DROPPED!
On the Monday following the Forest Hill game the final cut in the
football squad was announced. For two weeks the process of elimination
had been going forward quietly and mercilessly until of the original
seventy-odd candidates who had started the season only forty-two
remained. To-day after practice a list was posted on the bulletin board
in the gymnasium. It contained two columns of names headed respectively
“First Eleven” and “Second Eleven.” In the first column there were
sixteen names, in the second fourteen; twelve unfortunates had been
dropped.
Dan, coming up from the locker room, sought the notice with anxious
heart. He was almost certain that Payson was going to retain him on
the second squad, but there was always the chance--“Second Eleven,” he
read, “Coke, Connor, Eisner, Flagg, Fogg--” and so on down to “Roeder,
Sommers, Trapper.” His heart sank as he reread the list. Nowhere was
his name written. Three times he went over the list, hoping each time
to find that he had blundered. Then he read the first team names; it
was just possible, he told himself, that Payson had got his name there
by mistake. But he hadn’t. Dan was dropped from the squad.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs and of laughing voices sent him
hurrying away from the bulletin board and out into the twilight. He
didn’t want anyone to find him there just then.
Of course it didn’t much matter, he argued as he made his way along
in front of the buildings. Even had Payson kept him on the squad he
might never have made the First Team. Still, there was the pleasure of
playing, and one could always hope. Well, there was nothing to hope for
now. They didn’t want him. Dan threw his head back and thrust his hands
into his pockets. That was all right, he muttered; they didn’t have to
have him. He knew blamed well he could play better football than some
fellows who had been kept on the squad, though. There was Sayer, end on
the second, for instance. Dan knew well enough that he could play all
around Sayer. However, there was no use thinking about it. They didn’t
want him; that was the plain English of it.
He recalled what Tubby had said the evening of his arrival: “There’s
no use trying for the team here unless you’re a swell or a particular
friend of Payson’s,” Tubby had declared. Dan told himself now that he
guessed that was about so. But the next moment he retracted it. They
could say what they liked, but Payson was a gentleman, and if he had
dropped fellows from the squad it was because he believed they weren’t
necessary to the success of the team. Even if you did feel hurt and a
little bit angry there was no sense in saying mean things--or thinking
them--when you knew they weren’t so. Dan took a deep breath, thrust his
hands deeper into his pockets and discovered that he was at the edge of
The Prospect, looking unseeingly down at the village with its yellow
windows. He turned, smiled just to make certain that he could still do
it, and walked back to Clarke. He even whistled a tune as he went. It
wasn’t a very merry tune, but it answered. Tubby was in the room when
he entered, Tubby grinning broadly.
“Got dropped, didn’t you?” he demanded triumphantly.
“Yes,” answered Dan cheerfully. “How’d you know so soon?”
“Lowd told me. What did I tell you weeks ago, Dan? Didn’t I say you
couldn’t make the team unless you were one of those swell snobs like
Loring or Colton or Hadlock or the rest of them?”
“You did, O Solomon,” answered Dan. “You were right and I was wrong,
as you always are.”
Tubby puzzled over that for a moment and then gave it up. He chuckled.
“You wouldn’t believe me, though, would you?” he asked.
“No, Tubby, and I don’t believe you yet. There are lots of fellows
on the squad who aren’t swells. There’s Ridge, who’s captain of the
Second, and Mitchell and Kapenhysen of the First. You don’t call them
swells, do you, Tubby?”
“They’re protégés of Payson’s, though,” answered Tubby. “It’s the same
thing.” He paused while Dan dropped into his chair and drew his books
toward him. “I say, though, Dan, I’m sorry. You can play better than
lots of those fellows they’ve kept.”
“Much obliged,” Dan replied, “but you’re wrong there, Tubby. I was
dropped because I was trying for end and because they’ve got four good
players for that position. That’s all, Tubby. Next year I’ll try again
if I’m here.”
“If you come back next year you’re crazy,” growled Tubby. “I’m not
going to, you can bet! I’m going--”
“Tubby, if you mention Broadwood I’ll murder you,” interrupted Dan
wearily.
