "It is larger."
"A good idea," said the president of Randall. "Gentlemen, you may
report to the proctor in half an hour. I like to see the students
indulge in sports, but when it comes to such rough play that the life of
one of my teachers is endangered, it is time to call a halt."
"His life wasn't in any danger," murmured Tom.
"Hush!" whispered the coach. "Leave it to me, and it will come out all
right."
"But if they abolish football!" exclaimed Phil. "That will be too much!
We'll revolt!"
"They'll not abolish it. I'll make some explanation."
Dr. Churchill, Professor Tines, and the proctor moved away, leaving a
very disconsolate group of football candidates on the gridiron.
"Do you suppose Pitchfork will prevail upon Moses to make us stop the
game?" asked Jerry Jackson. "Moses," as has been explained, being the
students' designation of Dr. Churchill.
"We'll get up a counter protest to Pitchfork's if they do," added his
brother, Joe Jackson.
"Hurrah for the Jersey twins!" exclaimed Tom. The two brothers, who
looked so much alike that it was difficult to distinguish them, were
from the "Garden State," and thus had gained their nickname.
"Well, that sure was an unlucky kick of mine," came from Holly Cross
sorrowfully.
"Nonsense! You're not to blame," said Kindlings Woodhouse. "It might
have happened to any of us. We'll all hang together."
"Or else we'll hang separately, as one of the gifted signers of the
Fourth of July proclamation put it," added Ed Kerr. "Well, let's go take
our medicine like little soldiers."
In somewhat dubious silence they filed up to the proctor's office. It
was an unusual sight to see the entire football squad thus in parade,
and scores of students came from their rooms to look on.
Dr. Churchill and Professor Tines were on hand to conduct the
investigation. The latter stated his case at some length, and reiterated
his demand that football be abolished. In support of his contention he
quoted statistics to show how dangerous the game was, how many had been
killed at it, and how often innocent spectators, like himself, were
sometimes hurt, though, he added, he would never willingly be a witness
of such a brutal sport.
"Well, young gentlemen, what have you to say for yourselves?" asked Dr.
Churchill, and Tom thought he could detect a twinkle in the president's
eye.
Then Coach Lighton, who was a wise young man, began a defense. He told
what a fine game football was, how it brought out all that was best in a
lad, and how sorry the entire squad was that any indignity had been put
upon Professor Tines. He was held in high esteem by all the students,
Mr. Lighton said, which was true enough, though esteem and regard are
very different.
Finally the coach, without having hinted in the least who had kicked the
ball that knocked the professor down, offered, on behalf of the team, to
present a written apology, signed by every member of the squad.
"I'm sure nothing can be more fair than that," declared Dr. Churchill.
"I admit that I should be sorry to see football abolished here,
Professor Tines."
Professor Tines had gained his point, however, and was satisfied. He had
made himself very important, and had, as he supposed, vindicated his
dignity. The apology was then and there drawn up by the proctor, and
signed by the students.
"I must ask for one stipulation," said the still indignant instructor.
"I must insist that, hereafter, when I, or any other member of the
faculty approaches, all indiscriminate knocking or kicking of balls
cease until we have passed on. In this way all danger will be avoided."
"We agree to that," said Mr. Lighton quickly, and the incident was
considered closed. But Professor Tines, if he had only known it, was the
most disliked instructor in college from then on. He had been hated
before, but now the venom was bitter against him.
"We're well out of that," remarked Tom to Phil, as they went to their
room, having gotten rid of their football togs. "I wonder what fun
Pitchfork has in life, anyhow?"
"Reading Latin and Greek, I guess. That reminds me, I must bone away a
bit myself to-night. I guess Sid is in," he added, as he heard some one
moving about in the room.
They entered to find their chum standing on a chair, reaching up to one
of the silken banners Tom had hung with such pride.
"Here, you old anchorite! What are you doing?" cried Phil.
