ON THE FOURTH SQUAD
"How much does a football suit cost, Humphrey, and where do you buy it?"
Humphrey looked up from his book and smiled quizzically across at the
enquirer. "Hello!" he said. "Going to the rescue of the dear old school
after all, Rowly?"
Ira nodded slowly. "It sounds sort of silly, I guess," he replied,
"but I've decided to have a try at it. I don't believe for a minute
that they'll keep me more than one day, but Lyons wanted me to try
it, and--well, I guess that's the least I can do. Someone ought to
do something for the team besides 'knock' it. Where do you get these
things you wear?"
"Wherever they sell 'em. There's a store a block or so over towards
the common where they have footballs and things in the window. Don't
remember the name, but you can't miss it."
"How much do you have to pay for a regular outfit?"
"Never bought one, Rowly. The only time I played football it was just
kid stuff, and we wore whatever we had. You might ask our fat friend
next door. He's on the team--or trying for it."
"Duff? I don't know him well enough, I guess. Do you think ten dollars
would do it?"
"Well, hardly, Rowly! Why, shoes cost four, I suppose. And then you
have to have trousers and stockings and jacket and sweater----"
"I've got a sweater," interrupted Ira. "I wish I knew someone who had
some things they weren't using. I hate to spend a lot of money for
something I may not need after two or three days!"
"You don't seem to think very well of your chances," laughed Humphrey.
"But, say, why don't you ask someone? I'll bet there are plenty of
outfits you could buy or borrow. How about that chap Goodloe? He might
know of someone."
"That's so. I think I'll ask him."
"The only trouble," chuckled Humphrey, "is that another fellow's togs
will probably be too small for you. Maybe you could have them let out,
though."
"I sort of wish I'd stop growing so fast," said Ira sorrowfully.
"Everything I get is too small for me after a few months. The tailor is
fixing both my other suits, but I dare say by the time he gets them
done he will have to start over again!"
This conversation took place on the Sunday evening succeeding the
Mapleton game. That it was Sunday explained Humphrey's presence at
home, for he spent most of his evenings in or around the Central
Billiard Palace, so far as Ira could make out. Humphrey had heard
from home and was once more in funds. He had promptly returned Ira's
loans and paid his share of the furnishings, laughingly explaining
that he wanted to keep his credit good as he would probably have to
borrow again soon. Ira wished that he would spend less time in the
town and more in the third floor back room at Maggy's, for there were
already indications of impending trouble between Humphrey and various
instructors. But Ira decided that Humphrey had better learn his own
lesson from experience. Humphrey was not the sort one could offer
suggestions to, no matter how excellent or well-meant they might be.
Of late the roommates had got on very well. Ira was certain that there
had been no more cigarette smoking in the house and was fairly sure
that Humphrey had given up the habit entirely. Perhaps it was because
Ira was getting used to the other, but it seemed to him that he could
detect an improvement both in Humphrey's manners and appearance. When
the latter wanted to be pleasant he could be very pleasant, and at such
times he was rather a likable sort.
Ira went across to Williams as soon as breakfast was over the next
morning and found both Gene Goodloe and Fred Lyons at home. When he
had explained his mission both fellows dived into closets and trunks
and in about three minutes Ira was outfitted. Fortunately, the pair of
well-worn trousers were Fred's, for had they been Gene's they would
never have answered. The jacket was practically new, one that Gene had
purchased two years before with visions in mind of making his class
team. It didn't lace quite close across the chest, but answered well
enough for the present. The shoes were Fred's, and save that each had
one or more cleats missing, were in very good shape. The brown jersey,
with leather pads at elbows and shoulders, was Gene's, and, while it
fitted a bit too soon, promised to conform in time to the physical
proportions of the new wearer. A pair of stockings alone was wanting.
Fred found some, but after exposing the heels he discarded them.
However, stockings were a small item, and as for a sweater, Ira had a
perfectly good one that had never been worn. It wasn't brown, but Fred
said that wouldn't matter a bit.
The only trouble obtruded when Ira broached the subject of price.
Neither boy wanted to consider payment. "Why, the things aren't worth
ten cents," declared Gene. "I'd never use mine, and Fred's got more
togs at the gym than he can wear!"
