THE FIRST GAME
Kendall wrote the letter to his father that afternoon, about the time
he was accustomed to chase the pigskin. He felt rather better after
the letter was finished, and he took it down and dropped it into the
letter box in front of Oxford Hall with a sigh of relief. At least, his
parents would know that his conscience was clear. He wondered if his
father would be very angry with Mr. Collins! To anticipate a little,
however, Mr. Burtis’s reply when it reached his son was not entirely
satisfactory to that youth. In the first place, asked that worthy
Puritan, why had Kendall been sitting around in a drug store? Had he
joined the town loafers? Satan, reminded Farmer Burtis, was still
finding mischief for idle hands to engage in. Bluntly he suggested that
Kendall remain at school and study his lessons and not go gallivanting
into the city. As for the punishment, he guessed it wouldn’t do Kendall
any harm to have to stay around the school and keep away from the
football field; he had heard of boys getting their arms and legs
broken playing football!
Kendall’s mother, however, wrote a letter full of sympathy for Kendall
and indignation at Mr. Collins. That letter was like a pat on the
back. The only unsatisfactory part of it was where Mrs. Burtis said
she didn’t see why Kendall needed to have shielded those bad boys who
really merited the punishment. Kendall was for a moment disappointed
in his mother. But he presently “guessed that a woman doesn’t look
at those things in quite the way a man does,” and viewed her more
leniently. When he replied he explained at great length that it would
have been a most dishonorable action to have revealed the identity of
the Broadwood fellows, and hinted that nothing short of boiling oil or
melted lead would ever induce him to speak. Then he struck the pose
of a martyr for a page or so and inscribed himself “Your loving son,
Kendall.”
But these letters and replies came later, and we are getting ahead of
our story.
As Mr. Collins had suggested, there was no reason why Kendall’s
schoolmates should know of his probation, and so Kendall kept the
knowledge to himself. There were times when the temptation to tell
Harold was strong, times when Kendall felt the need of talking it over
with somebody and getting sympathy. But Harold was not what Kendall
called a very sympathetic soul, and so the secret was kept. At the
end of two or three days the incident of the green paint ceased to
interest the school and for the present it remained a mystery. Other
things happened to engage the attention of the fellows. There was first
scrimmage one Thursday afternoon, when they were allowed to get for
the first time some idea of what the line-up of the football team was
to be. And then, two days later, came the first game of the schedule,
a contest of four eight-minute periods with Greenburg High School. It
was a warm afternoon and players and spectators alike sweltered in
the sun. Kendall witnessed his first real game of football and found
it interesting, although as a matter of fact it was rather a dull and
loosely played contest. Neither team had “got together” as yet, and
fumbles, mixed signals and other misplays were frequent on both sides.
Yardley took the lead in the second period by seizing advantage of a
Greenburg fumble on the latter’s twenty yards and from there working
over the goal line for a touchdown from which Wallace Hammel missed
a try at goal by some six yards. In the next period Greenburg tied
the score, missing an even easier goal, and in the last period of
play Stearns, right half-back, got away around Greenburg’s end for a
sixty-yard run and another score. Hammel again missed a goal and the
final score stood 10 to 5.
Nobody was unduly elated over the showing of the Yardley team,
although, as Tom Roeder pointed out that evening when they were
talking it over in Dan’s room, they hadn’t done so badly considering
everything. “Look at the heat, Dan! Thunder, I had a regular cascade
running down my back all the time! Bet you I lost five pounds!”
“What did the scales say?” asked Arthur Thompson, who, a new recruit
that fall, was after Roeder’s or Stearns’s position.
“Oh, they said a pound and four ounces,” replied Tom carelessly. “But
they were probably mistaken!”
“Sandy Fogg played a dandy game at center,” said Gerald.
“Good on defense,” agreed Dan, “but he was mighty slow on getting into
the attack.”
“He has too much fat on,” said Tom. “Or he did have before we began
playing. I guess he’s some lighter now.”
“What the dickens was the matter with Wallace Hammel?” asked Arthur.
Tom shrugged his shoulders.
“Search me. Both those goals were easy enough, and he had all the time
he wanted. He’s feeling rather rotten about it to-night; peevish as you
please; I simply had to get out of the room.”
“He will come around all right after awhile,” said Dan. “But I
certainly wish we had two or three good drop-kickers.”
“Simms did pretty good work last year,” suggested Arthur.
“Simms had a record of five goals last season,” replied Dan, “out of
about sixteen chances. What we need is a fellow we can depend on. We
need better punters than we’ve got, too. Ridge is fair, but if he gets
put out of a game it’s up to Wallace or me, and we’re neither of us
much good. Payson says he’s going to find some kickers if he has to go
over the school with a fine-tooth comb, but I don’t know where he’s
going to get them.”
“The trouble is,” said Tom, “that you can’t develop good punters and
drop-kickers in a season, and those we had all graduated. We’re going
to miss Loring like anything. He was a born punter, Alf was.”
“He was a born everything in the football line,” said Arthur.
“I wish he had his job back again,” sighed Dan.
“I’ll tell you who was the dandy kicker,” said Tom, “and that’s
Kapenhysen, Dan. Remember how he used to send ’em off?”
“I sure do. I wish I could get him back here this fall to take charge
of the punters. I believe I’ll write and ask him.”
“He couldn’t come, I guess,” said Tom. “He’s on the Yale Varsity this
year.”
“I know, but he might get away for a week just before the Broadwood
game and put the finishing touches on for us. I don’t believe Kap will
make the first team this season, Tom; he’s got too many good men to
beat.”
“Perhaps not. Better ask him, anyhow. By the way, Gerald, I thought you
were going to play this fall.”
