LIGHT BLUE OR DARK?
It was the first week in November and Yardley Hall was football mad.
The four class elevens were practicing daily on the stretch of turf
south of the tennis courts and applauding partisans, wearing their
class colors on their caps, were wrought to heights of frenzied
enthusiasm as they followed their teams up and down the field.
There had been a full week of cold weather and the tennis courts were
well-nigh deserted. Canoes were hauled into the boat-house and even the
golf links was for the nonce uninhabited territory. The school played
football and talked football and very likely dreamt football. Kilts--I
am speaking of Professor McIntyre, you understand--had occasioned
intense indignation throughout the Second Class a few days before
by sending the captain of the Second Class Eleven to the office for
drawing diagrams of football plays at recitation. This, declared the
class, was an act of tyranny. The captain had been kept from practice
for a space of one week in order, according to Mr. Collins, that he
might have time to make up his mathematics. The Second Class, however,
declared bitterly that it was in order that they might be beaten by the
First. “Kilts” added to his unpopularity, but seemed to bear up with
wonderful fortitude under his disgrace.
The varsity eleven had journeyed abroad and had wrested victory from
defeat in the last few minutes of play in the game with Carrel’s School
and a week later had piled up seventeen points on Porter Institute.
The latter game was played on Yardley Field and in it Dan had had his
baptism by fire, going in in the last five minutes of the contest
after both Williams and Norton had been hurt. He had little to do, as
it happened, and no chance to distinguish himself. On Monday he had
gone back to the Second Team again just as though nothing eventful
had happened. That was a disappointment, for he had hoped that after
playing on the First he would be retained as a substitute. But there
was too much going on to allow him time for regrets. Football practice
now was hard and fast. The preliminary season was at an end. Payson
was no longer teaching the rudiments of the game, but football in its
higher branches; advanced football, as one might say. The team had been
drilled into a pretty stiff aggregation on defense and now new plays
were receiving attention and the offense was being developed.
That meant hard work for the Second Eleven, hard work and hard knocks,
too. There were times when Dan told himself that it was a pretty
thankless job, this standing up just to be knocked down again and
walked on by the First Team. But that was when he was tired and aching
and after the First had pushed them around the field at its own sweet
will. For the First was getting to be very obstreperous those days, and
felt pained and grieved when it couldn’t score at least twice on the
Second in a thirty minute scrimmage. But Dan wouldn’t have yielded his
place at the right end of the Second’s line for anything that anyone
could offer him. He had beaten out Sayer for the position and he meant
to hold it. And, besides, they had a pretty good time together, the
fellows of the Second. By mid-season a spirit of camaraderie had taken
possession of them and they were really closer together than were the
members of the First Eleven. King, their quarter-back, dubbed them the
“Society of the Goats,” and the name was accorded instant approval.
There had been two meetings of the Advisory Committee in Payson’s room
and Dan had attended each. No very startling suggestions were made,
but the situation was talked over on each occasion, various plays were
thrashed out with the aid of Payson’s board and disks, and, if the
meetings accomplished nothing more, they brought coach and players into
closer accord and added to the enthusiasm.
The remaining games were all hard ones; Brewer Athletic Association at
Brewer on November 9; Nordham Academy at Yardley on the 16th; Broadwood
Academy at Yardley on the 23rd. Of course the Broadwood game was the
contest for which coach and players, and in fact the whole school, were
bending their energies, but there was a strong desire on everyone’s
part to get through the season with a clean record, something that had
not happened for three years. So far there had been no defeats, but
Brewer A. A. was always a tough proposition, since the players, mostly
mill hands, were a sturdy, hard-fighting lot and were coached by a
professional who was not over-careful as to the tactics employed by his
charges. The game was always played at Brewer on a field that was none
too good and the entire town turned out to shout for its eleven and to
hoot the opponents.
Once, several years before, Brewer had taken defeat so greatly to
heart that the Yardley players had had to literally fight their way
off the field and more than one discolored eye or ensanguined nose had
resulted. The Yardley faculty had stepped in then and forbidden further
meetings with Brewer. But after a lapse of two years, on Brewer’s
promise to be good, the faculty had relented and the teams had met as
before. Yardley approved of the game with Brewer because it afforded
the team a contest with a first-class opponent who knew all the tricks
of the game and was certain to be right up to date in its playing. If
the Yardley defense had had its own way so far, at the Brewer game it
had to buckle down and go its limit. The main objection to the Brewer
contest was the fact that it was likely to result in a rather appalling
list of injuries. But so far Andy Ryan had always managed to bring the
cripples back to the game in plenty of time for Broadwood.
During the fortnight following Dan’s trip on the _Princess_ he had
seen a good deal of Gerald and Mr. Pennimore. He had spent another
Sunday at Sound View and had been there for two short visits when Mr.
