JERRY SEES HIS FIRST GAME
On Monday Jerry made his first appearance in classes and was relieved
to find that what little preparation he had had time for the previous
evening was sufficient to get him by. Mr. Logan, the mathematics
instructor, was inclined to be sarcastic regarding Jerry’s absence on
Friday. “I trust, Benson,” he said, “that you were able to get your
affairs in shape before hurrying away from home. It would be a real
sorrow to me to think that you had neglected your interests in order
to make my life a little brighter by your presence here.” But nobody
minded Mr. Logan much, and Jerry just looked respectful and kept
silent, and the instructor mumbled into silence at last. As a matter of
truth, Mr. Logan had a very good opinion of Jerry, and the diatribe was
quite without malice.
In the afternoon Jerry and Tom went across to the gridiron to watch
football practice. Tom was not an enthusiast where football was
concerned. He held that baseball was the only game really worth
playing, and he felt, or pretended to feel, profound contempt for Joe
and Tub Keller and several other members of the nine who transferred
their allegiance in the fall to the gridiron sport. And he had a real
grievance, too, against those renegades, for football took them away
from fall baseball practice, and Tom, being captain of the nine this
year, was more than ever anxious for success on the diamond. Something
of this he set forth for Jerry’s information as they perched themselves
on the seats and viewed the throng of candidates assembled about the
benches.
“That’s something that makes me tired, too,” said Tom disgruntledly.
“Half the school will come out for football, while, in the spring,
we’re lucky if we get forty candidates for the nine without literally
combing the houses. I can’t see what fellows find in football!”
“I ain’t ever seen a game of it yet,” said Jerry. “When do they play
it, Tom?”
“There’s a game next Saturday with Bayside,” answered the other
indifferently. “You can see that, if you like, as I guess we won’t
practice Saturdays. Don’t see why we shouldn’t, though,” he added.
“It’s just a kind of a custom not to. If I had my way we’d play
outside games on Saturdays in the fall just as we do in the spring. We
could play baseball here right into November.” The approach of Perry
Naughton, a first class youth who held the position of manager of the
football team, took Tom’s thoughts momentarily from his troubles. “Oh,
Perry!” he called. “Is Mr. Thorne coming to-day?”
“Yes, he ought to be here now. Hello, Benson! Say, why don’t you come
out? If you could kick a football the way you can hit a baseball you’d
be mighty useful!”
“Shy on kickers, are we?” asked Tom.
Naughton shrugged. “Looks so. We’ve got Tub and Jim Duveen, but we’ll
miss Tracy Howe a heap, I reckon. Ever play football, Benson?”
“No, I never,” said Jerry. “I ain’t ever seen it played, either.”
“Honest? Gosh, with those long legs of yours you ought to be able to
kick like a mule!”
“Jerry’s got too much sense to waste his time that way,” said Tom.
“That’s a fine-looking bunch of stars you’ve got here, Perry.” He
indicated the waiting candidates with a nod, and, while his tone was
disparaging, there was a tinge of envy in it. Naughton shrugged again.
“Some of them are good,” he answered. “A lot more are here just because
they haven’t anything better to do. Next week there’ll be about half of
them missing. There comes Mr. Thorne.”
Perry Naughton hurried away. Jerry, following his progress along
the front of the stand, saw him meet and shake hands with a man in
knickerbockers who, seen at that distance, looked dimly familiar.
But Captain Mansfield and a handful of the old players had already
gathered about the coach and Jerry’s view was cut off. Tom was bandying
words with Rodney Keller――popularly known as “Tub”――who, arrayed in
faded khaki breeches and an equally faded and much mended jersey, had
wandered their way.
“How’s the kicking leg, Tub?” asked Tom.
“Oh, good for a few more swings, I reckon. I haven’t kicked a ball
all summer, though. Thought you were getting busy on the old diamond
to-day, Cap?”
“Wednesday, if any one shows up. With most of the gang playing football
I don’t look for a crowd, though. Seen Mr. Thorne yet?”