“I will if I like!” said Tubby defiantly. Dan made no reply. Presently,
“Why don’t you try for the class team?” asked Tubby. “They begin to
make them up this week.”
Dan nibbled the end of his pencil and looked reflectively at his
room-mate.
“Maybe I will, Tubby,” he said at last. Tubby took up the book he was
reading and settled back again against his pillows.
“I would,” he said. “If I could play the way you can I’d get on the
Third Class team and show that idiot Payson and the rest of them what I
could do.”
“Oh, I don’t want them to die of chagrin,” answered Dan mildly. “Still,
I think I’d like to try for the class team. We’ll see.”
His glance dropped on the little two-fold photograph frame which shared
the table with his books and papers and writing materials, and the
pictures of his mother and father which it held brought a sudden frown
to his forehead. He wished he had not sent that clipping from the
_Scholiast_ home to the folks!
The next forenoon Dan encountered the coach in front of Whitson
Hall. He didn’t see Mr. Payson coming until he was almost up to
him and so he had scant time in which to fix his features into the
desired expression. What Dan would have liked to have conveyed by his
expression was a polite affability, slightly tinged by contemptuous
amusement and haughty indifference. Rather a large order, but Dan was
pretty certain that he could have managed it had he had time. What he
didn’t want Mr. Payson to read on his face was disappointment, or even
concern. Unfortunately, however, the coach came out of Whitson and
ran down the steps just as Dan came abreast of the entrance, and he
never knew just what his countenance did express at that moment. The
coach saw him at once and nodded. Dan said “Good morning,” and was for
passing on, but Mr. Payson was going the same way and in an instant had
ranged himself alongside. He seemed to be in very good spirits, Dan
thought.
“A fine morning, Vinton,” said Mr. Payson “What’s next on the
programme?”
“Math, sir.”
“Who do you have?”
“Kil--that is, Mr. McIntyre.” The coach smiled.
“Kilts will do, Vinton. They call me worse than that and I never make
a whine. By the way, have you been thinking about this forward pass
business? Remember a talk we had?”
“Yes, sir, but I haven’t had much time.”
“Oh.” Dan thought the coach’s voice expressed something of
disappointment. “Well, that’s all right, of course. But when you have
a spare moment now and then I wish you’d think it over. We’ve got to
work out a good forward pass offense, Vinton, and several heads are
better than one. You led your team last year and you had to do some
thinking for yourself, I guess. Now see if you can’t plan something
that will help us this fall. You’re a new boy here, but you want to see
Yardley win just as much as anyone else, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of course you do. And so--am I keeping you?”
They had paused in front of Oxford.
“No, sir, there’s five minutes yet,” answered Dan.
“All right. What I was going to say was that if every fellow would
use his brains a little it would be a help. I don’t profess to have
mastered this ‘new football’; I was brought up on the old style, you
know; and I’ve got a heap to learn myself. But if every fellow will
think a little about it, and come to me with the result, why, we may
light on something that will make Broadwood open her eyes. Now you, for
instance, Vinton. You’ve been up against this problem and you solved
it after a fashion. Supposing you face it again; imagine that it’s up
to you to find a way of pulling off forward passes that will beat
anything Broadwood can show; make believe, if you like, that you’re
captain and coach all rolled into one and that everything depends on
you. I’m not talking to every fellow this way, for some of them can’t
use their brains. But I’ve spoken to Colton and Loring and Hill and
Capes and one or two others and they’ve agreed to tackle the problem.
And some night pretty soon we’ll meet in my room in the village and
talk it over. It’ll be a sort of advisory council, do you see? Now what
do you say?”
Dan hesitated a moment. At first it had seemed to him that the coach
was adding insult to injury in asking him to work for the success of
a team that he was not considered good enough to play on. But his
resentment was short-lived. If he could aid, it was his duty to do
it. Yardley was as much his school as it was Colton’s or Loring’s,
and if he couldn’t fight for it on the gridiron he could fight on the
side-line. Besides, after all, it was pleasing to his vanity to be
asked to help in this way. Even if Payson didn’t think very highly of
him as a player he evidently respected his football knowledge and wits.
