TUBB TRIES FOOTBALL
Arnold was interested and amused, but he didn’t approve, and he said
so. “You’ll have those freaks hanging around your neck for the rest
of the year, T. Tucker,” he remonstrated. “You can’t make over a poor
thing like this Tubb, or the other chap, from what you say of him. What
do you expect to do? Play tennis with Rumsey――――”
“Ramsey,” Toby corrected meekly.
“_Rum_ is more like it, I guess,” accepted Arnold grimly. “Anyhow, do
you mean to take him on at tennis every day until he loses his fat
and――and finds a soul? Besides, you can’t play tennis for beans!”
“N-no, but I dare say I’m good enough for Ramsey. Oh, I guess I have
made a _faux pas_, as we say in French, but, hang it, Arn, you can’t
see a couple of idiots making fools of themselves――――”
“Idiots generally are fools, aren’t they? Look here, Toby, something’s
gone wrong with your alleged intellect. You didn’t used to hunt trouble
like this. You were beautifully――er――what’s the word?――beautifully
aloof. Used to mind your own business better than any chap I ever knew.
Now look at you! Going out of your way to get mixed up with all sorts
of queer fellows like this Tubb and this other freak. Isn’t young
Lingard enough of a warning to you?”
“Tommy doesn’t love me any more,” answered Toby pathetically. “And I
just must have affection, Arn!”
“Affection!” grunted his chum. “What you need is a swift kick, my son!
All right, all right, go on with your missionary work, but don’t ask me
to help you out. And, for the love of lemons, Toby, don’t have these
weird friends of yours in here!”
“Well, I shan’t encourage them to call, but, of course, Arn, if they
should――――” Toby smiled innocently.
“Well, if they do I’ll beat it. Now shut up and let me study this
beastly math.”
But although Toby pretended to be undisturbed by Arnold’s predictions,
secretly he was regretful. Why, he wondered, as he tried to fix his
mind on the subject of French nouns, had he insisted on assuming the
part of guide and mentor to those two unpromising chaps in Number 31?
Of course, neither of them would keep the engagements he had made for
them. Things wouldn’t happen as easy as that. Well, in that case he
would have a good excuse to drop them, he reflected. After all, it
wasn’t his business to look after their welfare. Besides, he was going
to be far too busy, what with lessons and football, to fuss with them.
Busy? Gee, he’d say he was! He meant to go after another scholarship
this term, and that meant real work. He ought never to have taken on
football. It wasn’t worth risking a scholarship for. No, sir, it just
wasn’t! And he’d drop it the end of the week surely――if it didn’t drop
him first!
To his surprise, Ramsey was awaiting him at the tennis courts when
he reached them, a minute or two late, the next forenoon. Ramsey was
appropriately attired in white flannels and looked less objectionable
this morning, even though his nose was still somewhat larger than
normal. He greeted Toby rather sheepishly, as if ashamed of having kept
the appointment. But Toby pretended that there was nothing unusual in
the situation, and greeted Ramsey cheerily. Perhaps he was a little
bit disappointed at finding the other there, though. If he was we can
scarcely blame him.
Ramsey proved to be a better player than Toby had anticipated. He had
a puzzling service and a good back-hand stroke, and was rather crafty
at placing. In short, if Ramsey had had half as much speed as science
he would have run away with the first set. As it was, Toby finally
captured it, 7 to 5. Ramsey wasn’t enthusiastic about a second set, but
Toby refused to heed his reluctance and they went at it again. Now,
however, Ramsey’s skill was more than offset by weariness, and Toby did
pretty much as he liked with his opponent. He might have secured the
victory very easily, but he purposely allowed Ramsey to take the fourth
and sixth games, determined that the latter’s first dose should be a
strong one. The morning was sufficiently warm to put even Toby in a
perspiration, and Ramsey literally oozed moisture. The second set went
as far as 4 to 2 and then recitations called them back to Oxford. There
had been little conversation during the playing, but returning up the
hill Ramsey became rather communicative.
