EXCEPT HE STRIVE LAWFULLY
The Wolf Willow Dominion Day Celebration Committee were in session in
the schoolhouse with the Reverend Evans Rhye in the chair, and all
of the fifteen members in attendance. The reports from the various
sub-committees had been presented and approved.
The programme for the day was in the parson's hand. “A fine programme,
ladies and gentlemen, thanks to you all, and especially to our friend
here,” said Mr. Rhye, placing his hand on Larry's shoulder.
A chorus of approval greeted his remark, but Larry protested. “Not at
all. Every one was keen to help. We are all tremendous Canadians and
eager to celebrate Dominion Day.”
“Well, let us go over it again,” said Mr. Rhye. “The football match with
the Eagle Hill boys is all right. How about the polo match with the High
River men, Larry?”
“The captain of the High River team wrote to express regret that two
of his seniors would not be available, but that he hoped to give us a
decent game.”
“There will only be one fault with the dinner and the tea, Mrs. Kemp.”
“And what will that be, sir?” enquired Mrs. Kemp, who happened to be
Convener of the Refreshment Committee.
“They will receive far too much for their money,” said Mr. Rhye. “How
about the evening entertainment, Larry?” he continued.
“Everything is all right, I think, sir,” said Larry.
“Are the minstrels in good form?” enquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “This
is your last appearance, you know, and you must go out in a blaze of
glory.”
“We hope to get through somehow,” said Larry.
“And the speakers?” enquired Mr. Rhye.
“Both will be on hand. Mr. Gilchrist promises a patriotic address.
Mr. Alvin P. Jones will represent Wolf Willow in a kind of local
glorification stunt.”
“This is all perfectly splendid,” said Mr. Rhye, “and I cannot tell
you how grateful I am to you all. We ought to have a memorable day
to-morrow.”
And a memorable day it was. The weather proved worthy of Alberta's best
traditions, for it was sunny, with a fine sweeping breeze to temper the
heat and to quicken the pulses with its life-bringing ozone fresh from
the glacier gorges and the pine forests of the Rockies.
The captain of the Wolf Willow football team was awake and afoot soon
after break of day that he might be in readiness for the Eagle Hill team
when they arrived. Sam was in his most optimistic mood. His team, he
knew, were in the finest condition and fit for their finest effort.
Everything promised victory. But alas! for Sam's hopes. At nine o'clock
a staggering blow fell when Vial, his partner on the right wing of
the forward line, rode over with the news that Coleman, their star
goal-keeper, their ultimate reliance on the defence line, had been
stepped on by a horse and rendered useless for the day. It was, indeed,
a crushing calamity. Sam spent an hour trying to dig up a substitute.
The only possible substitutes were Hepworth and Biggs, neither of them
first class men but passable, and Fatty Rose. The two former, however,
had gone for the day to Calgary, and Fatty Rose was hopelessly slow.
Sam discussed the distressing situation with such members of the team as
could be hastily got together.
“Dere's dat new feller,” suggested Joe.
“That's so,” said Vial, familiarly known as Bottles. “That chap Sykes,
Farwell's friend. He's a dandy dribbler. He could take Cassap's place on
left wing and let Cassap take goal.”
With immense relief the team accepted this solution of the difficulty.
But gloom still covered Sam's face. “He's only been here two weeks,” he
said, “and you know darn well the rule calls for four.”
“Oh, hang it!” said Bottles, “he's going to be a resident all right.
He's a real resident right now, and anyway, they won't know anything
about it.”
“Oh, cut it out,” said Sam, suddenly flaring into wrath. “You know we
can't do that sort of thing. It ain't the game and we ain't goin' to do
it.”
“What ain't the game?” enquired Larry, who had come upon the anxious and
downcast group.
Farwell told him the calamitous news and explained the problem under
discussion. “We'd play Sykes, only he hasn't been here a month yet, and
Sam won't stand for it,” he said.
“Of course Sam won't stand for it, and the Captain is right,” said
Larry. “Is there nobody else, Sam?” Sam shook his head despondently.
“Would I be any good, Sam? I am not keen about it, but if you think I
could take Cassap's place on left wing, he could take goal.”
Sam brightened up a little. “Guess we can't do no better,” he said
doubtfully. “I mean,” he added in answer to the shout of laughter
from the team--“Aw, shut up, can that cackle. We know the Master hates
football an' this is goin' to be a real fightin' game. He'll get all
knocked about an' I don't want that. You know he'll be takin' all kinds
of chances.”
“Oh, quit, Sam. I am in pretty good shape,” said Larry. “They can't kill
me. That's the best I can do anyway, so let's get to them.”
