DAN IS OUT OF SORTS
The eighth hole is a short one, 150 yards, and the bogey is 3. A long
drive, a short approach and you’re on the green. The hole has been done
in 3 a good many times, and to-day both Ned and his adversary equaled
bogey. At the ninth tee the excitement amongst the audience had grown
intense. The ninth was five yards shorter than the last hole and was
an easy one. There was a bunker near enough the tee to punish a weak
drive, but after that it was fair sailing. Ned made a hard, straight
drive that was a fraction too high. Had there been even a mild breeze
he would have suffered in direction. Frost’s ball went lower, skimming
above the bunker with only a half-dozen feet to spare, and doing a
remarkable amount of rolling after it had struck the smooth turf. It
was a fine long shot and bettered Ned’s by fifteen yards. The gallery
unanimously agreed as they took up their way across the links and
skirted the bunker that the match depended now on the next strokes.
Frost had the advantage in distance, but it was felt that Ned was
quite capable of overcoming that handicap, since on midiron plays he
had shown himself superior to Frost all the afternoon.
Ned was away and played first, using his mashie. The ball went away
high and the gallery watched its arch with breathless interest. It
struck on the green, about two yards out of line with the flag, and
apparently quite near the hole. One of the players who had finished his
game and, with the others, was standing near the home green, waved his
hand and cut a caper. Frost selected a midiron for his approach. For
the first time that day he seemed nervous, and was an unusually long
time in making his shot. It had good direction, struck well this side
of the green and rolled smoothly on until it lay within four yards of
the hole. The gallery hurried to the green, the two players following
more leisurely. Ned’s lie was almost but not quite as good as Frost’s,
being just over four paces distant from the hole, while Frost’s was
just under. Kirk stepped forward and lifted the flag from the hole,
treading across the short turf as though presiding at a funeral. The
gallery ranged itself around the green, determined not to miss a thrill.
Ned looked critically along the line to the hole, swung his putter once
or twice from the wrists and addressed his ball. Had a grasshopper
sneezed at that moment every member of the gallery would have jumped
a foot! Ned swung his club back gently, brought it smoothly forward,
there was a little tap and the ball ran swiftly toward the hole. Ned
had put too much force into the stroke, for the ball reached the edge
of the cup, leaped across and trickled on for a yard! A murmur of
dismay went up. Kendall’s heart sank. Frost gripped his putter, brushed
aside a tiny pebble, settled himself and tapped his ball very gently.
His direction was good, but, having determined not to fall into Ned’s
error, he erred on the other side and the ball traveled a scant two
yards. A sigh of relief arose about Kendall; he caught a boy grinning
at him and grinned back; Teller Sanford’s black eyes were gleaming
with excitement. There was only a tied match to hope for now, but that
was better than the defeat that would have come had Frost holed out
in his first try. But even a yard is a long way sometimes when much
depends on the result, and there was a good deal of suspense while Ned
measured the distance and swung his putter. But this time the ball
behaved itself and dropped into the hole with a comforting thud. A sigh
of relief went up from all around. Then every eye fixed itself on the
Broadwood player. Two yards was not a long putt for Frost, but there
was always the chance that he wouldn’t make it, and as he sped the
little ball forward more than one onlooker gripped his hands. It began
to slow down soon after it left the club; a foot from the hole it was
barely rolling; at the very brink of the hole it paused, seemed to look
into the abyss before it, shudder and stop. For an instant no one moved
or breathed. It seemed that the ball would drop over the edge at any
instant. But it didn’t. Frost, watching it, shrugged his shoulders and
walked toward it.
“Oh, call it in!” cried Ned, and jumped in the hope of jarring the
ground sufficiently to set the ball in motion. But the thing was
obdurate. It never stirred. Frost tapped it with his putter and it
rolled out of sight. Then he turned to Ned with outstretched hand.
“You win, Tooker,” he said, with a smile. He was a little bit pale. Ned
shook hands, but――
“Nonsense!” he said. “I’m not going to take the game on a fluke like
that. We’ll call it a draw, Frost, and play another nine.”
“Oh, no!” replied Frost. “It was a fair win.”
