CALLED TO THE COLORS
In September Joe was back again at Holman’s, three months older, nearly
an inch taller than he had been the preceding fall and a good eight
pounds heavier than when he had left school in June. Some of those
eight pounds, he knew, would come off when he began running the bases
in fall practice, but he earnestly hoped that most of them would stay
with him. As Hal was no longer there, and, since he was now a senior,
he was privileged to room in the senior dormitory. He had applied for
and been assigned one of the front studies in Levering Hall. But in
July his plans had been changed. A wierdly scrawled letter from Gus
Billings, written in a Maine camp, had reached him toward the last of
that month. Gus, himself now without a roommate, proposed that Joe
share Number 10 Puffer. “Maybe it isn’t as fussy as Levering,” wrote
Gus, “but it’s a good old dive and I’d rather stay there next year than
change, and you’d like it, I’ll bet, if you tried it.” So Joe joined
forces with the big, good-natured football captain, taking over Babe
Linder’s half of the quarters and becoming heir to one frayed bath
towel, a half-filled bottle of witch-hazel and the remains of what had
once been a blue gymnasium shirt, these articles being discovered in
various out-of-the-way corners.
Joe missed Hal Norwin a good deal for the first few days of the new
term, but after that there was scarcely time to miss any one. Fall
baseball practice began on the second day and Joe was busy. He and Gus
got on beautifully right from the start. Any fellow, though, could get
on with Gus, so that was no great credit to Joe. Gus was even busier
than Joe, and, as football leader, was facing far more responsibility.
Until well into October Joe knew but little of the football situation.
Gus spoke of it frequently enough, but Joe’s attention was generally
perfunctory. Then, one evening Gus sprang a surprise.
“Say, how much longer are you going to waste your time with that gang
of morons?” he asked. “Moron” was a new word with Gus, and he loved it.
Joe simulated perplexity.
“Morons, Gus? Why, I’m not on the eleven!”
“No, but you ought to be,” growled Gus. “Look here, Joseph, we were
talking about you this afternoon, Rusty and I, and we decided you’d
have to come out.”
“Play football? Not on your life! Listen, Gus, I’ve got all the
trouble I want right now. You and Rusty want to forget it!”
“Can’t be done. We need you. We’re short of men, as you know, and――”
“I didn’t know it,” exclaimed Joe suspiciously.
“Well, you would have if you’d heard what I’ve been telling you every
day for three weeks! We’ve got a punk lot of backfield stuff, and we
need more. We――”
“Thanks,” laughed Joe.
“We need more men, I mean. You’ve played two years already, Joe, and
you know a lot more than some of those new morons that are trying for
jobs. You’d be a lot of good out there if you’d come. How about it?”
“But I can’t, Gus! Who’s going to look after the baseball gang? There’s
a good fortnight of practice ahead yet. Of course, after that, if you
still insist, I’ll be glad to join your crowd of roughnecks. Just
the same, I don’t see what use I can be. You know mighty well I’m no
football player. I proved that last year, and――”
“How come? Look at what you did in the Mills game. Made every score
yourself――”
“Shut up! I’m a dub at football, and every one knows it. What are you
and Rusty trying to do, anyway? String me?”
“Not a bit of it, Joe, honest. Listen. Rusty says you’d probably get
a place this year if you tried hard. After all, experience is what
counts, and you’ve had two years of it. And you’re a mighty clever guy
when it comes to running, Joe. You’re fast and you can dodge like a
rabbit.”
“Yes, maybe. And I can get the signals twisted and I can score as well
for the other fellow as for us! I’m a plain nitwit at football, Gus,
old darling, and you ought to know it. So had Rusty. Besides――” and Joe
grinned――“what would I want to play any more for? I’ve got my letter,
haven’t I?”
“Letter?” said Gus. “You’ve got three of ’em; baseball, football and
hockey. If it comes to that, what do you want to play any more baseball
for?”
“Oh, that’s different. I’m captain, you see.”
“Sure. And I’m football captain. So you ought to play football.”