The situation was sufficiently gloomy to stir Joe to his supremest
efforts and to kindle Sam's spirit to a blazing flame. “We don't need
Sykes nor nobody else,” he shouted to his men as they moved on to the
field. “They can wear their boots out on that defence line of ours an'
be derned to 'em. An', Bottles, you got to play the game of your life
to-day. None of your fancy embroidery, just plain knittin'. Every feller
on the ball an' every feller play to his man. There'll be a lot of
females hangin' around, but we don't want any frills for the girls to
admire. But all at it an' all the time.” Sam's little red eyes glowed
with even a more fiery hue than usual; his rat-like face assumed its
most belligerent aspect.
Before the match Larry took the Eagle Hill captain, a young Englishman
who had been trying for ten years to make a living on a ranch far up
among the foothills and was only beginning to succeed, to his mother,
who had been persuaded to witness the game. They found her in Kathleen's
care and under instruction from young Farwell as to the fundamental
principles of the game. Near them a group of men were standing,
among whom were Switzer, Waring-Gaunt, and Jack Romayne, listening to
Farwell's dissertation.
“You see, Mrs. Gwynne,” he said, “no one may handle the ball--head,
feet, body, may be used, but not the hands.”
“But I understand they sometimes hurt each other, Mr. Farwell.”
“Oh, accidents will happen even on the farm, Mrs. Gwynne. For instance,
Coleman this morning had a horse step on his foot, necessitating Larry's
going on.”
“Is Lawrence going to play?” said Mrs. Gwynne. “Ah, here he is.
Lawrence, are you in good condition? You have not been playing.”
“I am not really very fit, Mother, not very hard, but I have been
running a good deal. I don't expect I shall be much use. Sam is quite
dubious about it.”
“He will be all right, Mrs. Gwynne,” said Farwell confidently. “He is
the fastest runner in the team. If he were only twenty pounds heavier
and if he were a bit more keen about the game he would be a star.”
“Why don't they play Sykes?” inquired Kathleen. “I heard some of
the boys say this morning that Sykes was going to play. He is quite
wonderful, I believe.”
“He is,” replied Larry, “quite wonderful, but unfortunately he is not
eligible. But let me introduce Mr. Duckworth, Captain of our enemy.”
Mrs. Gwynne received the young man with a bright smile. “I am sorry I
cannot wish you victory, and all the more now that my own son is to be
engaged. But I don't understand, Larry,” she continued, “why Mr. Sykes
cannot play.”
“Why, because there's a League regulation, Mother, that makes a
month's residence in the district necessary to a place on the team.
Unfortunately Sykes has been here only two weeks, and so we are
unwilling to put one over on our gallant foe. Got to play the game, eh,
Duckworth?”
Duckworth's face grew fiery red. “Yes, certainly,” he said. “Rather an
awkward rule but--”
“You see, Mother, we want to eliminate every sign of professionalism,”
said Larry, “and emphasise the principle of local material for clubs.”
“Ah, I see, and a very good idea, I should say,” said his mother. “The
Eagle Hill team, for instance, will be made up of Eagle Hill men only.
That is really much better for the game because you get behind your team
all the local pride and enthusiasm.”
“A foolish rule, I call it,” said Switzer abruptly to Kathleen, “and
you can't enforce it anyway. Who can tell the personality of a team ten,
twenty or fifty miles away?”
“I fancy they can tell themselves,” said Jack Romayne. “Their Captain
can certify to his men.”
“Aha!” laughed Switzer. “That's good. The Captain, I suppose, is keen
to win. Do you think he would keep a man off his team who is his best
player, and who may bring him the game?” Switzer's face was full of
scorn.
“I take it they are gentlemen,” was Romayne's quiet rejoinder.
“Of course, Mr. Romayne,” said Mrs. Gwynne. “That gets rid of all the
difficulty. Otherwise it seems to me that all the pleasure would be gone
from the contest, the essential condition of which is keeping to the
rules.”
“Good for you, Mother. You're a real sport,” said Larry.
“Besides,” replied his mother, “we have Scripture for it. You remember
what it says? 'If a man strive for masteries yet is he not crowned
except he strive lawfully.' 'Except he strive lawfully,' you see. The
crown he might otherwise win would bring neither honour nor pleasure.”
“Good again, Mother. You ought to have a place on the League committee.
We shall have that Scripture entered on the rules. But I must run and
dress. Farwell, you can take charge of Duckworth.”
But Duckworth was uneasy to be gone. “If you will excuse me, Mrs.
Gwynne, I must get my men together.”
“Well, Mr. Duckworth,” said Mrs. Gwynne, smiling on him as she gave him
her hand, “I am sorry we cannot wish you a victory, but we can wish you
your very best game and an honourable defeat.”
“Thank you,” said Duckworth. “I feel you have done your best.”
“Come and see us afterward, Mr. Duckworth. What a splendid young man,”
she continued, as Duckworth left the party and set off to get his men
together with the words “except he strive lawfully” ringing in his ears.
