KICK FORMATION
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
YARDLEY HALL SERIES
Fourth Down
Forward Pass
Double Play
Winning His Y
Guarding His Goal
For Yardley
Around the End
Change Signals
PURPLE PENNANT SERIES
The Lucky Seventh
The Secret Play
The Purple Pennant
HILTON SERIES
The Half-Back
For the Honor of the School
Captain of the Crew
ERSKINE SERIES
Behind the Line
Weatherby’s Inning
On Your Mark
THE “BIG FOUR” SERIES
Four in Camp
Four Afoot
Four Afloat
THE GRAFTON SERIES
Rivals for the Team
Hitting the Line
Winning His Game
BOOKS NOT IN SERIES
Kick Formation
Three Base Benson
For the Freedom of the Seas
Keeping His Course
The Brother of a Hero
Finkler’s Field
Danforth Plays the Game
The Arrival of Jimpson
The Lost Dirigible
Under the Yankee Ensign
Benton’s Venture
The Junior Trophy
The New Boy at Hilltop
The Spirit of the School
The Play that Won
D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, New York
[Illustration: “TOUCHDOWN! TOUCHDOWN!” IMPLORED THE NORTH BANK ROOTERS.]
KICK FORMATION
BY
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
AUTHOR OF “THREE-BASE BENSON,” “FOURTH DOWN,” ETC.
[Illustration]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK :: 1921 :: LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE STRANGER ON THE TRAIN 1
II. THE WARDROBE TRUNK 14
III. ON THE RIVER 23
IV. THE BOY IN THE GRAY CANOE 32
V. JERRY SEES HIS FIRST GAME 40
VI. THE CABIN IN THE WOODS 53
VII. JERRY TRIES HIS FOOT 62
VIII. MOUNT SAINT ANNE’S SCORES 72
IX. JERRY ACCEPTS AN INVITATION 83
X. FIRST LESSONS 96
XI. LEFT BEHIND 107
XII. THE PRACTICE GAME 115
XIII. JORDAN LOSES HIS TEMPER 126
XIV. JOE AND TUB ENTERTAIN 138
XV. CONSPIRATORS 148
XVI. IN THE ENEMY’S CAMP 160
XVII. “BALL! BALL!” 169
XVIII. ASHLEY AGREES TO QUIT 177
XIX. A WET FIELD 189
XX. NEW PLAYS 195
XXI. UNINVITED GUESTS 209
XXII. A NARROW MARGIN 223
XXIII. “ARE YOU READY, NORTH BANK?” 235
XXIV. THE STOLEN FOOTBALL 246
XXV. EXIT JERRY, SINGING 259
KICK FORMATION
CHAPTER I
THE STRANGER ON THE TRAIN
Jerry Benson reached Washington, on his way back to North Bank School,
two days late. This was not the fault of the railroad, as one who
has traveled from Huckinsburg, North Carolina, to Washington might
readily suspect, but was entirely due to the fact that Jerry had left
home forty-eight hours after he should have. “Pap” Huckins, who was
Jerry’s foster-father――his parents had died when he was a baby――had
been poorly all summer and there had been no one to take his place in
the little store when it had come time for Jerry to leave. So Jerry
had stayed on until Pap had been able to hobble over, with the aid of
his old holly-wood cane, and take command of the situation again. Just
to be quite on the safe side, Jerry had dispatched a few lines to Mr.
Ledyard, the school secretary, explaining everything, and so, when he
climbed aboard the electric train that was to take him on the next leg
of his journey, he had a clear conscience and an untroubled mind. Also,
having dined well if not extravagantly in a white-tiled cafeteria,
he was blessed with a fine sense of repletion and well-being. He had
purchased a magazine with a vivid cover and contents to match, and now,
his ancient valise safely between his feet and the train proceeding
sedately through the squalid environs of the Capital, he settled back
to a comfortable perusal of the startling adventures of the hero of
“The Pearl Poachers of Bamba Strait.”
Jerry’s taste in literature was catholic to a degree. Last spring he
had quite appalled Tom Hartley, his chum and roommate, by devouring
everything in the way of American history he could lay his hands on,
just as though, as Tom said ruefully, there wasn’t enough of it to be
found in the school curriculum! And between whiles Jerry had been found
digging tentatively into a sheepskin-bound volume entitled _Jemmison
on Jurisprudence_. All of which, however, did not keep Jerry from
devouring the stories and serials in Tom’s _Saturday Evening Post_.