“I thought so, too, but Dan wouldn’t let me.”
“He’s still trying to boss you? Kick him in the shins, Gerald. Why
won’t he let you?”
“Because,” replied Dan, “Mr. Pennimore is on the Cross-Country Team and
they need his services more than we do.”
“You don’t know, Dan,” laughed Gerald. “I may have the making of a
great football player in me.”
“Better stick to your trade, though,” said Tom. “How’s the Cross-Country
Team coming on?”
“Hard at it every afternoon now,” Gerald answered. “We’ve got a dandy
string of runners this year, fellows. Broadwood won’t have a look-in.”
“Larry Goodyear’s captain, isn’t he?” asked Arthur.
“Yes. He wants to get Nordham to come in and make it a three-cornered
race this year. I wish she would.”
“Won’t she?” asked Dan.
“I don’t know yet. They haven’t answered Goodyear’s letter. Say,
Arthur, Harry’s doing pretty well. I suppose he told you he finished
eighth yesterday?”
“He said something like that but I didn’t believe him.”
“Who’s Harry?” inquired Tom.
“Young Merrow, Arthur’s roommate and fidus,” Dan replied.
“Fido would be better,” laughed Gerald. “He’s always at Arthur’s heels.
I’ll bet you persuaded him to try for the Cross-Country Team, Arthur,
so you could get away from him a minute.”
“You guessed it, son. I’m going over to Oxford. Anyone coming my way?”
Tom Roeder decided that his path led in that direction and the two boys
departed together. After they had gone Dan asked:
“Did you mean that about young Merrow, Gerald? I thought he was a bit
of a duffer.”
“He was. Arthur used to have to drive him out of the room every
afternoon to make him take exercise. But Arthur seems to have knocked
some sense into him somehow. I was awfully surprised last week when I
found him out for the Cross-Country Team. He told me yesterday that
he’d never done anything but play a little tennis, but he’s taken hold
in good shape.”
“I suppose,” observed Dan, “that Merrow is Arthur’s penalty for
heroism.”
“That’s right. Ever since Arthur pulled Harry out of the lake that time
Harry’s stuck to him like a brother.”
“You had a hand in it, too. It’s lucky he didn’t decide to stick to you
instead of Arthur. By the way, speaking of protégés, your friend down
the hall has got tired, I notice.”
“Who is that, Dan? Oh, I remember. You mean he’s given up football?”
“Yes, I was looking over the list this afternoon and saw his name
scratched off. Cowles says he’s stopped coming. Another ‘natural-born
player’ gone wrong.”
“That’s rather funny. I told you, didn’t I, that I had him in one
afternoon? He seemed――well, not the sort of fellow to quit. I meant to
look him up again. I rather liked him. But this cross-country work has
kept me busy. Did he show anything in practice?”
“N-no, I believe not. I think you prophesied quite a career for him,
didn’t you?”
“I said maybe,” laughed Gerald. “There was something about the chap
that made me――sort of believe in him.”
“I remember there was something,” Dan agreed. “Well, he will probably
find himself in the course of time. Evidently football isn’t what he
was looking for. Perhaps it’s just as well he dropped out, though, for
the first cut comes next week and I guess most of Holmes’s ‘rookies’
will retire to private life.”
“What does Payson think of the outlook, Dan?”
“Says it’s an average one. There’s no one very startling in sight. That
rather pleases Payson, though; you know he doesn’t fancy ‘stars.’ Says
he’d rather have a team of common or garden variety of peggers.”
“I thought Billy Norton was considered a ‘star,’” said Gerald with a
smile.
“He is――by Billy Norton,” replied Dan dryly. “He’s a star that will
suffer eclipse if he doesn’t get down out of the clouds and play the
game. Sayer is hot after him these days.”
“Sayer,” mused Gerald. “Yes, he was rather good last year in the Porter
game. Let’s see, we dropped Porter this year, didn’t we?”
“Porter? No, we dropped Brewer. We have seven games instead of eight.
Seven’s enough, too. Well, let’s go over to Cambridge and see what’s
doing. I haven’t been near it yet.”
Cambridge and Oxford were the two school societies, with rooms on the
top floor of Oxford Hall. On their way down the stairs they met a boy
coming up. Gerald nudged Dan.
“Here he is now,” he whispered.
The boy was Kendall, and as he reached the others he glanced up, said
“How do you do?” and would have gone by had not Gerald spoken.
“How are you getting on?” he asked.
“Pretty well, thanks.” Kendall paused on the step above.
“How’s football coming?” asked Dan.
“Not very well. I gave it up.”
“That so? I’m sorry. What was the trouble?”
“Nothing much. I――I just thought I’d better.”
Dan smiled and nodded and started on, but Gerald, yielding to a sudden
impulse, said: “I thought you were coming to see me, Burtis. Drop in
some evening. I’m not in much in the afternoon now. Will you?”
“Thanks, I――I’d like to.”
“Good stuff! Don’t forget, then.”
At the doorway Dan turned with a quizzical smile. “Why?” he asked.
Gerald looked puzzled and shook his head. “I don’t know. But there’s
something about him that――interests me. I don’t know――”
“Maybe it’s his hair,” chuckled Dan. “There’s plenty of it.”
“I must get him to have it cut,” replied Gerald soberly. Then after a
moment, he exclaimed triumphantly: “I know what it is!”
“What what is?” asked Dan.
“It’s his mouth, Dan. Ever notice it? It’s always on the point of
laughing and it never does it. I want to see him laugh!”
“You’re a queer duffer,” Dan answered with amusement as they entered
Oxford. “I believe Curtis, or whatever his name is, has hypnotized
you!”