He reached down and rescued his ball from the hole. Then he walked very
deliberately to the edge of the green, dropped the ball on the turf,
swung his putter and sent the offending guttie flying into the river.
Then he came back, a smile on his face.
“I feel better,” he said to Ned, with a laugh. “Well, we had a close
game of it, Tooker, and you deserved to win. Wonder how the other games
came out.”
“It’s two to two,” said Linton. “The match depends on those chaps.” He
nodded across to where Simpson and Sawyer were preparing to drive off
from the ninth tee.
“Who won?” asked Ned of Kirk.
“I lost,” answered Kirk unhappily. “It was 86 to 90. I’m awfully sorry,
Ned.”
“It doesn’t matter. How did the others come out?”
“Pete lost to Linton and Jim Morgan beat Carter. What was your score,
Ned?”
“I was 79 and Frost 80. Anyone heard how Simpson is getting on?”
“He was four to the bad at the end of the first round,” replied Kirk.
“I guess he’s out of it.”
And he was. Sawyer, of Broadwood, finished triumphantly with a lead of
6 strokes under Jack Simpson and Broadwood had won the match, three
games out of five.
“Well, we will have to try you again in the spring,” said Ned to Frost.
“We’ll be glad to,” the other answered. “And I hope you and I, Tooker,
can get together again. You’re the best I ever ran up against, but I’m
not convinced I can’t beat you.”
“I daresay you will the next time,” laughed Ned. “Good-by. We’ve had a
dandy time.”
Ned, Kendall and Teller Sanford walked back together, Ned a little
disappointed.
“I don’t care if we did get beaten,” said Kendall, “as long as you won
your game, Ned.”
“I do,” Ned replied. “I thought sure we’d get a fall out of them this
time. Hang ’em, we’ve never managed to win since I’ve been here! But
you wait until next spring! Gee, but I’m tired! I’m going to have a hot
and cold shower, fellows. I’ll see you later.”
The Football Team came back to school in time for a late supper,
wearied and happy. Carrel’s School had been vanquished to the tune
of 22 to 3, and it seemed that at last Yardley had found her pace.
Carrel’s three points had been made by a field goal in the first three
minutes of play. After that the home team had never had a chance and
Yardley had scored a touchdown in each period and had kicked two goals
out of four, Hammel succeeding once out of three tries and Dan Vinton
securing the other. Only one incident had marred the game. Arthur
Thompson, playing right half in the third period, had sprained his knee
and would be out of the game for the rest of the season.
The school in general was too happy over the size of the score to pay
much attention to this misfortune at first. But by the next day it was
realized that the team had sustained a serious loss in Thompson. He
had proved himself head and shoulders above any of the other half-back
substitutes, and it was scarcely to be supposed that both Roeder and
Stearns would be so fortunate as to play through the rest of the season
uninterruptedly. Now, in case either was forced to retire, his duties
would fall to Green or Fayette, neither of whom could be called a
first-class back.
Gerald hurried over to Arthur’s room in Whitson as soon as he heard the
bad news and found a very despondent-looking invalid. Arthur had had
his supper in bed, and the doctor had just gone, after wrapping the
injured knee in yards of gauze.
“How’s this for luck?” asked Arthur miserably. “I can stand not playing
football any more this fall, but what about pole-vaulting? I’ll make a
fine Track Team captain if I have to hobble around with a cane!”
“It isn’t as bad as that, is it?” asked Gerald anxiously. “What did the
doctor say?”
“Oh, he didn’t say much of anything. Said it would be all right in a
week or two, but that I’d have to be careful of it for a month or so
after I got out. I asked him if it would interfere with pole work and
he just hemmed and hawed and looked wise in that silly way doctors
have. I’d like to kick him!”
“Why, of course it will be all right by spring, Arthur,” Gerald said
with conviction. “Look at the people who sprain their ankles and wrists
and――and things every day!”
“Well, why didn’t he say so, then?” asked Arthur crossly. “Besides,
pole-vaulting puts a lot of work on a fellow’s knees, and if mine is
stiff and creaky I won’t be able to do ten-feet-six!”