The logic wasn’t quite clear to Joe, but he didn’t challenge it. He
only shook his head again. “Anything to oblige you, Gus, but my duty is
with the baseball crowd just now.”
“What’s the matter with letting Prince attend to ’em? What’s fall
practice amount to, anyway? Any one can stand around and see that those
guys get enough work. The job doesn’t need you. Besides, you could look
’em over now and then, couldn’t you?”
“But, my dear, good Gustavus,” protested Joe, “what’s the big idea?
You’ve got Dave Hearn and Johnny Sawyer for half-backs, and maybe six
or eight others, haven’t you? Why pick on me?”
“Sure, we’ve got Dave and Johnny and a fellow named Leary, a new guy,
but that’s all we have got. The rest are a total loss. You know mighty
well three half-backs aren’t enough to carry a team through a whole
season. Johnny’s a fine plunger, a rattling guy for the heavy and rough
business, but he’s as slow as cold cream when it comes to running.
Dave’s good; he’s fine; but we need a couple others. You’re one of ’em.
When do you start?”
Joe laughed impatiently. “I don’t start, you old idiot. I’ve told you I
can’t.”
“Bet you you do,” replied Gus, untroubledly.
“Well, I’ll bet I don’t! At any rate, not until fall baseball’s
through.” There was a moment’s silence during which Joe found his place
in the book he had been studying. Then he added: “I’m sorry, Gus, of
course, but you see how it is.”
“I thought you liked football,” said Gus. “You were crazy about it last
fall.”
“I do like it. I’m crazy about it yet, I guess, even if I’ve proved to
myself that I’m no player, but――”
“And now, just when you’re practically certain of making the team, you
quit!”
“Practically certain of――say, are you crazy?”
“Well, aren’t you? You’re captain of the baseball team, aren’t you?
Well, you ought to know what that means. If I went out for baseball
next spring don’t you think I’d find a place, even if I was fairly
punk? Sure, I would. Just because I’m football captain. Well, it works
the other way, too, doesn’t it? Any coach will stretch a point to find
a place for a fellow who’s captain in another sport. Rusty as good as
said this afternoon that you’d get placed if you came out. Of course,
that doesn’t mean that you’d play all the time, but you’d get a good
show and you’d be sure of playing against Munson for a while anyway.”
“I call that a pretty sick piece of business,” replied Joe disgustedly.
“And if you think it works always, why, you just try for the nine next
spring! You’ll have a fat chance of making it if you can’t play real
baseball, Gus!”
“Maybe,” chuckled Gus, “but if you left it to the coach he’d look after
me all right!”
“Well, I don’t want a place on the football team that I don’t earn. And
you can tell Rusty so, too. I’m not coming out, Gus, but if I did I
wouldn’t take any favors like that. That’s――that’s crazy!”
“Well, don’t get excited,” said Gus soothingly. “We’ll let you earn
your place, Joe.”
“You bet you will――when you get the chance!”
Joe resolutely cupped his chin in his palms and fixed his eyes on the
book. Gus smiled tolerantly, sighed and drew his own work toward him.
Two days later Joe reported for football.
There didn’t seem to be anything else to do. The coach talked to three
or four of the leading members of the nine and convinced them that
Captain Kenton was needed on the gridiron. Then he talked to Joe.
Rusty was a forceful talker, even if his vocabulary wasn’t large, and
at the end of half an hour he had Joe teetering. And then when the
latter, having exhausted all the objections he could think of, fell
back on Charlie Prince and others of the last year crowd for support
they deserted him utterly. Charlie expressed amazement that Joe should
even hesitate. He said it was a question of patriotism, a call to the
colors, and a lot more, and Joe surrendered. Charlie took over the
running of the baseball team and Joe, delighted as soon as he was once
convinced, donned canvas again.
