In the following manner the two teams faced each other on that dark,
wet, dreary Saturday afternoon:
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FARDALE SPRINGVALE
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Shannock Right end Porter
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Jolliby Right tackle Kinter
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Bradley Right guard Sheehan
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Tubbs Center Rouke
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Dare Left guard Mahoney
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Gardner Left tackle Reed
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Buckhart Left end Huckley
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Smart Quarter-back Eyster
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Merriwell Right Sampson
half-back
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Darrell Left Nelson
half-back
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Singleton Full-back Austin
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A snow-storm had been threatening, but had turned to a rain-storm, the
weather becoming milder. It was not a downpour--just a weak, unpleasant
drizzle.
But a drizzle could not keep the cadets from turning out to witness the
game. They packed the seats reserved for them. There was not the usual
large gathering of spectators from the village and surrounding country,
although the attendance was not light.
The visitors were the first to come trotting out on the field. They wore
some sort of leathery-looking suits, and in the rain those suits
glistened strangely. They did not resort to the practise of falling on
the ball in warming up, but passed the ball from hand to hand and did a
little kicking.
The Fardale team came jogging out in their well-worn suits. They went at
the preliminary practise in the usual manner.
Brad Buckhart squinted at the New Era players, a peculiar expression on
his face.
"Whatever sort of suits have they got on?" he said, turning to Jolliby.
"Ask me sus-sus-sus-something I cuc-cuc-can answer," stuttered the tall
boy.
"This rain makes 'em shine like grease," said Brad. "They're a
queer-looking bunch."
The cadets had given their team a cheer on its appearance. The band was
not out. But the boys were prepared to sing and root in earnest.
Dick Merriwell had looked the enemy over. One of the fellows attracted
his attention. When he drew aside with the referee and the captain of
the visiting team, he said:
"Captain Huckley, there is a man on your team whom I know to be a
slugger, as well as a professional. His name is Porter. I have played
baseball against him, and know what he is."
"Porter?" said Huckley, not at all pleased. "I think you must be
mistaken about his character. He's all right."
"Then he has changed greatly for the better," said Dick. "He has no
great liking for me. I had some trouble with him once."
"Well, you can't ask me to break up my team just because you happened to
have some trouble with one of the men on it."
"I don't ask you to break the team up; but you may find it a good plan
to give Porter warning to play straight football. Those fellows up there
on the seats won't stand for crooked work."
"That's all right," came with a sneer from Huckley. "We'll have a snap
with your little team to-day, Captain Merriwell. There won't be any need
of our resorting to anything but the simplest kind of football."
"That remains to be demonstrated. Perhaps you may change your mind
later."
"Time is passing," said the referee. "The game will begin late now."
"We're ready," announced Dick grimly. "Flip the coin. Mr. Huckley may
call it."
"Heads," said Huckley, as the coin spun in the air.
"Tails," announced the referee. "Your choice, Captain Merriwell."
There was not much wind, and Dick decided to kick off. So Fardale took
the ball and the eastern goal to defend.
Singleton kicked, but, in spite of the fact that there was no wind, the
ball flew off to one side and went out of bounds. When it was brought
back the big fellow took plenty of time and smashed it hard and fair.
Up into the air and away sailed the ball. Over the muddy field raced
Buckhart and Shannock.
Sampson caught the ball. He made no attempt to return the kick, but
leaped forward.
Buckhart seemed to have the fellow foul. He tackled, but somehow he
failed to hold the fellow, his hands slipping off in a most surprising
way.
Sampson dashed onward.
Gardner fancied he saw his opportunity. He closed in on the runner and
made a beautiful leap for a tackle.
"He's got him!" cried the cadets.
But, although Gardner's hands fell fairly on the runner, he was unable
to hold Sampson, who slipped away from him and still kept on.
Darrell was the third man to tackle the runner, and he brought him down,
although Sampson nearly slipped from his grasp in the struggle. But New
Era had carried the ball back to her forty-yard line.
"Whatever have those galoots got on?" growled Buckhart, as he hurried to
get into the line-up. "Why, I tackled the fellow all right, but he went
out of my hands like grease."
Gardner said nothing. He felt chagrined over his failure to stop
Sampson. There was plenty of confidence in the New Era players as they
lined up for the scrimmage.
There was a sudden signal, a single word spoken, and the ball was
snapped and passed to Sampson.
The runner went straight into Fardale's center, which was the strongest
point of the home team's line.