"But I can't just--just walk off in them," protested Ira. "I'd rather
buy them, if you don't mind."
"But we do mind!" said Gene. "We'd blush to take money for them. Look
at Fred. He's blushing already!" Ira couldn't detect it, however, and
resolutely draped the garments over the back of a chair as he took them
off.
"I guess I'll have to buy them at the store then," he said regretfully.
"I'm awfully much obliged to you, but I can't take them unless you let
me pay for them."
"Oh, don't be a silly chump!" begged Gene. But Fred interposed.
"If you feel that way about it, Rowland, why, we'll take your money, of
course. A couple of dollars will settle with me and I guess Gene won't
want more than a dollar."
"A dollar!" jeered his roommate. "He can have them for fifty cents."
"I guess I'd better make an offer," said Ira soberly. "The trousers
aren't so new as the other things. I'll give you a dollar for them.
And I'll give two dollars for the shoes, fifty cents for the shirt and
fifty cents for the jacket. Will that do?"
"Suits me," said Fred.
"Me, too," answered Gene. "And, say, Rowland, I've got a lot of other
things I wish you'd look at. Need a nice Winter overcoat? Or a few
pairs of shoes? Or--say, what'll you give for the furniture just as it
stands?"
"Dry up, Gene," growled Fred. "I'm glad you're coming out, Rowland.
Practice is at three-thirty. If you don't find time to get stockings
don't bother about them. We'll find some for you at the gym."
"Thanks, but I'll get a pair this morning. What shall I do when I get
there this afternoon?"
"Report to me, please, and I'll look after you. And, say, Rowland,
don't get discouraged if it seems a good deal like drudgery at first.
Stick it out, will you? There is a good deal of hard work in it, and
coming out a week late will make it a bit harder. But you'll like it as
soon as you get used to it."
"Yes, just as soon as you've broken an arm or a leg," said Gene
cheerfully, "you'll positively love it, Rowland!"
When Ira had gone out, his purchases draped over his arm, Fred said
mildly: "What's the good of trying to make him feel uncomfortable,
Gene? He wanted to buy the things, so why not let him do it if it was
going to make him any happier?"
"I'll bet he didn't feel as uncomfortable as I did," answered the
other. "I felt like a second-hand clothes dealer. I didn't want his old
dollar. Besides, he hasn't much money, I guess, and it seemed a shame
to take it."
"Folks who don't have money, Gene, are the ones who are touchiest about
accepting presents," observed Fred wisely. "I hope we can do something
with that chap," he added as he gathered his books together. "If he can
be taught he'll be a prize."
"Why can't he be taught? If you think he's stupid you're dead wrong,
Frederick dear. He's got a heap of horse sense, that kid."
"I know. I don't mean that he's stupid. Only--well, some fellows can
learn about everything except football. I don't know why it is, but
it's so. Maybe football requires a certain sort of instinct----"
"Oh, piffle! You football fellows think the game's something sort
of--of different from everything else there is! You make me tired! It's
a sight harder to run the half-mile than it is to play a dozen football
games!"
"It might be for you," answered Fred, dryly. "To the limited intellect
an easy task always seems the harder. Good morning!"
"Listen, you big galoot! You use Rowland right. Hear me? If you don't
I'll lick you!"
"What you say goes, Gene," answered Fred airily from the doorway. "I'll
wrap him in cotton wool the very first thing!"
"Yes, take the stuffing out of your head," retorted Gene triumphantly.
That afternoon, feeling queer and conspicuous in his unfamiliar attire,
Ira slipped out of the gymnasium and joined the stream trickling to
the gridiron. That the football togs made a difference in him was
proved when he passed Raymond White near the grandstand. Ray viewed him
carelessly and looked away without recognition. Then, dimly conscious
of a likeness to someone he knew, Ray looked again and turned back.
"Hello, Rowland!" he exclaimed, laughing. "By Jove, I didn't know you!
So you're out, eh? I'm awfully glad. I sort of thought you'd get the
fever after watching a game or two. Well, you'll like it. See if you
don't."