The pearl poachers were a bold, bad lot, and Jerry found their doings
most interesting, and yet, right in the middle of the story, he found
his attention faltering until, in obedience to some compelling force,
his gaze wandered from the page and crossed the swaying car to where
it encountered another. Jerry understood then why he had looked away
from the magazine. The intent regard of the broad-shouldered stranger
across the aisle would have penetrated the preoccupation of any one.
They were very bright eyes that met Jerry’s, and very keen ones,
and, ere they moved leisurely past him, they expressed a more than
casual interest. The man was large in a lean, well-muscled way and
his face was at once grave and pleasant. Although where his straw hat
had been pushed slightly back from his forehead――the weather was warm
for mid-September――the man’s hair was well grizzled with white, Jerry
judged him to be no more than thirty. Jerry, returning to his story,
chuckled to himself.
“He’s right nice looking,” he thought, “but, golly, if I’d robbed a
bank or something I’d sure hate to find him watching me!”
After that he thought no more of the man across the aisle, and in
course of time Naval Academy Junction was reached and Jerry took up
his valise and made his way outside to the platform. Disdainfully the
train sped on toward Baltimore, leaving Jerry and a handful of others
to seek the shade and await the Annapolis train. Among those others was
the broad-shouldered, brown-faced man he had caught looking at him.
He took a seat on a bench, placed his suitcase between his feet and
spread a Washington paper before him. Jerry studied him, conscious of
an interest that he couldn’t explain. He had never seen the stranger
before and would probably never see him again. Nor was there anything
unusual about him to claim attention. Yet half a dozen times, having
forcibly removed his gaze from the man, Jerry found his eyes returning
to him. After all, there was not much to look at at the Junction:
just four tracks running away to as many points of the compass, a
station, a store, a switch-tower, all sizzling in the heat; and he may
be excused for making the most of what seemed the more interesting.
The other passengers, enduring the wait with what patience they could
find, offered no interest at all to Jerry: a tired-looking woman with
a restless baby and many bundles, a drummer with a sample-case, three
inoffensive and colorless men of varying ages and four khaki-clad
“doughboys” from the nearby camp. It was the latter, however, who
eventually created a diversion that drew Jerry’s attention from the
interesting stranger.
The soldiers had paid a visit to the store and had each returned with a
bottle of strawberry-hued concoction which, it seemed, they had already
lost their taste for. Further along the platform was a rudely-fashioned
crate which stood, with two or three trunks――Jerry’s among them――on
a truck. In the crate was a nondescript dog, one of the sort which,
for want of a better name, is generally referred to as a rabbit dog.
The weather was pretty hot and the traveler wasn’t very happy in his
confined quarters, and Jerry, who had a weakness for dogs, had noticed
the fact and had felt sorry for him. Now, wandering along the platform,
the khaki-clad quartet discovered a source of mild amusement in the
animal. One of them who wore a sergeant’s chevron――none of the four
appeared more than twenty――conceived the idea of trying the tonic on
the dog. The latter wagged a feeble tail and lapped eagerly enough at
the mouth of the bottle, thrust through the slats of the crate. That
moved the soldiers to laughter, and it was then that Jerry, willing to
be amused, sauntered nearer and looked on.
“Say, he likes it all right,” said one of the doughboys. “Give him
mine, Pete. Don’t spill it, you fool! Gee, he’s some thirsty, that
mutt!”
“Likes it ’cause it’s sweet, I guess,” said another. “What’s he got in
the tin dish there?”
“Looks like water,” answered the sergeant.
“Pour the tonic in there. He’d rather have it. Give him a good time,
Pete. Looks like he’d die if he saw a square meal, don’t he?”
“Say ‘bone’ to him and he’d fall in a faint,” agreed the sergeant as he
prepared to empty the contents of one of the bottles into the shallow
tin dish.
“Reckon I wouldn’t do that,” said a drawling Southern voice at his
elbow. “He’s going to need that water a heap before he gets where he’s
going, and that sweet stuff will just make him thirstier.”
The sergeant looked around and ran his gaze derisively over the person
of the intruder. He saw a tow-haired youth of seventeen with a plain
but likable countenance from which, under light lashes, two pale-blue
eyes looked placidly and good-humoredly forth. The boy was fairly
tall for his age, a bit raw-boned and loose-jointed and not too well
supplied with flesh. He wore a neat but inexpensive suit of blue serge
and a yellowed straw hat, and no one would have made the mistake of
supposing that either was purchased on Fifth Avenue. The sergeant
grunted as he straightened up, the bottle in his hand dribbling its
brilliantly colored contents to the platform.
“What’s troublin’ you, sonny?” he asked disdainfully.