So he looked up at Mr. Payson frankly and answered:
“I’ll do what I can, sir. I don’t suppose I can help much, but I’ll
try.”
“That’s the way to talk, Vinton,” answered the coach. “And I’m much
obliged. Whatever you can do will help me and it will help the school.
Whenever you want to talk anything over you look me up. You’ll find me
at home usually in the evenings if you care to drop in. I’ll be glad to
see you any time. Hope I haven’t made you late.”
But Dan wouldn’t have cared if he had. It was worth one of Kilts’
sharpest “call-downs” to have that comforting sensation of being
Somebody again. Since he had read the list in the gymnasium yesterday
afternoon Dan had felt like a very unimportant Nobody! As he hurried
up the steps and down the corridor to the recitation room he strove
to recall a line that he had read or heard somewhere. “He also serves
who only sits around and waits;” wasn’t that it? Well, something like
that, any way. It wasn’t quite applicable to the present case, but it
expressed the right idea.
But when it came time for football practice Dan discovered that even
the re-establishment of his self-esteem didn’t give him the courage
to go to the field and stand around on the side-line in his everyday
clothes to be pointed out as one of the fellows who hadn’t “made good”!
Perhaps after a day or two he could face it with equanimity, but to-day
the wound was too fresh. So, although he would have much preferred
watching practice, he went for a walk in the other direction, crossing
the bridge above the railroad cut and waiting while an east-bound
express roared by beneath him with a suffocating cloud of smoke and
steam, and turning at the foot of the hill to the right to follow an
unexplored path to the beach. There were three paths through the woods
and Dan knew the other two by heart, but this one, the more westerly
and the more roundabout, was new to him.
It started off in a leisurely way toward the river, winding and
twisting prettily through the beeches and oaks and maples, and then,
as though weary of indecision, swerved toward the Sound and marched
away as straight and uncompromising as though laid out by an engineer.
But the reason of its sudden reformation was apparent, for almost
beside the path ran a high rustic fence. This fence, as Dan knew,
marked the boundary of the school grounds on the west. Beyond it lay
the country estate of John T. Pennimore, the Steamship King, as the
newspapers loved to call him. He was one of the country’s rich men
and Dan had heard of him often enough. Once Mr. Vinton had received
a business letter from him and had brought it home to exhibit, not
without a trace of pride, to his family. Sound View, as the estate was
named, comprised some eight or nine acres fronting on the Sound and
the Wissining River. There was an immense stone residence, barns and
stables, hot houses, gardeners’ lodge and several smaller buildings
of which one was known as the Bungalow and stood just above the beach
near the Yardley line. Much of the property was wooded and only an
occasional glimpse was to be had of the residence and stables. Now and
then, however, as Dan followed the path a sudden thinning of the trees
gave a brief view of velvety lawn or brilliant flower bed, and once the
back of the big house was fairly in sight.
Where Sound and river met there was a long stone pier and a boat house.
In front of the pier, a few hundred feet off-shore, lay the Pennimore
steam yacht, a magnificent craft, resplendant in white and brass,
large enough to cross the ocean in had the whim seized its owner. But
John T. Pennimore was not a man of whims, and from June to late in the
Autumn the _Princess_ made almost daily trips to and fro between the
summer home and the city, reeling off the miles like an express train.
When the _Princess_ lay at anchor off Sound View it was known that the
Steamship King was at home. Dan wondered idly whether he would see the
big yacht when he reached the end of the path. It must be jolly, he
thought, to own a place like Sound View, and a yacht, and horses and
carriages, and automobiles and--
His thoughts got no farther, for at that moment the dismal howling of a
dog broke on his ears. The sounds seemed to come from a short distance
ahead and from the other side of the fence and spoke of such fear and
suffering that Dan caught his breath as he heard it. He raced forward
down the path, and as he ran he caught the pungent odor of burning
wood. Then between the rustic palings of the fence he saw a strange
scene. Back from the fence a yard or two stood a small play-house,
fifteen feet long by ten wide, with slab sides and shingled roof. It
stood quite by itself amidst the shrubbery, its back to the fence.
