VINTON’S VICTORY
Yardley had fought her way down to Broadwood’s twenty-four yards and
Loring was despairingly hurling the backs at the slowly yielding green
line. First down again on the twenty-yard-line! A plunge through left
guard for a scant yard; a run outside of tackle for three; third down
and six yards to go, the goal-posts standing there mockingly almost
above them. Loring wouldn’t risk a forward pass again. A try for a
field goal was the only thing, and yet even if it succeeded it would
still leave them two points behind. If only they might get a touchdown.
He hesitated, the signal on his lips, hesitated, caught Colton’s
dejected nod, and decided. Kapenhysen walked back, Loring following
and dropping to his knees. Carefully the latter smoothed and patted
the turf. The two lines, watching each other like boxers in the ring,
shifted and moved, ready to close the instant the ball was passed. On
the side-lines the silence grew and deepened. Then back came the ball
into Loring’s waiting hands, his fingers clutched themselves about it,
turned it and put it to earth. The lines swayed. Green-clad figures
leaped through, arms up-stretched in the flight of the pigskin which,
arching in slow flight, propelled by Kapenhysen’s mighty toe, was
making surely for the cross-bar. A sudden thunder of sound, wild and
discordant, filled the air. Blue banners waved triumphantly. On the
score board the figure 4 topped the enemy’s 6. Back to the middle of
the field trotted the teams.
Around the corner of the home stand came two figures. One was in
everyday clothes, the other in the blue and khaki of Yardley.
“Ready, Broadwood?” The referee’s whistle was at his lips.
“All ready, sir!”
“Ready, Yardley?”
“All--No, sir! Just a minute. There’s a man coming on!”
“It’s all right, Vinton,” Payson was whispering calmly. “I can’t
explain now. Go in there for Williams and do your best. Tell Loring not
to forget ‘seventeen’ when he gets a chance. And when it comes, Vinton,
make it good! You can do it! Play close on defense, and--well, that’s
all. Go ahead!”
Vinton leaped forward like a young colt and raced onto the field. His
heart was in his mouth, but he was fearsomely happy! The stand saw,
wondered and shrieked approval. The leaders called for a “short cheer
for Vinton, fellows, and make it good!” It was good, but Dan didn’t
hear it. The ball was in air, Broadwood was charging down beneath it
and he was blocking off a Broadwood tackle. Loring was playing like a
dozen men that day, and now, with the ball clasped fast, he was dodging
and running back up the field. Tackler after tackler was fooled, foe
after foe was left behind. Dan was running too, trying to reach his
team-mate to ward off the enemy. But before he could catch up with him
Loring was down, rolling over and over, half a dozen green-clad players
tumbling about him.
There was a quick line-up on the Blue’s forty yards and the game went
on. But Yardley had met a foeman worthy of her steel to-day and as the
ball went nearer and nearer to the north goal the gains grew shorter
and shorter. On a second down a “bunch” pass was tried and although
Connor secured it a penalty for off-side set the offense back again.
Then a third down failed of the required distance by a bare twelve
inches and the pigskin went to the enemy and was booted far down the
field.
Yardley had it all to do over again. But now she was plainly the
aggressor; Broadwood, doubtful of her ability to score again, had
settled down to a policy of defense. But a scant ten minutes of playing
time remained, and if she could keep her opponent from reaching her
thirty-yard-line she need have no fear as to the final result. Yardley
had not fully found herself until the first half was half over, and
since then she had been playing a fast, hard game, and up until the
present time had been improving rather than falling off. Broadwood’s
single score, while by no means a fluke, had resulted from a trick
which would probably not work again, and Yardley had demonstrated to
her opponent’s satisfaction that consistent gains through the blue line
were impossible. So Broadwood “played it safe,” longing for the sound
of the final whistle.