Jerry smiled placatingly and blinked his blue eyes. “I was saying if
you-all pour that stuff in his drinking dish he’s going to be powerful
unhappy mighty soon. ’Tain’t going to satisfy his thirst like water
does.”
“Is he your dog?” demanded one of the men.
“No, he ain’t mine, but――――”
“Chase yourself then, kid!” returned the sergeant. “This pup’s a whale
for tonic; just laps it up! Here, Fido, have some more.”
“I wouldn’t do it,” reiterated Jerry earnestly as the sergeant again
prepared to add the contents of the bottle to the dish. “He’s going to
be right thirsty without any water.”
“Aw, shut up!” was the answer. “What are you butting in here for,
anyway, you country jay? What business is it of yours?”
The tonic gurgled into the drinking dish as Jerry replied mildly: “I
was just tellin’ you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just telling you to beat it before I hand you a
wallop,” snarled the sergeant. Jerry blinked again, but he didn’t look
alarmed. Neither did he accept the advice. He stood silently by while
the dog lapped half-heartedly at the mixture of tonic and water and
then, turning away from it, looked in friendly inquiry at the strangers.
“Go on and drink it,” said one of the soldiers. “That stuff costs
money, dog!” But the dog only wagged his tail.
“Guess he’s looking for the meat course,” chuckled another. There was
a shrill whistle from up the track and the electric train bore down on
the station. The sergeant tossed the empty bottle aside and the quartet
turned away. Jerry looked speculatively from the approaching train to
his satchel and from that to the empty bottle. Then he looked at the
dog and made up his mind.
“There’ll be another one in an hour, I reckon,” he muttered. He picked
up the bottle and hurried into the station with it. Filling it was slow
and difficult work, and when he returned to the platform the train was
alongside. As he made his way quickly back to the baggage truck he saw
that the man with the broad shoulders and sun-browned face was standing
before the crate, and as he drew near the stranger spoke crisply.
“Give me the water,” he said, “and grab your bag. They’ll be pulling
out in a second.”
The man had reached into the crate and emptied the dish. Jerry
obediently relinquished the bottle and sped back along the platform
just as the conductor shouted his warning. A moment later he and the
stranger were hustling together through the car door, the train already
moving.
“A close call,” laughed the man as he swung his suitcase to a rack.
“Yes, sir,” answered Jerry. “I’m much obliged.”
“So’s the dog, I guess!” The man nodded in friendly fashion and took
the empty half of a seat and Jerry went on up the aisle to crowd
himself apologetically alongside a stout lady who greeted his advent
with a sniff of annoyance. Some twenty minutes later the train reached
Annapolis and at the West Street Station many of the passengers
alighted. Jerry’s quondam acquaintance, however, remained aboard, and
was still in his place when the boy left the car at Church Circle. He
looked up as Jerry pushed past with his bag and nodded again.
From the post office corner to the Short Line station was but a few
steps and five minutes later Jerry was off again. The two-car train
rattled and swayed its way across the Severn. The broad river was aglow
in the afternoon sunlight and, eastward, the Naval Academy buildings
stood out majestically against an unclouded sky. A bright blue canoe
floated downstream at a little distance and Jerry thought he recognized
the boy who reposed lazily in the bow. It was a good two miles and a
half from the school to the railroad bridge, but some of the hardier
mariners thought little of the distance. Jerry, born amongst the North
Carolina hills, had had little experience with boats or canoes and was
inclined to look askance at water for other than drinking or bathing
purposes. But to-day, watching the blue craft slip gracefully along, he
half promised himself to test the delights of canoeing this fall.
He was the only passenger to alight at North Bank Station, and, since
he had not apprised Mr. Ledyard as to the hour of his arrival, the
school carriage, drawn by two black mules and driven by the equally
black Cicero, was not there. So he set his valise on one shoulder and
started off along the dusty, red-clay road. Now and then he caught a
fleeting glimpse of the river, but for most of the way the road was
lined with woods, with, here and there, a clearing that gave a view
of a summer residence set between highway and river. Occasionally a
carriage or automobile jounced past, and at such times Jerry sidled
well away to escape the choking clouds of dust. At last, whistling
softly a monotonous tune, he came in sight of a privet hedge on his
right and the tune died away on his lips. The well-trimmed hedge formed
the boundary of the Laurence place, and Major Laurence was a friend
of Jerry’s, had been ever since the spring, when, to earn money for
his baseball uniform, Jerry had clipped that same hedge and dug the
flowerbeds. The Major was a lawyer, and the chance acquaintance had
directed Jerry’s ambition in the direction of that profession. It
had been the Major who had suggested the reading of history, but the
incursion into jurisprudence had been the boy’s idea. Once in sight of
the comfortable, rambling house, Jerry looked eagerly for sight of his
friend, but, although the Major’s automobile stood before the door, the
Major himself was not to be seen.