“I guess I could beat you, Tucker,” he said, mopping his flushed face
with a sodden handkerchief, “if I wasn’t so out of practice. I haven’t
played much for a couple of years. My heart isn’t very strong, you see,
and my mother doesn’t like me to do much of it. In fact, one set at a
time is my usual limit.”
“Yes, you’d beat me easily if you weighed fifteen pounds less,” agreed
Toby. “Who told you your heart isn’t strong?”
“Why, I don’t know,” replied the other vaguely. “It’s always been
that way, ever since I was a kid. Mother says I had scarlet fever or
something when I was five or six, and that sort of weakened it. I dare
say it isn’t really dangerous, you know, but you can’t help thinking
about it sometimes. I get tired very easily. It was about all I could
do to keep on my feet toward the last, back there. My breath gives out
and my heart gets to pounding horribly. I’m strong enough other ways,
though.”
Toby surveyed him gravely. “You would be if you took care of yourself,”
he said. “If you didn’t eat too much and took plenty of exercise you’d
do, I guess. You’re as soft as a lump of dough now, though,” he added
unfeelingly. “How much do you weigh?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been weighed for a long time.” Ramsey’s tone
was aggrieved.
“Run into the gym the first chance you get and find out. And make a
note of it, Ramsey. Well, see you again. I enjoyed playing. Maybe we
can have another game some day.” He was purposely careless and vague,
and found his reward in the flicker of disappointment in Ramsey’s eyes.
“I’d like it, too,” murmured the boy. “I suppose you’re pretty busy,
though.”
“Fairly, yes. I tell you what, I’ll drop around some evening and
we’ll compare schedules. Maybe we can get in an hour now and then in
the mornings. If I were you, though, Ramsey, I’d try to find some
fellow to play with meanwhile. Take your racket down to the court in
the afternoon and hang around. You can generally run across some one
looking for a game. So long!”
They parted in the corridor and Toby, hurrying along the west hall,
told himself that perhaps, after all, Horace Ramsey was worth troubling
about. Anyway, no harm had been done, and if Ramsey did take up tennis
again positive good would result. All the boy needed was to get rid of
a lot of fat by healthful exercise and wise eating. “Got to get that
bum heart notion out of his head, though,” Toby added. “Probably got
as good a heart as I have, or any other chap. Fine scheme to bring
a boy up with the idea that he can’t play tennis or take exercise
because his heart is weak! Swell way to strengthen it, loafing around
and eating everything that’s rich and soggy! Of course, he may have
something wrong with it; it’s possible; but I don’t believe it. I’ll
get him to go to Mr. Bendix and see what he says.”
At three o’clock Toby rapped on the portal of Number 31 according to
agreement. Tubb bade him enter. Tubb was not, as Toby observed, ready
for football. In fact, Tubb didn’t look to be ready for anything but to
make himself disagreeable. Ramsey was not there.
“Thought you were going to be all ready,” announced Toby as he closed
the door behind him. “Get a move on, Tubb, it’s three now. Where are
your togs?”
“I didn’t get any,” answered the other defiantly.
“Why not? Didn’t they have them? Did you try――――”
“Oh, what’s the use? I’m not going out for football. What chance would
I have? I don’t know any one and I haven’t any pull. And I ain’t much
good at it, anyway.”
“You can learn, can’t you? There isn’t time to argue about it, Tubb.
You can get your togs to-morrow. I’ll get you fixed out all right for
to-day. I’ve got an old pair of pants in my locker, and we can borrow
shoes. You’ve got an old sweater, haven’t you?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” growled Tubb stubbornly.
“I haven’t,” replied Toby pleasantly. “Come on now! We’ve got
to hustle! I told them I was going to bring you, and they’ll be
disappointed if I don’t.”
Tubb inelegantly expressed unbelief. “Told who?” he demanded.
“Never mind who,” said Toby, “you come on and see.” To be very
truthful, Toby had quite casually mentioned to Grover Beech at noon
that he was bringing another Second Team candidate out with him in the
afternoon, and Beech had nodded approvingly, but that Beech would be
disappointed was somewhat problematical.