Back on her thirty yards Yardley was buckling down to her task, a
heart-breaking task at best. Loring feared to punt now, lest Broadwood
should change her tactics and keep the ball. But after the Blue had
reconquered twenty yards by desperate attacks at the line, Loring saw
that at last the enemy was getting slow and logy. If the few untried
tricks which remained in Yardley’s repertoire were to be used at all,
now was the time. Constant hammering at the line, with occasional
excursions outside of tackles on the part of the enemy had lulled
Broadwood into unsuspiciousness. A quarter-back kick which was regained
by Connor for an advance of twelve yards, opened her eyes. Connor was
hurt in the play and Dyer took his place.
Broadwood became wary again, but her line-men were slow; only her backs
had real life in them any longer. Loring tried Dyer around his own end,
passing the ball to him on the run, and the right half-back tore off
nine yards before he was captured. Yardley was past the middle of the
field now, once more in the Green’s territory. A rather complicated
cross-buck play ended in a loss and Loring went back at the line,
sending Kapenhysen through a ragged hole made by Colton and Hill for a
good six yard gain. But after that the Broadwood line stiffened again
and on the forty yards Loring tried a quarter-back run, which gained
four yards, following it with a run by Capes from punting formation,
the fleet-footed left half covering thirty yards across the field to
gain a scant eight. But every play was a gain of some sort, and the
ball was still Yardley’s.
Now she was past the opponent’s thirty yards and the cheers from the
Blue’s supporters were imperative and continuous. The time-keeper
had passed the five-minute word. It was now or never, for once let
Broadwood gain possession of the ball and she would punt far down the
field from where Yardley could never retrace her steps in the time
remaining.
It was first down on Broadwood’s twenty-seven yards. Loring and Colton
held a consultation. Colton was for risking all in a try at goal from
placement, but Kapenhysen, when called on for an opinion, begged them
not to try it.
“I’ll do my best, old man,” he panted, “but I’m pretty near all in.
Let’s hammer it over. Anyhow, don’t kick until you have to.”
So back to the hammer-and-tongs plays they went, but now, in the
shadow of her goal, Broadwood awoke from her lethargy and played
grand football. Berwick went in at center for Hill, Minturn
replaced Dickenson, Smith went in for Hadlock. But, in spite of the
fresh material, or perhaps because Broadwood, too, was sending in
substitutes, Yardley won her next first down by the barest three
inches. Dan remembered for a long time his suspense while the officials
bent over the chain measuring the distance, and the great shout of
relief that went up as the referee waved the linesman on.
Loring doubted now whether the next three downs would bring the
required ten yards if he continued the attack on the line. He would
have liked to try that double forward pass, but hesitated because, as
he knew, to be at its best it should follow a “bunch” pass to the other
side of the line, and Yardley’s attempts at this play had not been
brilliantly successful. Still pondering and studying as he leaned over
behind Berwick and looked around at the backs, the solution came to
him. He gathered the team about him, issued his instructions, gave the
signals and the backs took up the kicking formation.
“Forward pass!” cried the Broadwood quarter. “Look out for forward
pass, fellows!”
Back went the ball, off raced the back-field to form in a bunch at
the right. But a groan arose from the Yardley side of the field;
Kapenhysen had fumbled the ball! And although he recovered it long
before Broadwood broke through, and although having recovered it, he
tucked it against his body and went straight into the melee before
he was downed, yet a first down had been wasted and the ball was no
nearer the goal-line than before. They never knew on the side-lines
that Kapenhysen’s little fumble had been intentional, nor did the enemy
guess it now. Encouraged, she set up her line again, wearied, but
grimly determined.
Again came the signals:
“_43--53--177--6!_” And again: “_43--53--177--6!_”
Off raced Dyer, Loring and Kapenhysen to the right, Dickenson and
Mitchell plunging through ahead of them.
“Forward pass!” cried Broadwood again, and her whole team followed
to where, ten yards back of the line, Yardley was bunched as though
to receive the pass. No one but the Broadwood quarter saw Dan steal
through outside of tackle unmolested, and he saw it too late.
