TEAM-MATES FALL OUT
It was a brute of a day, with a chilling, drizzling rain and a sodden,
sloppy field. Toby had been out of sorts since the moment of his
awakening to a dimly-lighted room and the sound of dripping eaves. He
had pecked at his breakfast, more than usually averse to the ruddiness
of his steak and willing to exchange a whole pitcher of milk for one
heartening cup of hot coffee. Recitations went badly. There was an
evident listlessness on the part of the students and a consequent lack
of sympathy on the part of the instructors. In Latin Toby made a horrid
mess of things, his brain having apparently forgotten to function, and
“Chawles,” as Mr. Coburn was known among the boys, became quite testy
and rendered a lengthy oration on the shortcomings of the class, which,
while intended for the entire assemblage, was aimed directly at Toby.
I mention these incidents that you may better understand what happened
in the afternoon when the Second Team stood rather morosely around in
the drizzle and waited for practice to start and Toby, hands rolled in
his sweater, glowered across to where the First Team was warming up for
the Forest Hill contest and damp but enthusiastic cheers arose from the
stands. It seemed to Toby that a whole lot of fellows, including T.
Tucker, were wasting the golden moments of life in vain pursuits. Could
Toby have chosen an occupation just then he would have been a bearded
and brawny pirate afloat on a tropic sea, a cutlass between his teeth
and an assortment of pistols thrust in his blood-red sash. Which shows
that Toby’s normally gentle and sane disposition had a bad kink in it
to-day.
And at such an inopportune moment Roy Frick, whose disposition, unlike
Toby’s, was never worthy of being termed gentle, saw fit to make
himself obnoxious. In justice to Frick it should be explained that he
had an inherent dislike for the sensation of raindrops trickling down
the back of his neck, which sensation he was now having. Frick was
a sturdily-made, hard-muscled fellow of seventeen with a broad, not
ill-favored face. He was vain, arrogant and pugnacious, although there
were those who said that he liked to talk fight better than he liked
to fight. Perhaps in an effort to forget his misery, Frick had taken
a ball from the canvas sack in which they were brought to the field
and was passing with Lippman. Frick was behind Toby, but the latter
was dimly aware of what was going on, just as he was aware of the
late-comers, George Tubb among them, who were dawdling down from the
gymnasium. Once the pigskin, made slippery by the rain, escaped from
Frick and bobbed across the wet turf to where Toby stood, and Toby sent
it trickling back with a touch of his foot. Perhaps there was something
antagonistic in the brief, careless glance exchanged with Frick, for
Toby felt antagonistic to everything at the moment. In any case, Frick
doubtless resented that look, and a minute later the football collided
with a dull, damp thump against the back of Toby’s head.
“Sorry!” called Frick grinning. “The ball’s slippery, Tucker.”
Toby flushed, walked onto the gridiron, where the pigskin was wobbling
erratically about, and picked it up. Then, facing the longest stretch
of the field and trying to recall all he had learned of punting, he
swung his right foot against the dropping ball and was rewarded with
a very healthy-sounding thump. Such a performance in a game would
have won him applause, for the ball, in spite of its sodden condition,
arched toward the further corner of the field in a fine, long flight
and came to earth a full forty-five yards away. But there was no
applause on this occasion, unless the amused glances of those who
happened to see the feat could have been construed as applausive. Frick
came running, his face redder than Toby’s had been.
“What’s the idea, Tucker?” he demanded threateningly. “You go and fetch
that now!”
“Not likely,” answered Toby in a growl.
“Yes, you will, or I’ll knock your red head off! You get it, do you
hear?”
Toby’s face paled from red to white. “Yes, I hear,” he said in a
low and steady voice. He covered the distance of a scant yard that
separated them in one quick step. “I hear a lot I don’t take stock in,
Frick. I hear you’re a fighter, for instance!”
Frick’s right arm went back, elbow crooked, hand clenched, and his
right foot moved back with it, but Toby didn’t wait. Instead, he
stepped suddenly forward with his own left foot and thrust shoulder and
flattened hand against Frick’s chest with the result that the latter
staggered back, failed to recover his balance and sat down hard. He was
up in an instant, his eyes blazing, silent, and just a bit doubtful.
And Toby, who had followed, stood ready. But, while a fight would have
been a welcome relief from boredom, the others interposed. Watson and
Farquhar and Sid Creel and several more got between the opponents with
words of caution and displeasure.
“Cut it, you chumps!” said the big center, pushing Frick away. “Here
comes Mr. Burtis!”
“What do I care?” cried Frick. “Think he’s going to knock me down and
get away with it? Let go of me, Ben, or I’ll――I’ll smash you! I will!
Take your hands――――”
But Watson wouldn’t, and Farquhar was there too, soothing and
ridiculing, and every one had mixed in and the incident was perforce
closed. And lest Toby, who really seemed quite calm and peaceable,
should attempt to continue the discussion, Sid Creel and Stover stood
guard over him. And onto the scene strode Coach Burtis and Captain
Beech, suspicious but asking no questions, and every one strolled
casually somewhere else and looked very innocent.
“What was the trouble?” whispered Sid Creel as he and Toby wandered
along the side-line. Toby related the incident in a few words, and Sid
observed him curiously.