“No, has he come?”
“He’s down there now.”
Tub looked and nodded, but didn’t offer to join the reception at the
end of the stand. Instead, he viewed Jerry thoughtfully for a moment
and then asked: “Aren’t you trying football, Jerry?”
Before Jerry could reply Tom broke in exasperatedly. “For the love
of Mike, Tub, let him alone!” he said. “Can’t you leave me one
ball player? Gee, you fellows make me sick! You’ve got about every
able-bodied chap in school already, and you’re trying to steal Jerry
from me! He doesn’t know a football from a――from a baked apple. And he
doesn’t want to!”
“All right! Retain your nether garment, old dear,” replied Tub
flippantly. “It’s nothing in my sad existence, only it struck me that
Jerry might make a football player. Well, I reckon I’ll mosey along.”
“Anybody would think football was the only thing worth doing,”
grumbled Tom as Tub went off. “There’s the coach, Jerry, coming along
with Hal.”
“Why, that’s――that’s the feller on the train!” exclaimed Jerry in
surprise.
“On what train?” asked Tom. Jerry explained and Tom nodded.
“Yes, he’s really a pretty good scout, I guess. Too bad he isn’t more
popular. Looks as if he was here for business to-day, doesn’t he?”
Jerry agreed that he did. The football coach wore an old Norfolk suit
of brown tweed, with golf stockings, a pair of scuffed low shoes, a
negligee shirt and a rusty Panama hat. As the practice progressed he
shed, first, the hat, and then his jacket, and, finally, his tie, and
ended with up-rolled sleeves and bare throat. By that time he and every
one else on the field was in a fine state of perspiration, for the
afternoon was hot and there was little air stirring. Tom wanted to quit
long before the practice was over, but Jerry persuaded him to stay.
Jerry was learning something, and when he was learning he was hard to
budge. Tom, although no football enthusiast, knew enough of the game
to answer Jerry’s numerous questions intelligently, and Jerry managed
to obtain a fair idea of what the strange proceedings meant. He was
particularly interested in watching Coach Thorne and he noted that
whenever the coach visited one of the numerous squads sprinkled over
the gridiron, said squad immediately displayed accelerated activity.
Considering the temperature, Jerry considered that Mr. Thorne was
surprisingly successful in making the candidates work. He felt a sort
of proprietary interest in the broad-shouldered, keen-eyed coach that
already approached admiration, and when Tom remarked: “He’s working
them too hard for a day like this. It’s that sort of thing that puts
fellows against him.” Jerry sprang to his defense.
“Seems like if he’s boss he’d ought to have the say,” he answered.
“Reckon he knows what’s good for those fellers and what ain’t, don’t
he?”
“Oh, I’m not saying he’s hurting them any, but he ought to realize that
he isn’t any too well liked and try to jolly ’em along a bit. He’s
giving them too stiff a dose for a starter, and they’ll remember it and
hold it against him.”
“It don’t sound right to me,” objected Jerry. “Seems like if the
fellows want to win they’d do most anything reasonable.”
Tom chuckled. “The question is, though, what’s reasonable? Come on,
they’re all through. There won’t be any scrimmage to-day.”
On Wednesday baseball practice began. Of last year’s team but six
fellows appeared, most of them former substitutes. Tom viewed what
he sarcastically called “the outpouring” with a gloomy eye. In all
twenty-one candidates appeared, of whom more than half were plainly not
“varsity” material. Jerry and George McGee assisted with the coaching,
although neither had ever attempted instruction before. Very little was
accomplished that first afternoon, and Tom was extremely pessimistic
all the evening, although Joe Kirkham, who dropped into Baldwin House
after supper, did his best to cheer him up.
“It’s always that way in the fall, Tom,” declared Joe. “Look at last
year. There weren’t enough fellows out to make two nines, and Pop had
to go around and beg fellows to come out!”
“I shan’t,” grumbled Tom. “You won’t catch me doing any begging. I’ll
make a team out of what I’ve got, or bust!”