Jerry had lowered his satchel to one hand now and settled his hat in
orderly fashion. A row of tall poplars ran from the hedge to the river
and divided the Major’s land from the grounds of the school, and not
until Jerry had passed the end of their soldierly rank were the school
buildings in sight. Then they met his view all at once: Founders’ Hall
with its white cupola, the four dormitories half circling it toward
the road, the gymnasium with its greenish glass roof, even the little
stable at the far side of the wide expanse of turf. Only the boathouse
that lay below the bank of the river was beyond vision. Just across the
hedge was the ball field, with its weathered bleachers, and, beyond
it, the running track and the gridiron and the long, low grandstand
above which the roof of Follen House peered. On the more distant tennis
courts white-clad forms ran or darted in the sunlight. Jerry, though,
found more interest nearer at hand, for, from beyond the stand that
marched with the hedge, came sharp cries and hollow thuds, and at
intervals brown objects hurtled into the air.
“Football,” he murmured. “Reckon there ain’t any hurry. I’ll see what
they’re doing.” He looked cautiously up and down the road and then
as cautiously over the hedge. Although many were in sight beyond the
barrier, none was paying heed to him, and he tossed his valise across
the hedge and then followed it, landing, since he had not jumped quite
high enough, on all fours. Rising, he caught sight, between the tiers
of seats, of hurrying forms, varicolored yet running mostly to khaki
and the light blue of North Bank. He picked up his valise and made his
way around to the nearer end of the stand.
From there it seemed to Jerry that the entire student body, which
usually numbered some two hundred, was engaged in football, for, no
matter in which direction he looked, youths were trotting or plunging
or sprawling about! However, a second estimate reduced their number
very considerably. Perhaps, he reflected, there were nearer eighty
there than two hundred, although, like the pig in the story, some of
them ran around so fast you couldn’t count them! Near the center of
the stand a score or so of boys lolled in the seats and looked on,
while, along the nearer side line, a few more stood about in critical
survey. Jerry, observing the mysterious doings of the players in a
frankly puzzled way, moved slowly along toward the spectators. Near by
a group of a dozen or so boys in khaki pants and faded blue jerseys
with strange leather pads on the shoulders were going through a series
of evolutions that seemed to Jerry to possess neither rhyme nor
reason. One boy――Jerry recognized him as Don Sears, who had pitched
for the scrubs in the spring――was evidently in command. Sears grabbed
a football from between the outspread legs of a heavy youth in front
of him and, having rattled off in a shrill voice what sounded like an
arithmetic problem, tossed the ball to another youth, just which one
didn’t appear to matter in the least, and gave him a violent shove.
Thereupon the entire group dashed forward, helter-skelter, as though
they meant to race at breakneck speed to the other end of the field,
every one in every one else’s way――or so it looked――only to pause
abruptly a dozen yards further along, place the ball again on the
ground and once more become set and tense. Jerry shook his head, at a
loss, and then, aware that his wandering along the line had brought him
close to one of the onlookers, he sought enlightenment.
“What-all are they doing?” he asked.
The boy beside him turned, and: “Hello, Benson!” he exclaimed. “When
did you arrive?” A hand was thrust forth and Jerry shifted his valise
and took it.
“Hello,” he answered. “I just got here.”
“Good work! Some one was saying that you weren’t coming back.”
“I couldn’t get here any sooner, Naughton. Say, what-all are they
doing?” Jerry nodded at the group whose actions had puzzled him so.
“Who? Those fellows? Why, practicing formations. Haven’t you ever seen
football played?”
Jerry shook his head. “I wasn’t here last fall,” he said. “Reckon Sears
isn’t telling them what to do right. Every time they start off they
have to stop and do it over again.”
Perry Naughton laughed. “It isn’t that bad, Benson! They’re doing what
they set out to――after a fashion! Those are mostly new fellows. The
first squad’s over yonder. Are you and Hartley together again this
year?”
“Yes, and I reckon I’d better be getting on. I don’t know what they’ll
be saying to me for being two days late. I heard the goings-on in
here and stopped to see what-all was happening. I’m right pleased to
know those fellers are doing like they ought, because I thought maybe
they were crazy!” Jerry smiled and nodded and went on, pausing several
times, though, to return the shouted greetings of friends on the stand.
But he kept his goal in mind and a few minutes later he turned in at
the doorway of Baldwin House and climbed the stairs to the second
floor. Then, a few paces along the hall, he turned the knob of Number 7.