“Well,” said Tubb, “I can’t go to-day. Maybe to-morrow――――”
Toby stepped forward and to Tubb’s vast surprise pulled the latter
swiftly to his feet. “Where’s that sweater?” he demanded. Tubb blinked,
his mouth open for words that didn’t come. “Which is your closet?”
continued Toby quickly. Tubb’s eyes shifted to the left and Toby pulled
open a door, fumbled through the few garments hanging beyond it and
pulled out a faded brown coat-sweater. “This isn’t the kind you want,
but it’ll have to do,” he said briskly. He tossed it over his arm and
threw back the door into the corridor. “All right! Beat it!”
Tubb’s face expressed a queer mingling of resentment and relief. But
even yet he managed to find objections. “Oh, what’s the good?” he
growled. “I don’t want to play football, anyway. I don’t want――――”
What he didn’t want was quickly changed to what he did want, for he
found himself suddenly outside in the corridor, the door closed behind
him and Toby’s firm, impelling clutch on his neck. “Wait! I want my
hat!” he begged.
“You don’t need a hat,” was the inexorable answer. “Go on! I tell you
it’s getting late, and we’ve got to change yet. Hustle, G. W. Tubb!”
Somewhat to Toby’s surprise, Tubb hustled. He tried to make a pretense
of hanging back, but he nevertheless covered the ground between
dormitory and gymnasium in very good time. The locker-room in the
basement was fairly packed with First and Second Team candidates, and
Toby was aware of an occasional curious glance, but for the most part
the occupants of the room were too busy to pay attention to him or his
charge. He found the old football trousers, borrowed a pair of shoes
from one neighbor and stockings from a second, and presently Tubb,
presenting a rather dilapidated appearance, was attired for business.
He nevertheless looked, Toby thought, a bit more presentable in the
battle-scarred togs than in the shapeless and wrinkled clothes he had
removed. During the operation of dressing Tubb grumbled and sneered
continuously, but he was no longer fooling Toby. It was plain to be
seen that Tubb was really quite as anxious to get to the field as Toby
was to have him!
Several other newcomers reported that afternoon, and so Tubb was not
alone as a tyro. Toby haled him at once to Sam Wansworth, the manager,
and Tubb replied grumpily to the few stereotyped questions asked. Then
practice was started and the two parted, Toby joining his usual squad
and Tubb the bunch of latest recruits. It was an afternoon of good
football weather, bright and crisp, with a straight breeze blowing down
the field from the marshes across the glistening river. Beyond, on the
First Team gridiron, a half-dozen punters and drop-kickers were busy
in front of the north goal, and the pigskins arose and fell against
the blue distance. Just above the boathouse the single occupant of a
bright yellow canoe was struggling gamely against wind and tide, the
sunlight flashing on the dripping paddle.
Twenty minutes of passing and starting, and then Toby’s squad was
trotted over to the tackling dummies and he had his first clutch at the
moving, swaying canvas effigy. That his first clutch wasn’t a firm one
is easily understood by those who have been through his experience.
“Gyp” Harris was in charge, and Gyp wasn’t one to be easily satisfied.
Working the rope that sent the dummy rattling along the cable between
the posts with one hand, he used the other to point and gesticulate.
Toby thought he had never seen any one more eloquent with one hand than
the trainer! Not, however, that Gyp was dumb, or even tongue-tied. On
the contrary, he had a strong voice and an effective vocabulary, and he
kept both busy in a sort of sing-song fashion.
“Next man! Feet together! Let ’er go! Off on the left! Get him! Hold
him! Pull him down! Rotten, perfectly rotten! You tackled too high
again! Next man!...”