“Gee, you must have had a grouch,” he exclaimed wonderingly. “Never
knew you had a temper like that, Toby!”
“Well, I have,” answered Toby dryly. “Of course, it was a silly thing
to do, but he had no business lamming me with that wet ball!”
Sid grinned. “Well, it wasn’t his fault the ball was wet, was it?” he
asked.
Toby managed a weak smile. “It’s his fault he will have to chase after
it,” he answered.
But of course Frick didn’t have to do any such thing. There is always
some obliging person about in such an emergency, and it was young
Lovett, hopeful candidate for end position, who scurried off and
brought it back to an indignant Gyp. Then practice began and every one
had other things to think of for the succeeding hour. Now and again
Toby and Roy Frick encountered each other, on which occasions Frick
glowered or sneered and Toby pretended to have forgotten the other’s
existence. Toby was rather ashamed of himself by now and quite willing
to consider the affair closed.
There was no scrimmage this afternoon, and at a little after four the
squad was dismissed. Taking only time enough to wrap themselves in
blankets, the Second hurried in a body across to the other gridiron and
won a ripple of laughter as they appeared like so many blue wraiths,
around the corner of the covered stand. It seemed like an accident, but
possibly wasn’t, that George Tubb scuttled into the seat next to Toby.
“Guess that guy would have mopped the ground up with you if the fellows
hadn’t butted in,” observed George with one of his malicious grins.
“He’s a lot heavier than you, Tucker.”
“I had a lucky escape then,” replied Toby. “Know what the score is
here?”
“Nothing to nothing. Forest Hill’s too fast for those First Team yaps.
Say, I wish Frick would try to get gay with me some day! I don’t like
that blow-hard.”
“Perhaps he will,” said Toby pleasantly. “At least, you can hope, Tubb.”
George eyed him suspiciously. Toby’s tone had suggested that he viewed
the idea with favor. George grunted. “Well, if he ever does he will get
a lot more’n he expects,” he growled. “You ought to have handed him a
punch instead of just pushing him, Tucker. He’ll be after you the first
chance he gets. They say he’s a clever scrapper, too.”
“Do they?” asked Toby indifferently. “Then there’ll probably be enough
left for you to tackle, Tubb.”
The third period ended just then, and Toby’s gaze, turning away from
the players, encountered Tubb’s. For some reason Tubb colored, and then
blurted: “Say, you never came around to the room like you said you were
going to, Tucker. You’re getting sort of choosey, too, I suppose.”
“I called last week, Tubb. You were out. Didn’t Ramsey tell you?”
“Yes. I forgot. How’d you know I’d be out?” Again that objectionable
grin! Toby frowned.
“I didn’t,” he said shortly. Then: “Can’t you ever be decent, Tubb?” he
asked. “This thing of always having a chip on your shoulder is a bit
tiresome.”
“I haven’t any chip.” Tubb laughed a mixture of apology and defiance.
“I’ve got some――some pride, though! No fellow needs to know me if he
doesn’t want to!”
“That goes without saying,” answered Toby dryly.
George scowled darkly. “Well, it’s so. A lot of you guys with
wrist-watches make me tired! Gee, if――――”
“I don’t happen to wear a wrist-watch, Tubb, and making you tired
is nothing in my young life,” said Toby wearily. “Let’s cut out the
love-pats. I’m not feeling awfully gay to-day. How do you like playing
end?”
“All right,” replied George after a moment. “If Mr. Burtis wasn’t a
bonehead, though, he’d let me play half. I always have played half.”
“Always?” asked Toby, idly, watching Snowden kick-off to Forest Hill.
“How long is ‘always’?”
“Well, last year and some the year before. I was the best back on our
team, anyway!”
“I didn’t know you had played so much. When I asked you――――”
“Oh, well, you sounded so blamed patronizing,” growled George.
“Didn’t mean to. I’m glad you stuck it out on the squad, Tubb. Beech
said the other day that――well, he seemed to think you were going to
make a pretty good end.”
“Huh!” said George scornfully. “I could show him some real end playing
right now if he’d give me a chance! But he’s stuck on Mawson and
Connell.” In spite of his words, Toby got the idea that George was
nevertheless pleased by the compliment to his playing. “I suppose they
belong to the same Society Beech does!”
“No, as a matter of fact, Tubb, Beech is Cambridge and Connell is
Oxford. I don’t know which Mawson is, but I don’t think it matters. I
wouldn’t make remarks of that sort if I were you. Fellows don’t like
them.”
If Tubb made any reply Toby didn’t hear it, for Halliday had got
away around Forest Hill’s left and pulled down a long and desperate
forward-pass, and now he was streaking up the field with the ball and
the stand was on its feet, shouting and imploring. Halliday dodged the
first of the enemy and sped on. Then the Forest Hill quarter was on
him, there was a confusion of rolling bodies and Ted was free again
to go plunging on toward the nearing goal-line. The pursuit gained
but never quite reached him, and Ted at last subsided between the
posts. That was all the scoring done by either team, and shortly after
Captain Fanning had missed an easy goal the game ended. The visitors
considered, and not without reason, that they had virtually won the
honors of the day and departed cheering through the twilight drizzle.