Pennimore was absent. So far the matter of Gerald’s schooling was still
in abeyance, although it was constantly under discussion by the boys
themselves. The new tutor had not yet arrived, Mr. Pennimore being, he
said, unable to find anyone who came up to the requirements. Gerald
was in clover and expressed fervent hopes that the right person would
continue to elude his father; only he expressed it differently. He had
seen the game with Porter Institute and had watched practice on several
occasions. During the practice scrimmages it is doubtful if ever a
player had a warmer admirer on the side-lines than had Dan. For Gerald
had succumbed to hero-worship in its most virulent form and was only
contented when Dan was within sight. And for his part, Dan returned
the younger boy’s liking, although less fervently. In spite of his
surroundings and his rich prospects Gerald had seemed to Dan a rather
forlorn little figure, and sympathy had paved the way for a warmer
feeling. In spite of his faults, which were due to his bringing-up
rather than to his real character, Gerald was a companionable sort of
chap, cheerful, wholehearted and usually generous. He wasn’t quite free
from a form of snobbishness, but Dan was knocking that out of him fast.
And he was inclined to be selfish where his own pleasure was involved.
For instance, had he had his way Dan would have spent all his spare
moments at Sound View; it seemed not to occur to him that Dan might
have more important things to do than to supply companionship for him.
But this was more thoughtlessness than anything else, and Dan speedily
disillusioned him. Gerald sulked for a day and then accepted Dan’s
decision cheerfully.
The matter of the Sedalia, Dayton and Western Railroad was settled.
It was going to run through Graystone. Mr. Pennimore said so and that
settled it once and for all. The new survey would not be made until
early Spring and meanwhile the news was not likely to get abroad. But
Dan, when he went home for Christmas was at liberty to tell his father,
and he was sure that that announcement would be the best Christmas gift
his father would receive. Dan never knew how Mr. Pennimore obtained his
result, and I’m afraid he didn’t much care. As a matter of fact it was
all very easy, the purchase of a third of the interest in the new road
placing the Steamship King where he could dictate to his associates.
This cost Mr. Pennimore a pretty sum of money, but he didn’t begrudge a
cent of it. Doubtless the investment would eventually prove profitable,
although Mr. Pennimore, for once, didn’t consider that feature of the
transaction.
About the first of November Dan became a member of the Cambridge
Debating Society. He had received invitations from both the Cambridge
and Oxford Societies, and during the three or four days which remained
before it was necessary to make a decision he became aware of the fact
that a number of fellows were being uncommonly attentive to him. They
dropped in to see him in the evenings and invited him to their rooms,
they displayed a surprising knowledge of his personal likes, dislikes
and ambitions and talked admiringly of his football work. But sooner
or later the conversation always reached the subject of the debating
societies and the merits of one or the other were earnestly dwelt
upon. On one occasion Dan entertained a member of each of the rival
societies at one time and a really delicious comedy was enacted. The
Cambridge member was Paul Rand, while Oxford was represented by Joe
Chambers. They were killingly polite to each other and for half an hour
the conversation wandered from golf to football and from mid-winter
examinations to the conduct of the _Scholiast_ of which Chambers was an
editor. Each tried to outstay the other, but in the end they retired
together, for there were other fellows awaiting their attention. And
not once had Societies been mentioned.
New members were taken into the societies twice a year, in November and
May, Third Class fellows in November and Fourth Class fellows in May.
Sooner or later every fellow in school had the chance to join one or
other of the societies, but it was considered something of an honor
to receive invitations from both. The societies had rooms on the top
floor of Oxford; very comfortable rooms they were, too, with plenty
of easy chairs and window-seats, good reference libraries, and places
to write. For the societies were social as well as deliberative, and
while regular debates were held one evening a week the other evenings
saw informal gatherings that were quite as pleasant. The rooms, too,
offered excellent retreats in which to study between recitations.
Oxford was the older institution by twelve years, but beyond that had
no advantages over Cambridge. Twice a year, in December and June, the
rivals met in debate, each society selecting its debaters by a series
of trials. These debates, especially the mid-winter one, wrought the
school into quite a frenzy of excitement and for weeks ahead the
fellows wore knots of dark blue or light blue in their coat lapels,
according as they owned allegiance to Oxford or Cambridge. In June a
ball followed the joint debate and the rivalry waxed warm once more,
each society striving to outdo the other socially. As this event
occurred during graduation week sisters and cousins were on hand in
numbers and the big assembly hall presented a brilliant sight.
Dan had not the slightest idea which society he wanted to join. He
didn’t see that it made a particle of difference, anyway. Oxford
boasted of a combination billiard and pool table, but as Dan had never
played either that didn’t appeal to him. Cambridge pointed with pride
to her preponderance of debating victories, but as debating didn’t
attract him that didn’t prove much of an inducement. He sounded Tubby
on the subject and Tubby was eloquent but not helpful.
“What’s the good of belonging to either of them?” asked Tubby
scornfully. “I am an Oxford fellow, but I’d just as lief not be. They
soak you two dollars a year and then make you subscribe in the spring
for the dance. You don’t get anything out of it. It’s no fun listening
to Joe Chambers and Jimmy Clapp spouting about things they don’t
understand. Gee! the first time I went to a debate I fell asleep! I
never went again but once.”
“But the rooms are jolly and they have pretty good times, don’t they?”
“I never had any,” answered Tubby, gloomily. “They get up there and
play chess or checkers or sit around and chew the rag. What fun is
there in that? Over at Broadwood they have regular secret societies,
and there’s some sense in those. A fellow can--”
But Dan had fled.