“Atta boy! Besides, I don’t believe there’s an awful lot in fall
practice, anyway.” That led to a lengthy and heated argument between
the two during which Jerry quietly drew a Latin book to him and did
some studying. In the end Joe retired from the controversy defeated but
unconvinced, and Tom appeared slightly more cheerful. Joe, seeking a
change of subject, turned to Jerry.
“Been out to the Cabin yet, Jerry?” he asked.
Jerry slipped a pencil between the pages of his book and shook his
head. “No, I haven’t. I reckon I’ll have to wait till Saturday.”
“Hope no one’s broken in there,” said Joe. “Going to have any more
parties?”
“I reckon so, after things get to running. Maybe I’ll invite you and
Tom to supper Sunday evening if I find everything all right Saturday.”
“Wish you would.” Joe smacked his lips. “That was some feed we had
there that time last spring! Remember that supper, Tom?”
“I guess I do! I’ve never had any ham since then; it’s always been a
base imitation!”
“And those eggs!” sighed Joe. “And them coffee!”
Jerry laughed. “You’re just projeckin’ for an invitation, I reckon.”
“I sure am! Let’s go out in the afternoon and have a good lazy time.
I’ll contribute to the grub fund.”
“It’s sort of a long walk,” demurred Tom. “Let’s wait till the
weather’s cooler.”
“Oh, you!” jeered Joe. “You’d walk twice that far on a ball field and
never think anything of it. Tell you what I’ll do for you, Tom. You
walk the first half of the way and I’ll walk the other half!”
“I’d rather walk the second half, thanks, so I’d be there! All right,
I’m game. How much do you want for feed, Jerry?”
“Reckon a quarter from each of you’ll be enough. I left some stuff out
there, like sugar and coffee, and if no one ain’t bust in it’s still
there. I’ll get some ham and a half dozen eggs. Want anything else?”
“Get a pie from the baker Saturday morning,” suggested Joe. “A meal
isn’t a meal without pie.”
“Then you-all throw in thirty cents instead of a quarter,” responded
Jerry. “Pies cost money these days.”
“Well, they’re worth it. Here you are, son; twenty-five and five is
most usually thirty. That nickel looks queer, but I reckon it’s all
right. I took it, anyway.”
“It don’t look very good to me,” said Jerry dubiously. “Where’s yours,
Tom?”
“Don’t know if I’ve got it. Yes, I have. Here’s thirty-five. You can
credit me with the other nickel toward the next time.”
“I don’t keep any books,” responded Jerry. “Here’s your change.”
“Gee, I don’t want that bum nickel! Looks like it was lead!”
“It’s perfectly good,” laughed Joe. “I’ve had it a long time, and I
ought to know.”
“You had it because you couldn’t get rid of it,” grumbled Tom as he
thrust it into his pocket. “I’ll have to make a trip to Annapolis and
drop it in a slot machine!”
“You can do it when we go over to play St. John’s. Say, Jerry, why
don’t you―――― _Hey! What’s the matter with you?_”
Joe suddenly found himself on the floor with Tom standing over him
threateningly.
“Listen,” proclaimed Tom. “If you don’t want to get thrown out the
window and have that solid concrete dome of yours cracked you’ll shut
up about Jerry playing football! There’s going to be one member of the
nine sticking to his job, and that’s Jerry Benson. Get that?”
“All right! I was just thinking――――”
“You aren’t required to think! Jerry doesn’t want to play football
and he isn’t going to.” Tom pulled Joe to his feet and deposited him
ungently back in the chair. “He’s a gentleman, and plays a gentleman’s
game. He’s too sensible to mix up with a lot of rough necks and
rowdies!”
Joe grinned as he adjusted his attire. “Just as you say, Thomas, but it
seems to me there’s a lot of rough stuff outside the gridiron! If you
try any more of that gentlemanly business with me I’ll be laid up for a
week!”