So far Holman’s had journeyed a rough path. She had played four games
and won two of them. She had had her big moments, when it had seemed
to coach and players and spectators that the Light Green was due for
another successful season, with Munson’s scalp hanging from her belt
in November, but there had been other moments not so grand. Saarsburg
had fairly overwhelmed her in the third contest of the season, Holman’s
playing football that might easily have disgraced a grammar school
team. Some laid that to the fact that the thermometer hovered around
eighty; but it wasn’t to be denied that it was just as hot for the
visiting crowd, and Rusty, the red-headed Holman’s coach, chewed his
gum very fast and swallowed a lot of things he wanted to say. Then,
just to show what she could do, the Light Green took Center Hill
Academy into camp to the tune of 23 to 0; and Center Hill was no infant
at the pigskin game! And three days after that Joe Kenton joined his
fortunes with Gus and Tom Meadows and Slim Porter and the others and
contentedly, if dubiously, proceeded to do his bit.
It wasn’t much of a bit at first. He was football stale and it took
many days to get back into the rut again. Rusty gave him plenty of work
and plenty of opportunities, trying him out for a week on the scrubs
and then shifting him over to the first as a first-choice substitute.
He got into the Mills game for some twenty minutes and, perhaps because
Mills this year was only about fifty per cent of the team she had been
last, he was fairly successful in making gains outside of tackle.
Holman’s won without much effort, 19 to 0. Afterwards, Gus tried to
tell Joe that he had played a corking game, but Joe knew better.
“Talk sense,” he protested. “If we’d been playing Munson, or even
Glenwood, I wouldn’t have made fifteen yards this afternoon. With you
and Barrows boxing that end any one could have got his distance. And
I mighty nigh got the signals mixed again that time on their sixteen
yards when Sanford sent Leary into the line. I was within an ace of
going after the ball myself. If Leary hadn’t started a split-second
before I could get going I’d have gummed the game finely! No, sir, Gus,
I’m no pigskin wonder, and I know it. I love the pesky old game and
I’ll play it as long as you and Rusty can stand me, but I haven’t any
whatyoucallems――any delusions of greatness.”
“I don’t say you’re a great player,” demurred Gus, “but you got away
fast and clean to-day, and you follow the ball, Joe. If there’s one
thing I admire more than anything else in a football guy it’s that. I’m
a prune, myself, at it. I never could keep my eyes on the old leather,
and I’ve missed more tackles and fell over my own feet oftener than you
could count just for that reason. Yes, sir, you follow the ball, and I
sure like that, Joe.”
“Oh, well, maybe so, but that doesn’t make me a player. Any one
can watch the pigskin and see where it’s going――or coming. And, of
course, if you know where it is you stand a fair chance of getting the
runner. But what I mean is that――that oh, I don’t know!” Joe sighed.
“I guess it just comes down to this, Gus. Some fellows have football
intelligence and a lot more haven’t. And I’m one of the haven’t!”
“Well, keep the old shirt on,” counseled Gus. “You’re doing fine. I
wouldn’t wonder if we managed to use you a whole lot against Munson.
They say she’s got only a fair line this year, and a slow backfield,
and you ought to be able to get going once at least; and when you do
get started, Joseph, you’re hard to stop.”
“A slow backfield!” jeered Joe. “Where do you get that stuff? Munson’s
still got Taylor, and he’s fast enough for half a dozen backs!”
“Yeah, but the rest are big chaps and don’t handle themselves very
quick. Anyway, that’s the dope we get. Rusty’s aiming to put a fast
team against ’em, and that’s why I guess you’ll get a good share of
work the day we meet ’em. You keep right on the way you’re headed, old
son, and no one’ll do any kicking. And keep your eye on the ball just
like you’re doing. You sure do make a hit with me in that way, Joe!”
“Well, it’s nice to know there’s one thing I do decently,” answered
Joe, still deeply pessimistic. “Too bad there isn’t a twelfth
position on a football team, Gus. I might get on the All-American as
ball-follower!”
Gus grinned and muttered something as he lounged through the door. It
sounded like “moron.”
The Mills game marked the end of the preliminary season. The four games
that remained, excepting, perhaps, that with Wagnalls, a week before
the final test, were serious affairs; and only the most optimistic
Holman’s supporters could figure wins for the Light Green in more than
two of them; and sometimes those two didn’t include the Munson contest!