Those fellows in the shiny suits hit the line hard, and Sampson came
through on the jump. It seemed that a dozen hands grabbed him, but he
twisted and squirmed and slipped away and kept on for ten yards before
being stopped. Merriwell was in the scrimmage, and he made a startling
discovery.
"Boys!" he palpitated, as they prepared to line up again, "their suits
are greased!"
It was a fact!
The leather suits, each suit made in one piece, were greased! That
explained how it was that the tacklers had been unable to hold the man
who carried the ball even when they clutched him with their hands.
That explained how Sampson had been able to slip through the center of
Fardale's line when many hands were placed upon him to restrain him.
If anything, the dampness added to the slippery condition of the leather
suits, and the New Era players were like a lot of greased pigs.
Merriwell was thunderstruck. Never had he heard of such a trick, and
when the truth dawned upon him he felt completely nonplused.
New Era gave Fardale little time for thought. She had the cadets
"going," and she meant to keep up the work. Again a word was spoken as a
signal, and again the ball went to Sampson. There was a rush toward
center, but Sampson circled to come around the right end.
Dick dashed to meet the fellow. He doubted if it would be possible to
hold Sampson if he made a fair tackle. Therefore, as Sampson came round
the end Dick charged him at full speed, plunged into him heavily and
bowled him over.
The ball flew from Sampson's hands.
Dick had expected the shock, and he recovered in a most amazing manner.
With a dive, he caught up the ball and leaped away.
A New Era man grabbed for him. He thrust out his hand, caught the fellow
under the chin and pushed him off with a thrust that actually lifted him
off his feet.
Another came down on Dick, but Merriwell was like a cat on his feet and
dodged away.
"I must do it!" thought Dick, as he darted toward the enemy's goal-line.
They were after him. They sought to pen him in. He flew through them.
The cadets rose on their seats and roared.
"Go, Merriwell!" they shrieked. "Go on, Merriwell!"
Considering the condition of the field, considering the fact that there
were pools of water and the ground was wet and slippery, Dick's speed
was surprising. His dodging was even more surprising. It seemed that
Dick was certain of getting through for a touchdown.
Austin cut down on him from one direction. Dick got past the visiting
full-back. Then, with a clear field before him, he turned to make
straight for the goal.
The other players, spread out and strung out, were coming after him. In
that moment, when success seemed certain, Dick slipped. He had kept his
feet in turning, twisting and dodging, but now he slipped and came near
going down. He was up and away again, but Austin was close upon him.
"He'll make it!"
"No, he won't!"
"Austin has him!"
It was true that Austin had made a beautiful tackle, catching Dick about
the legs and bringing him down so near the goal-line that another bound
would have carried the ball over.
Then the pursuing players came pouring down upon them. In the lead was
Porter, New Era's right end.
Porter jumped into the air to come down on Dick with both feet,
evidently hoping to put Captain Merriwell out of the game.
As Porter jumped into the air Dick rolled to one side, seeking to break
Austin's hold on his legs.
That saved him from serious injury. Porter struck him with one foot
only, and then, as he reeled to fall, Brad Buckhart booted him with all
the strength of a muscular leg, lifting him clean over the goal-line.
There was a mad roar of rage from the cadets who had witnessed Porter's
dastardly act. Another roar of satisfaction as they saw Buckhart lift
the fellow with a swinging kick. Then it seemed that those watching lads
would rush down from the seats and come pouring on to the field.
"Hold them back!" cried Professor Broad, the athletic instructor and
master of the gym.
Thirty or forty lads, many of them wearing chevrons on their sleeves,
joined with Professor Broad in restraining the excited witnesses.
On the field it seemed that a fight was imminent. Some of the New Era
men wanted to tackle Buckhart, and he promptly invited them to come on.
"Sail right in, you galoots!" he cried, swinging his clenched fists in
the air. "If that's the kind of game you want to play, you'll get all
that is coming to you! You hear me shout!"
Captain Huckley restrained his men.
"The whole thing was unintentional," he said.
"Not on my part," promptly confessed Brad. "I kicked the onery skunk,
and I meant to do it, you bet! He tried to stamp out my pard, and I'd
shot him full of holes if I'd had a gun!"
From behind the ropes where he was being held in check, Chester
Arlington cried:
"That's the stuff, Buckhart! Get at him again!"
The excited cadets had been checked, but they were standing, looking
black enough as they glared through the rain at the mud-bespattered
players.
"Put him off the team!"
Somebody raised the cry, a dozen caught it up, it swelled louder and
louder, it rose to a mad roar for the removal of Porter.