“Oh, sure you will! Buck up, Arthur. Tell me about the game.”
“The game? Oh, it was all right, I guess. Tom was a wonder to-day; went
through ’em as though they were paper. And Hammel was a dandy, too,
even if he did miss two goals.”
“How did Dan play?”
“Rotten, if you want the unvarnished truth, Gerald. I don’t know what’s
the matter with Dan. I suppose, though, it’s just being captain that’s
queering his game. He dropped two passes to-day and was as slow as
molasses down the field. I guess Dan’s gone fine.”
Gerald nodded. “I thought he seemed to have the dumps this evening,” he
murmured thoughtfully. “Do you know, Arthur, I’m a bit worried about
Dan.” Arthur looked a question and Gerald continued: “He isn’t the same
chap he was last year. He’s cross about half the time, and nervous as
a――a――”
“As a hen. Hens are awfully nervous, Gerald.”
“Yes, he is. He worries all the time because he’s afraid Broadwood may
lick us, and every time a player stubs his toe or skins his knuckles
Dan has a fit.”
“I know.” Arthur nodded. “What he needs is the rest cure. He ought to
take my place for a week.”
“I wish he could,” said Gerald.
“So do I!”
“He said he was coming over here later to see how you were.”
“Well, I’ll have to be smiling and happy or he will jump into the
river, I suppose,” Arthur growled. “Oh, hang the luck, anyway!”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Gerald sympathetically. “If you want anything
while you’re laid up, or if there’s anything I can do――”
“Thanks. There isn’t, though. Hello! Come in!”
It was Dan who had knocked and who, at Arthur’s invitation, entered. At
his heels came Tom Roeder. Dan had a frown on his forehead and looked
tired and worried.
“Hello!” greeted Arthur cheerfully. “Hello, Tom! What price me?”
“It’s a shame, Arthur,” said Dan. “I don’t know what the team is going
to do without you, either.”
“Going to win,” laughed Arthur. “Don’t let that bother you.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Dan anxiously.
“Oh, fine! I could get up and walk around, only that brute of a doctor
won’t let me.”
“You’d better not try it,” said Tom sternly. “What does he say about
the knee?”
“All right in a week or so.”
“It’s my fault for insisting on your coming out for the team,” Dan
grieved.
“Your fault! Poppycock! That’s nonsense to talk like that,” responded
Arthur. “Besides, there’s no harm done. My old knee will be as fit as a
fiddle in a few days.”
“We’re going to miss you on the team, though,” said Dan mournfully.
Arthur laughed. “You’ll never know I’ve gone,” he said. “Now, for the
love of mud, Dan, stop looking like a bereaved cow. Cheer up!”
“I’ve been trying to get him to cheer up all the evening,” said Tom,
“and he hasn’t smiled a single smile yet. Honest, Dan, things aren’t
half as bad as you look!”
Dan did smile then rather wanly. “I’m tired,” he said. “That’s all
that’s the matter with me. Payson says I’ve got to lay off for a day or
two, though. I guess I’d better, after the exhibition I put up to-day.
Pretty poor, wasn’t it, Tom?”
“So-so,” replied Tom untroubledly. “Don’t let it bother you. We all go
to pieces now and then. Payson’s right, though, old man, and you do
need a bit of a rest. Next Saturday you’ll feel like a fighting cock
and play like a house afire!”
“Hope so. Well, I told Payson I’d go down and see him for a minute. I’m
awfully sorry about this, Arthur. If there’s any sort of thing I can
do, let me know, won’t you? Good night. Good night, fellows.”
Dan departed. For a moment no one said anything. Arthur, however,
raised his brows, and Tom shook his head as much as to say, “Don’t ask
me!”
“He’s got it bad,” remarked Arthur finally. “Well, I daresay it’s not
much fun being football captain at a school where nearly three hundred
fellows are watching you all the time and expecting you to turn out
a winning team no matter what the conditions may be. I guess it’s
natural enough to get nervous now and then.”
“That’s so,” Tom agreed. “I’ll bet I’d be batty in no time if I was
cap. I hope Dan gets over it before next Saturday, though.”