Occasionally there was pause while Gyp left the pulley and strode over
to the head of the line and gave an illustration or criticized with
ample detail some glaringly unfortunate attempt. “What have I told
you about getting your body in front of the dummy, Bowen? Can’t you
understand that when you tackle a runner from behind he’s going to drag
you a way before you can stop him? Get in front of him so that your
body blocks him. A man can’t push with his legs below the knees when
he’s on his feet. Of course, you’re supposed to get to him hard enough
to put him off his feet. But if he has slowed up to meet you your game
is to lift him and throw him back toward his own goal. You can’t do
that if you’re behind him because he will throw his weight forward. Get
your body in front, lock his knees and lift. And don’t land on your
stomach when you dive, Bowen. Land on your hip. See if you can’t get it
right the next time.”
Toby came to the conclusion that he was more than ordinarily stupid,
but it is probable that he did as well as any of the others that first
day. Presently they were dismissed, though not with the trainer’s
blessing, and another squad took their place. Coach Burtis and Captain
Beech had formed a tentative team of the more experienced or more
likely candidates, and these were trotting around the field in signal
work with Frick at quarter-back. Toby and three other fellows were sent
across to the further side of the gridiron to catch punts, or, failing
the catch, to recover them as best they could. At that game Toby found
himself rather clever. He seemed able to judge the wobbling, descending
balls with more certainty than his companions and to hold them better
when they reached him. Having got a ball, he trotted back part way
across and threw it the rest of the distance. He would have liked to
punt it, but this was forbidden.
Still later, he was set to taking snap-backs and passes from Watson,
one of the candidates for center. He gathered that Watson had
shown himself deficient in that branch of his play. It wasn’t very
interesting work, for Watson was earnest and determined and erratic,
and Toby spent half of his time chasing around after the pigskin. Once,
taking passes from a distance of five yards and at an angle, or trying
to, he became aware that some one was looking on and turned to discover
Coach Burtis behind him. The coach nodded encouragingly. “Not bad,
Tucker. Try to be a little more shifty on your feet, though. Keep on
your toes, ready to go in any direction. In play it’s rather disastrous
to let the ball get past you, you know.”
He went on, leaving Toby surprised and gratified that he had remembered
his name.
There was no scrimmage to-day, and practice ended with a two-lap trot
around the gridiron and then up to the gymnasium, where most of them
arrived very much out of breath. During practice Toby had caught an
occasional glimpse of Tubb looking harassed and mutinous, but it wasn’t
until they met in the locker-room that Toby had an opportunity to speak
to him. Tubb sank onto the bench with a grunt of weariness and disgust
and savagely attacked the laces of his borrowed shoes. Toby, hiding a
grin, asked pleasantly:
“Well, how did it go, Tubb?”
“Rotten! There’s no sense to that sort of stuff. I thought I was going
to play football, not bean-bag!”
“It is rather tiresome at first,” said Toby, “but you’ll soon be
through with that. To-morrow――――”
“Yes, I’m through with it right now,” growled Tubb. “I’ve had all I
want, thanks, Tucker.”
“Oh, piffle, Tubb! You’re not going to quit like that!”
“Ain’t I? You watch me!” replied the other grimly.
“Better give it a fair trial. After all, there’s a certain amount of
drudgery to be gone through with, no matter what you take up. Learning
to handle the ball is quite necessary, Tubb.”
“A whole afternoon of it isn’t necessary, I guess. Anyway, I’m
through.” Tubb kicked the shoes aside scowlingly. “I knew how it would
be. A few fellows get all the pickings and the others play the goat.
All you’ll get out of it, Tucker, is a lot of hard work, and then
they’ll give you the bounce.”
“What of it if I have a good time before they do?” asked Toby
cheerfully.
“A good time!” sneered the other.
“Sure. Come on and have a shower and you’ll feel better, Tubb.”
“I don’t want any shower,” muttered Tubb.
“Well, I do. As a favor to me, I wish you’d keep on for the rest of
this week, Tubb.” Toby spoke earnestly and smiled. Tubb caught the
smile. After a moment he growled hesitantly:
“Oh, well――I’ll see.”
“Thanks. That’s a promise!”
“’Tain’t either! I didn’t say――――”
But Toby was off and Tubb’s protest went unfinished.