"Put him off! Put him off! Put him off!"
"Are you all right, captain?" asked big Bob Singleton, who had pulled
Merriwell to his feet.
"All right," assured Dick, squirming a little. "Nearly lost a rib, but
I'm all right."
"Porter jumped you with both feet. It was lucky you rolled just as you
did."
"Porter, eh? Where's Captain Huckley?"
"Here," was the answer.
"You know what I said about that fellow. He----"
"No use to fuss about him now," said Huckley. "The umpire disqualified
him. He's out of the game."
This was true, and a substitute had been called to take Porter's place.
The game went on, Fardale lining up with the ball within two yards of
New Era's goal.
The ball was snapped and passed back to Darrell. In a most surprising
manner, two or three of New Era's forwards slipped through Fardale's
line and had Hal before he could make an advance. Down he went. A loss
of three yards! This was bad work.
"Hold fast in the line," urged Dick. "Don't let them through like that!"
"Talk about greased lightning!" grumbled Harry Dare.
"Can't hold them," said Gardner desperately. "Hands slip right off!"
"Whatever sort of a game is this?" growled Brad Buckhart, in deepest
disgust. "Are they allowed to wear suits like that? Are they allowed to
grease themselves so a fellow can't get hold of them at all?"
The New Era players laughed in the faces of the Fardale lads.
"There are some things about this game you chaps do not know," sneered
Durban, who had taken Porter's place.
"We may be able to teach you a trick or two before the game ends," flung
back Buckhart.
But Fardale could not seem to do much with these slippery fellows, and
she failed to advance the ball, failed in trying for a field-goal,
failed so dismally that the watching cadets groaned with dismay.
New Era took a turn at rushing the ball along the muddy field. She
plowed into Fardale, and soon it seemed that the cadets had no show at
all.
Chester Arlington, his rain-hat slouched over his face, was pale to the
lips as he saw those greased players slip through Fardale's line for
steady gains, saw the ball carried along the muddy field toward
Fardale's goal, realizing in his heart that the home team was playing
against a terrible handicap.
"Just my luck!" he thought. "Here I've been betting against Fardale and
losing right along; to-day I bet on her, and these duffers come along
with a trick that makes our team look like a lot of dubs. I'm beaten
again! Lord have mercy! the old lady will have to cough up now, and
that's a fact!"
He groaned aloud when the thought of the dreadful condition financially
that he would be in if Fardale lost that game. If Fardale lost! There
seemed no doubt about that, for New Era walked straight along to a
touch-down and then kicked a goal.
Fardale kicked off again. Nelson caught the ball and ran, slipping from
the hands of three tacklers who got hold of him fairly. It was awful!
Dick Merriwell brought Nelson down at last, but the ball was in the
center of the field.
"Bub-bub-blame this greasy business!" chattered Chip Jolliby, in deepest
disgust. "There must be sus-some kuk-kind of a rule against it."
He was covered with mud to the eyes, presenting a comical, as well as a
wretched, spectacle.
"Hi don't like this kind of football, don't y' 'now!" wailed Billy
Bradley. "Hit's hawful--simply hawful!"
"Brace up!" squeaked Obediah Tubbs. "I wish to thutteration I could git
some dry dirt on my hands, then I guess I could hold on to one of them
'tarnal critters."
Buckhart was blustering, but bluster did not amount to anything in this
game. New Era had Fardale on the run, and she kept the work up. Again
the ball was rushed down to Fardale's line, the cadets being unable to
hold the greased players. This time, however, Austin failed to kick a
goal.
Dick talked to his men.
"Hold 'em, fellows," he urged--"hold 'em as well as you can this half. I
have an idea. We'll get after them hard in the last half. They're not
our match. We can down them handily on even terms."
Dick was satisfied from what he had seen of New Era's playing that the
team was not a match for Fardale on even terms. Had the suits of the
visitors not been greased they could not have held their own with the
cadets.
Having arrived at this belief, Dick began to think swiftly, and an idea
soon flashed through his head. So he urged his men to hold New Era down
as well as possible in the first half, promising a change in the final
half.
The boys responded as well as they could under such discouraging
conditions. Covered with dirt and grease, they stuck their toes into the
mud and fought every inch of the ground. But New Era pushed her
advantage, and before the half ended she had made three touch-downs,
failing, however, to kick but one goal. And the whistle blew for the end
of the half with the ball again less than seven yards away from
Fardale's line.