“He will. Payson will steady him down all right.”
“I daresay. Poor old Dan sure did play a punk game to-day.”
“He kicked that goal in good shape, though,” said Gerald.
“You’re right,” Tom agreed. “It was a dandy. Almost as good as that
friend of yours could have done, Arthur.”
“What friend of mine?”
Tom winked at Gerald. “Why, that chap you saw kicking goals in your
sleep that day.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” answered Arthur with a frown. “I don’t care if he
couldn’t be found; I saw him all right.”
“Well, if there is such a chap,” said Tom, “why doesn’t he show up?
Payson has hunted the whole school through.”
“I have an idea,” said Gerald, “that he wasn’t one of our fellows at
all, that he was some village chap who came up and used the field
knowing there wouldn’t be anyone there in the morning.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Arthur replied. “I’ll just bet that was it!”
“The explanation,” agreed Tom gravely, “is plausible. I am glad to hear
it, Arthur. It restores my faith in your veracity.”
Dan did no work on Monday, Tuesday nor Wednesday. The coach even
refused to allow him to visit the field the first two days. By
Thursday, Dan’s attack of nerves had apparently departed. There was an
extra hard practice that afternoon in preparation for the game with
Porter Institute. Porter was known to have what Tom called “a corking
lot of huskies,” and was expected to give a good deal of trouble. And
so it turned out.
Saturday was a miserable day. It had started to rain Friday evening and
had kept it up all night. At eleven the sun shone for a few moments and
it was hoped that the afternoon would be fair. But by dinner time the
rain was coming down again “fently but girmly,” to use Ned Tooker’s
phrase, and so it continued all during the game, clearing finally when
the Porter team was rolling stationward with Yardley’s scalps hanging
from their belts. For Yardley met her first defeat that day.
Porter Institute had a fine team; there was no gainsaying that; but
it must be also acknowledged that Yardley did not play up to form. A
fumble by the Porter full-back a few minutes after the game started
gave the home team its one lone score. Dan picked up the ball and, with
Mitchell assisting for a time, sprinted down the field for seventy
yards and a touchdown. Hammel missed the goal with great ease.
After that Yardley was on the defensive for the rest of the first two
periods and managed to hold Porter from scoring, although the Blue’s
goal was twice threatened. Porter, however, came back strong after
the rest and hammered out a touchdown in the third period and kicked
a goal. Yardley brought everything to bear that she knew after that
and succeeded in reaching Porter’s twenty-six yards. From there, had
she possessed a drop-kicker of fair ability, she might have made a
field-goal. But Dan and Simms consulted and decided that they had
better not risk it, although Norton had been showing fair work in
practice. Instead, they went at Porter’s line again and after two
downs, which netted them a scant four yards, tried a forward pass that
went to a Porter back and lost them the ball. That was Yardley’s only
chance to score. In the last period Porter found her adversary’s line
less easy and tried end runs and forward passes and on-side kicks. When
the game was almost over Porter had the ball on Yardley’s thirty-three
yards, made two on a wide run around Norton, and worked the ball back
into the center of the gridiron by a whirlwind shift followed by an
attack at the guard-tackle hole. With two yards to go the Porter right
half stepped back and put the pigskin straight over the bar by a
drop-kick, adding another three points to her six. That was the last
scoring, and the final account stood 9 to 5.
Dan redeemed himself that day, playing his position brilliantly. The
principal fault with the team as a whole was slowness and lack of
aggressiveness. The center of the line was especially lacking in the
latter. Some two hundred rain-coated youths splashed up the hill after
the final whistle had sounded looking rather glum. There were many
criticisms. Most of the fellows held that Dan had erred in not trying a
goal from the field in the third period. Others pointed out that even
had Yardley kicked that goal she would still have been beaten by a
point, and maintained that Dan had done the proper thing in trying for
a touchdown, which, had it been secured, would have given the contest
to the home team. But by the time supper was over the critical attitude
passed. After all, Porter Institute was only Porter Institute, and no
one really cared very much about her. It was bad to be beaten, but the
defeat might act as a tonic and nerve the home team to a grand and
impressive victory over Broadwood. And the defeat of Broadwood was the
chief aim and consideration.