Rusty had stopped experimenting now and, barring accidents, the line-up
for the Louisburg game would be the line-up that faced Munson. One
thing that worried all who dared hope for a victory over the Blue and
Gold was the fact that in all the seventeen years that Holman’s and
Munson had met on the gridiron never had the former won two successive
contests. Munson had beaten her rival two years running twice, but such
glory had yet to fall to Holman’s. Holman’s had won last fall, and
while there was, of course, absolutely nothing in this superstition
stuff――well, there it was! Even Captain Gus, who had as little
imagination as any one could have, was secretly oppressed, although
publicly, if any one referred to the subject, he laughed scornfully
and declared that fellows who put any faith in that sort of dope were
morons!
What Rusty thought no one knew. Rusty kept right on working hard
with such material as Fate had willed to him, a dogged, determined,
generally cheerful Rusty who was well liked by all hands and who,
knowing what his charges didn’t know, was working for more than
a victory over the ancient rival. What he knew and the fellows
didn’t――or, if they did know, had forgotten――was that his four-year
term as coach expired this fall, and that, since like any general, he
was judged by results, whether his contract was renewed would depend
a very great deal on whether Holman’s or Munson emerged from the fast
approaching battle with the long end of the score. During Rusty’s
regime the Light Green had lost two Munson games and won one, and,
although Rusty might well have cited extenuating circumstances to
account for the first defeat, he realized fully that another reversal
would probably send him looking for a new position. So the little coach
worked hard, perhaps harder than he ever had worked, and with material
that, to say the best of it, was only average. If he had had last
year’s team Rusty wouldn’t have worried much, but he hadn’t. What he
had was only little more than half as good as last year’s, and so, not
infrequently, Rusty did worry. But few ever knew it.
The Louisburg game proved a tragedy both to the team and to Joe; but
especially to Joe. Johnny Sawyer, playing right half, got a twisted
ankle early in the first period and, for some reason known only to
Rusty, Joe, instead of Leary, was sent in to replace him. Joe had never
been able to do as well at right half as at left; nor did he play as
well under Clinker’s leadership as under Sanford’s. To-day it was the
substitute quarter who had started, Sanford being reserved for the last
half. Things broke wrong for Joe on the very first play, which was a
fullback buck through right of center. Instead of going into the line
outside his right tackle as he should have, Joe dashed straight for the
center-guard hole. He beat Brill, the fullback, to it, but Joe was too
light for the job of cleaning the hole out, and when Brill slammed in
behind him the enemy defense had flocked to the point of attack and the
result was a three-yard loss for Holman’s. Joe emerged rather the worse
for wear and as yet unconscious of his error. Clinker, ably assisted
by Brill, informed him of it. There wasn’t much time for explanations,
but the two did wonders, and Joe, very sick and miserable, would have
crawled out of sight if that had been possible.
He partly redeemed himself a few minutes later by a lucky catch of the
ball when it bounced from Barrow’s hands after a forward pass. But he
laid that to luck and nothing else, and found no comfort. Twice he
was stopped on plays around his right, once for a four-yard loss. It
wasn’t his day, and he was convinced of it, and he played as one who
was convinced. On defense he was not so bad, but Rusty wisely took him
out at the end of the quarter. Joe went over to the gymnasium certain
that he was disgraced. He didn’t return for the rest of the game,
and what happened he learned from Gus later. After holding Holman’s
scoreless during the first two periods, Louisburg opened up a whole
bag of tricks and, taking the offensive, slammed the opponents around
cruelly, putting two touchdowns across and adding a field goal for good
measure. The score was 16 to 0. Gus was still dazed when he told the
story.
“We simply went to pieces, Joe, the whole kit and caboodle of us. Why,
even Ferris was up in the air. Twice he passed over Brill’s head. The
rest of us were just as bad. I was rotten. I don’t know what happened!
We played like a lot of――of morons!”