"Why, I'm trying to make this room look decent," said Sid. "You've got
it so cluttered up that I can't stand it! Isn't it enough to have
pictures stuck all over?"
"Here, you let that banner alone!" cried Tom, and he gave such a jerk to
the chair on which Sid was standing that the objector to things artistic
toppled to the floor with a resounding crash.
"I'll punch your head!" he cried to Tom, who promptly ensconced himself
behind the bed.
"Hurt yourself?" asked Phil innocently. "If you did it's a judgment on
you, misogynist that you are."
"You dry up!" growled Sid, as he rubbed his shins.
Then, peace having finally been restored, they all began studying,
while waiting for the summons to supper. When the bell rang, Phil and
Tom made a mad rush for the dining-room.
"Football practice gives you a fine appetite," observed Phil.
"I didn't know you fellows needed any inducement to make you eat," spoke
Sid.
"Neither we do," said Tom. "But come on, Phil, if he gets there first
there'll be little left for us, in spite of his gentle words."
"We'll have harder work at practice to-morrow," continued Phil as they
sat down at the table. "It will be the first real line-up, and I'm
anxious to see how I'll do against Shipman."
"He's got Gerhart's place for good, has he?" asked Tom.
"It looks so. Pass the butter, will you? Do you want it all?"
"Not in the least, bright-eyes. Here; have a prune."
"Say, you fellows make me tired," observed Sid.
"What's the matter with you lately, old chap?" asked Tom. "You're as
grumpy as a bear with a sore nose. Has your girl gone back on you?"
"There you go again!" burst out Sid. "Always talking about girls! I
declare, since those pictures and things are up in the room, you two
have gone daffy! I'll have 'em all down, first thing you know."
"If you do, we'll chuck you in the river," promised Phil.
Thus, amid much good-natured banter, though to an outsider it might not
sound so, the supper went on. There was more hazing that night, in which
Phil and Tom had a share, but Sid would not come out, saying he had to
study.
"Come on, Tom," called Phil the next afternoon, "all out for the first
real line-up of the season. I'm going to run the 'varsity against the
scrub, and I want to see how I make out."
"Has the 'varsity eleven all been picked out?" asked Tom anxiously.
"Practically so, though, of course, there will be changes."
"I wonder if I----"
"You're to go at left-end. Come on, and we'll get our togs on."
After a little preliminary practice the two teams were told to line-up
for a short game of fifteen-minute halves. Coach Lighton named those who
were to constitute a provisional 'varsity eleven, and, to his delight,
Tom's name was among the first named. Phil went to quarter, naturally,
and several of Tom's chums found themselves playing with him.
"Now try for quick, snappy work from the start," was the advice of the
coach. "Play as though you meant something, not as if you were going on
a fishing trip, and it didn't matter when you got there."
The ball was put into play. The 'varsity had it, and under the guidance
of Phil Clinton, who gave his signals rapidly, the scrub was fairly
pushed up the field, and a little later the 'varsity had scored a
touchdown. Goal was kicked, and then the lads were ready for another
tussle.
The scrub, by dint of extraordinary hard work, managed to keep the ball
for a considerable time, making the necessary gains by rushes.
"We must hold 'em, fellows!" pleaded Phil, and Captain Holly Cross added
his request to that end, in no uncertain words.
Shipman, the scrub quarter, passed the pigskin to his right half-back,
and the latter hit the line hard. Phil Clinton, seeing an opening, dove
in for a tackle. In some way there was a fumble, and Phil got the ball.
The next instant Jerry Jackson, who was on the 'varsity, slipped and
fell heavily on Phil's right shoulder. The plucky quarter-back stifled a
groan that came to his lips, and then, turning over on his back,
stretched out white and still on the ground.
"Phil's hurt!" cried Holly Cross. "Hold on, fellows!"
Tom bent over his chum. He felt of his shoulder.
"It's dislocated," he said. "We'd better get the doctor for him,
Holly."