“I don’t reckon I could learn that game,” said Jerry gravely. “Looks
like it takes a heap of studying.”
“You couldn’t,” assented Tom emphatically. “You wouldn’t like it,
anyway.”
“Well, I don’t know. It looks right interesting.”
Joe was smiling broadly and Tom aimed a kick at him which fell short.
“You’ll have all you can attend to playing baseball, Jerry,” said Tom
decisively. “Football’s a sport for low-brows and thugs like Joke here,
fellows who haven’t mentality for scientific――er――endeavors.”
Joe chuckled. “There’s more science in ten minutes of football than
there is in two hours of baseball, Tom.”
“Where do you get that stuff? Turn over, Joke! Of course, if you call
butting your head into another fellow’s stomach――――”
The argument was fairly on, and Jerry, smiling demurely, opened his
book again.
On Saturday Jerry witnessed his first football game and got extremely
excited a number of times, to Tom’s real or pretended disgust. North
Bank’s adversary was Bayside School, and Bayside rather took the Light
Blue by surprise. There was a hard-fought first half of two ten-minute
periods during which neither side so much as threatened its opponent’s
goal line and during which, if the truth must be told, North Bank
played some exceedingly ragged football. Tub Keller tried hard to get
speed into his team mates, but he didn’t succeed; and there were those
who declared that Tub put up a rather sorry individual game at quarter.
North Bank’s punters kicked erratically and her ends continually
overran. Her line put up a fairly stiff defense, but didn’t succeed in
making much of a showing on attack.
It was not until the fourth period was well under way that an
intercepted forward pass by Ashley, the Light Blue’s right half, put
North Bank suddenly and unexpectedly in possession of the pigskin on
the enemy’s thirty-two yards. Coach Thorne ran Don Sears in for Tub and
Sears worked the old crisscross, with Ashley carrying the ball, for
eight yards. Sears tried a quarter-back run that gained two more and
won the distance, and then fumbled miserably. The fumble was recovered
but cost four yards, and, with fourteen to go on the second down,
Duveen faked a drop kick and tossed to Captain Mansfield straight over
the center. Mansfield pulled the ball down safely and fought off the
adversary until he reached the twelve yards. There Bayside held firmly
during two plunges and Duveen dropped back to kicking position and
Sears made a lot of ado about preparing for a placement, all of which
should not have fooled Bayside but did nevertheless. It was Omstead,
at left half, who got the pass from “Fat” Norris and who skirted the
left of the line, aided by good interference, and romped over for a
touchdown.
Omstead himself tried for goal and missed badly, and the game went on
for another four or five minutes without further result, although when
time was called North Bank was again working down to within striking
position. Even Tom displayed some enthusiasm when that touchdown was
made, though he seemed to regret it afterwards, while Jerry, who now
knew enough about the game to appreciate what was going on, whooped
noisily. On the whole, North Bank was not very proud of the victory,
and it was rumored about school that Coach Thorne had spoken most
disparagingly to the team afterwards. Indeed, a grand shake-up was
predicted for Monday, with Sears in Tub Keller’s place at quarter
and many new faces in the line-up. But, to anticipate slightly, the
shake-up didn’t materialize, Tub kept his position and new countenances
were lacking. After all, a first contest is no criterion.
Sunday afternoon Jerry, Tom and Joe set forth about half-past three
along the dusty road that led past the school and, following the river
more or less closely, eventually degenerated from a thoroughfare to
a wagon trail. But their journey didn’t take them to that point,
for, after walking leisurely along for a mile or so, a mile that was
regularly punctuated by Tom’s protests and lamentations, they left
the highway and plunged into the woods. Here a faintly discernible
path led them by devious ways to a brook bridged by a tree trunk, and
from there, more straightly, up a slight hill to a little clearing in
which stood a ramshackle cabin of weathered boards. A big maple threw
protecting branches over the roof and many birds sang about it in the
afternoon sunlight, and Jerry, fitting a key to the padlock on the
door, smiled with the pride of ownership.