“She's a wonder,” he said to himself. “I wonder how it is she got to me
as she has. I know. She makes me think--” But Duckworth refused even to
himself to say of whom she made him think. “Except he strive lawfully”
the crown would bring “neither honour nor pleasure.” Those words,
and the face which had suddenly been recalled to Duckworth's memory
reconstructed his whole scheme of football diplomacy. “By George, we
cannot play Liebold; we can't do it. The boys will kick like steers, but
how can we? I'm up against a fierce proposition, all right.”
And so he found when he called his men together and put to them the
problem before him. “It seems a rotten time to bring this matter up
just when we are going on to the ground, but I never really thought much
about it till that little lady put it to me as I told you. And, fellows,
I have felt as if it were really up to me to put it before you. They
have lost their goal man, Coleman--there's no better in the League--and
because of this infernal rule they decline to put on a cracking good
player. They are playing the game on honour, and they are expecting
us to do the same, and as that English chap says, they expect us to be
gentlemen. I apologise to you all, and if you say go on as we are, I
will go on because I feel I ought to have kicked before. But I do so
under protest and feeling like a thief. I suggest that Harremann take
Liebold's place. Awfully sorry about it, Liebold, and I apologise to
you. I can't tell you how sorry I am, boys, but that's how it is with
me.”
There was no time for discussion, and strangely enough there was little
desire for it, the Captain's personality and the action of the Wolf
Willow team carrying the proposition through. Harremann took his place
on the team, and Liebold made his contribution that day from the side
lines. But the team went on to the field with a sense that whatever
might be the outcome of the match they had begun the day with victory.
The match was contested with the utmost vigour, not to say violence; but
there was a absence of the rancour which had too often characterised
the clashing of these teams on previous occasions, the Eagle Hill team
carrying on to the field a new respect for their opponents as men who
had shown a true sporting spirit. And by the time the first quarter was
over their action in substituting an inferior player for Liebold for
honour's sake was known to all the members of the Wolf Willow team, and
awakened in them and in their friends among the spectators a new respect
for their enemy. The match resulted in a victory for the home team, but
the generous applause which followed the Eagle Hill team from the field
and which greeted them afterward at the dinner where they occupied an
honoured place at the table set apart for distinguished guests, and
the excellent dinner provided by the thrifty Ladies' Aid of All Saints
Church went far to soothe their wounded spirits and to atone for their
defeat.
“Awfully fine of you, Duckworth,” said Larry, as they left the table
together. “That's the sort of thing that makes for clean sport.”
“I promised to see your mother after the match,” said Duckworth. “Can we
find her now?”
“Sure thing,” said Larry.
Mrs. Gwynne received the young man with hand stretched far out to meet
him.
“You made us lose the game, Mrs. Gwynne,” said Duckworth in a
half-shamed manner, “and that is one reason why I came to see you
again.”
“I?” exclaimed Mrs. Gwynne.
“Well, you quoted Scripture against us, and you know you can't stand
up against Scripture and hope to win, can you?” said Duckworth with a
laugh.
“Sit down here beside me, Mr. Duckworth,” she said, her eyes shining.
“I won't pretend not to understand you;” she continued when he had taken
his place beside her. “I can't tell you how proud I am of you.”
“Thank you,” said Duckworth. “I like to hear that. You see I never
thought about it very much. I am not excusing myself.”
“No, I know you are not, but I heard about it, Mr. Duckworth. We all
think so much of you. I am sure your mother is proud of you.”
Young Duckworth sat silent, his eyes fastened upon the ground.
“Please forgive me. Perhaps she is--no longer with you,” said Mrs.
Gwynne softly, laying her hand upon his. Duckworth nodded, refusing to
look at her and keeping his lips firmly pressed together. “I was wrong
in what I said just now,” she continued. “She is with you still; she
knows and follows all your doings, and I believe she is proud of you.”
Duckworth cleared his throat and said with an evident effort, “You made
me think of her to-day, and I simply had to play up. I must go now. I
must see the fellows.” He rose quickly to his feet.
“Come and see us, won't you?” said Mrs. Gwynne.
“Won't I just,” replied Duckworth, holding her hand a moment or two. “I
can't tell you how glad I am that I met you to-day.”
“Oh, wait, Mr. Duckworth. Nora, come here. I want you to meet my second
daughter. Nora, this is Mr. Duckworth, the Captain.”
“Oh, I know him, the Captain of the enemy,” cried Nora.
“Of our friends, Nora,” said her mother.
“All right, of our friends, now that we have beaten you, but I want to
tell you, Mr. Duckworth, that I could gladly have slain you many times
to-day.”
“And why, pray?”
“Oh, you were so terribly dangerous, and as for Larry, why you just
played with him. It was perfectly maddening to me.”
“All the same your brother got away from me and shot the winning goal.
He's fearfully fast.”
“A mere fluke, I tell him.”
“Don't you think it for one little minute. It was a neat bit of work.”