There was a window on the side nearest to Dan and another on the
back, and from both of them, closed though they were, grayish-brown
smoke crept out. At the corner of the little building stood a slim
boy of apparently fourteen years. He had on a red flannel shirt and
a red helmet such as firemen wear, and in his hands he held an axe.
Beside him was a two-wheeled vehicle carrying a coil of hose and two
fire-extinguishers. As Dan stopped and stared bewilderedly the boy
lifted the axe as though to feel its weight, sniffed the smoke with
evident relish and lifted his voice above the terrified howling of the
dog which Dan could not see but which he surmised to be inside the
house.
“Courage, Jack!” called the boy loudly. “I am coming to your rescue!”
But he seemed in no hurry about it, for instead of opening the door to
release the dog he merely ran to the side window and peered in, drawing
back coughing and laughing.
“Keep your nose to the floor, Jack,” he shouted, “and whatever you do
don’t jump!”
At another time Dan might have found the instructions amusing, but now
he was boiling with indignation.
“What are you doing over there?” he cried.
The boy turned in surprise and finally glimpsed him through the fence.
“Hello,” he answered smilingly. “I’m having a fire. I’m going to put it
out in a minute. Want to help?”
“Isn’t there a dog in there?” asked Dan impatiently. The boy nodded his
head.
“Yes, Jack’s in there. I’m playing that he’s a person, you know, and
I’m going to rescue him from the flames.”
“He will die of suffocation, you silly chump, if you don’t let him out
at once,” said Dan angrily. “You ought to have a good licking! Open
the door and let him out, do you hear?”
“I can’t open the door,” was the untroubled reply, “because I locked it
and threw the key away.”
“Where’d you throw it?”
“Somewhere over there in the bushes.” The boy nodded toward the fence.
“I’m going to break the door down with the axe. If you can climb over
I’ll let you squirt one of the extinguishers.”
“I can’t climb this thing,” cried Dan, impatiently. “Bring your axe
here and knock off some of these sticks.”
But at that moment the dog ceased his howls.
“Never mind me! Knock in one of those windows,” ordered Dan, “and give
him some air. He’s probably dying!”
The boy looked troubled, hesitated an instant and then crashed his axe
through the glass of the side window.
A volume of smoke poured out and sent the rescuer reeling back. With
a muttered exclamation of anger Dan gave a short run, caught somehow
at the top of the high pickets and pulled himself up. The next instant
he was down on the other side and had wrenched the axe from the boy’s
hands. There was a strict rule at Yardley against trespassing on Sound
View property, but Dan didn’t stop to think of that now.
“Get your fire extinguisher and look alive,” he shouted. “Put those
flames out--if you can!”
For flames were mingling with the heavy smoke that rolled through the
window. Dan ran to the door of the play-house and sent the axe smashing
against the lock. Once, twice, and then the door flew inward and Dan
retreated against the smother of smoke that assailed him. Inside the
house was a dim chaos of swirling clouds illumined by little spurts of
flame that ran along the window-casing on one side of the room. Now
that door and window were open, the fire, which had almost smothered
itself out, took new life. From the burning woodwork came a sound of
crackling, drowned the next instant by the hiss of the stream from the
extinguisher which the boy was playing through the window.
But Dan was thinking of the dog, and after the first outburst of
choking smoke had driven him away he hurried back to the door and
peered in. But so heavy was the murk that for a moment his smarting
eyes could see nothing distinctly. He called over and over, and from
the window the boy added his entreaties. But there was no answering
whine. And then, as the smoke lessened, blown upward by a sudden draft
of air from the door, Dan saw a dark object stretched motionless on
the floor in the farthest corner of the room. At that instant the
flames, having reached the top of the window, reached out with a hungry
roar and the flimsy ceiling curled apart with a shower of sparks.