But Dan was once more in the depths. He had hoped for a clean slate
that fall and now here was a beating to be chalked up against him.
Payson shrugged his shoulders and smiled, but Dan took the defeat very
tragically and refused to be comforted.
“There’s something wrong with our fellows,” he declared in Payson’s
room in the village that evening. “They don’t _play_! They don’t seem
to have any _punch_! They――”
“The team’s all right,” interrupted Payson quietly. “They aren’t
playing the best they know how, Vinton, but they will two weeks from
to-day; and that’s what we want, isn’t it? We don’t want a team that
reaches high water mark a fortnight before our big game, you know.
They’re coming all right. This week we’ll hammer some speed into them
and give them the new signals. We won’t have to fuss with more than
six new plays, and that’s fortunate. If the fellows come on slowly, as
they’ve been coming and as they ought to come, we can work them hard
right up to the Broadwood game and not be afraid of having them go
fine. And that’s what I’m hoping for, Vinton. We haven’t had what I
call a simon-pure slump all season, and I don’t want one now. Porter
had a well-developed team, my boy, a team at least a week ahead of
us. And they outplayed us. If we had won from them to-day our fellows
would have gone into a slump next week as sure as fate. Don’t ask me
why, because I can’t tell you; but I know I’m right. It’s a matter
of psychology, I fancy. I’ve seen it too often. No, we’re doing well
enough. There’s no need to worry. So don’t do it. The first thing
you know you’ll be all worked up and no use to the team just when
you’re wanted the most. Get out of doors to-morrow, Vinton, and take
a long walk. Take someone with you who will talk of something besides
football. Forget football for a day, will you? Just try, eh?”
“All right,” replied Dan with a smile. “I suppose I am getting sort of
cranky. But you don’t happen to know where I’m likely to find a fellow
at this time of year who won’t talk football, do you?”
“Oh, you can find one,” laughed Payson. “Take a fellow who has some
other interest. You football chaps are likely to think that everyone
is just as interested in the game as you are. Did you know that the
Yardley Golf Team had a match with Broadwood last Saturday?”
“No,” replied Dan uninterestedly. “Who won?”
“Broadwood, I believe. I just mention it to show that while you and
most of the school were ‘footballing’ there were a few chaps who were
absorbed in something entirely different. By the way, do you know
Tooker, the golf captain?”
“Yes, fairly well.”
“All right. There’s your man. Get him to walk with you. Start out after
church and take a good long tramp. Go over to Lloyd and have your
dinner there. It’s six miles or so over there and there’s a very good
little hotel. After dinner sit around and come back in time for supper.
I wish you’d do that, Vinton. Will you?”
“Why, yes, if you really want me to,” said Dan doubtfully. “But I don’t
see much use in it. And I don’t believe Ned Tooker will care to go.”
“Well, ask him. If he won’t, find someone else. But don’t take any of
the team along. Get away from football for one day. You’ll be surprised
to find how it will tone you up. By the way, how’s your appetite?”
Dan made a face. Payson nodded:
“I thought so. Well, I’ll wager you anything you like that if you’ll do
what I say to-morrow you’ll eat enough dinner for a dozen men. And you
needn’t stick to training diet, either. Eat whatever they give you, and
lots of it.”
“Why don’t you take your own medicine?” asked Dan. “Can’t you go along
with me?”
“I could, but you’d be dragging in football every minute. And,” laughed
the coach, “if you didn’t I should! No, you do it the way I said.
Tooker’s a good chap; he will make you laugh, and that’s what you need.”
After Dan had taken his departure, in a much better frame of mind than
he had arrived in, the head coach went to the telephone and called up
Dudley Hall. The telephone there was in Mr. Austin’s room, and when the
chemistry instructor came to the line Mr. Payson said: “Is that you,
Mr. Austin? This is Payson. I want very much to get hold of Tooker. Is
there any way you can get him to the ’phone without much trouble? You
can? Thank you very much. Yes, I’ll hold the line.”