Kapenhysen had stopped in his flight to the right and had passed the
ball, straight and swift to Capes, fifteen yards away across the field.
Capes took a step or two, stopped and sped the ball forward in a low
curve to Dan’s waiting hands. Back raced the Broadwood players, but
too late. Dan was almost on the five-yard-line when the ball settled
into his arms. With a quick turn he plunged to the right, eluded the
oncoming Broadwood half, tore free from the quarter and went staggering
around the goal-post for a touchdown and victory.
* * * * *
The banquet was well along towards its close. The last plate had been
pushed away, Loring, just elected captain for next year by acclamation,
had made his little speech and now Payson had been called on. The
coach laid down his napkin and arose, looking smilingly down the long
table which, aglow with shaded candles, made an oasis of light in the
darkened commons. Then he began to speak.
Dan, seated between Hill and Folwell, at the far end of the board,
listened for a few moments. Then his thoughts wandered to the events
of the day, to the note that Gerald had passed him outside the
gymnasium door and which still lay unopened and until now forgotten
in his pocket. He wondered what it could be. He drew it forth and
broke the seal out of sight. The writing looked like Tubby’s atrocious
fist, but--Why it was from Tubby! And what was this? Dan began at the
beginning and read the note from end to end.
“Dear Dan: I’m off for home to-day. Don’t expect me back. You
went and spoiled everything, you fool. It was I that did the
decorations on Dudley. I wanted to get even with that ass
Loring, and I would have if you hadn’t butted in and done the
early Christian Martyr act. I’ve sent a note to Payson, so
I guess he will let you play this afternoon. Hope you win.
And I’ve left a note at the Office respectfully tendering my
resignation. So they can’t fire me, you see. There was another
fellow in with me on the painting act, but I won’t say who he
is. Anyhow, it was my idea and I did the whole thing; he just
watched. And I don’t want him to get into trouble over it,
so you’d better keep mum about him. I guess I’ll try to make
Broadwood after Christmas, if dad will let me go. Anyhow, I
hope I’ll see you again some time before long. I’m glad to get
out of this hole, you bet!
“Your friend,
“HARRY L. JONES.
“P. S. I’m leaving my silver shoe-horn in the top bureau
drawer. Maybe you’ll like to keep it. You can if you want. I
wish you’d get my trunk down and pack my things for me. I’ll
send for them in a few days. Good luck. TUBBY.”
Tubby gone! Dan stared in amazement at the letter. And Tubby had done
the painting. Well, he had suspected that. Poor old Tubby! He was
sorry, real sorry, and he wished now that--
“Wake up, Vinton!”
Dan started. Folwell was digging him with his elbow and grinning at him.
“Huh?” he asked blankly. But Folwell whispered to him to “shut up
and listen to Payson, you chump!” And Dan listened. The next moment
his eyes were on the table and he felt the blood creeping up his
neck, around his ears and into his cheeks. Once he glanced up and met
Loring’s face laughing back at him across the board. But there was more
than laughter in Loring’s look and Dan’s eyes dropped swiftly again.
“And so,” Payson was saying, “although this victory of to-day belongs
to us and to the whole school, yet it is essentially a one-man victory.
And that one is here amongst us. It is his victory, not merely because,
a new fellow this Fall, he worked hard and cut his way into the team;
not merely because at the last moment, on a play which he himself
invented, he made the winning score for us; but because, when two of
our men, one of whom we simply couldn’t have done without, were charged
with a misdemeanor and deprived of their right to play on the team,
this fellow came forward and, innocent though he was, shouldered the
fault and the punishment that those men might play and that Yardley
might win. Yes, fellows, to-day’s victory was your victory, my victory,
the school’s victory, but more than all it was Vinton’s victory!”
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
--Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
--Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to
follow the text that they illustrate.
--Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.