Ira didn't think it worth while to explain that instead of having
acquired the football fever, he had, on the contrary, decided that
his first opinion of the game was the correct one and was there that
afternoon more because of a sense of duty than anything else.
"Are you looking for Lowell?" continued Ray. "He isn't out yet, I
guess. What are you trying for? Or don't you know that?"
"No, I don't. What I think I'd rather do is hold one of those iron rods
along the side," laughed Ira. "I was told to report to Lyons, but I
don't see him around."
"No, he isn't here yet. Pick up one of those balls back of you and
we'll pass a minute."
After two attempts to catch and throw the erratically behaving pigskin
it dawned on Ira that he had even more to learn than he had suspected.
However, following Ray White's instructions, he presently learned to
stop the ball with both hands and body instead of treating it like a
baseball, and to wrap his fingers about it so he could throw it within
a few yards of where he meant it to land. There wasn't much time for
passing, however, as coach, captain and manager arrived together very
shortly, and Ira, rather conscious of his strange togs, approached the
group.
"Oh, here you are!" greeted Fred Lyons. "Coach, this is Rowland, the
chap I was telling you about. Shake hands with Coach Driscoll, Rowland.
And Manager Lowell. You might give Lowell your name and so on. He's
full of questions."
Ira shook hands and, while De Wolf Lowell put down his name, age, class
and so on, was conscious of the coach's intent regard. When Lowell was
satisfied Ira turned inquiringly to Captain Lyons, but it was the coach
who took him in hand.
"You've had no experience at all, Rowland?" asked Mr. Driscoll in a
somewhat sceptical tone.
"No, sir."
"Funny! A chap with your build ought to be playing long before this.
What have you done? Baseball? Track? What?"
"I've played baseball a little. That's about all."
The coach reached out and closed his fingers inquiringly over Ira's
forearm and then pressed his knuckles against the boy's chest. "Where'd
you get those muscles, then?" he demanded.
"I don't know, sir. Maybe in the woods. I've swung an ax sometimes,
and I've ridden a saw."
"Ridden a saw? What's that?"
"Why," replied Ira, smiling, "when a kid like me, or a new hand, takes
hold of a cross-saw they say he 'rides' it. 'Just you keep your feet
off the ground, sonny, and I'll ride you' is what the old hands tell
you."
His audience laughed, and Coach Driscoll remarked: "Well, I guess you
got down and walked sometimes, Rowland! You've got some fat on you that
you don't need, but we'll work that off. Put him on the scales after
practice, Lowell, and see that he doesn't come down too fast. Have you
had your examination?"
Ira shook his head. "For what, sir?" he asked.
"For football--or anything else. I guess it's all right for today, but
you'll have to see Mr. Tasser tomorrow and he will fill out a card. If
he finds you all right for football--as he will, I guess--show your
card to Lowell. Now, then, let's see. You'd better join that fourth
squad over there. Learn to handle the ball the first thing, Rowland.
It'll take you two or three days to get acquainted with it, I guess.
Don't be in a hurry to get on. I'll look you up again in a day or two."
"I'll take you over," said Fred Lyons. "Do we scrimmage today, coach?"
"Oh, I think so. You fellows didn't work very hard Saturday from what I
saw!"
Fred smiled as he crossed the field with Ira in tow. "We worked hard,
all right," he said, "but we worked rotten, too! Did you see Saturday's
game, Rowland?"
"Yes. I suppose you wouldn't call it a very good one, would you?"
"Punk! Here we are. Oh, Cheap! Will you take Rowland in your squad,
please? He's new at it, but willing to learn. How's it going?"
"Fair," replied the boy addressed. "Some of these fellows think that
thing's an egg, though. They hate to be rough with it for fear it'll
break. Fall in there beyond Webster, Rowland, will you? Hug the ball
when it comes to you. You can't bust it!"
A tall youth sidled along to make room for Ira and during the next
twenty minutes he learned a lot about the uncertain disposition of a
football. They passed it in a circle and then in a line, and after that
Cheap, a freckle-faced, tow-haired youth with a short temper and a
fine command of sarcasm, stood in front of them and tossed the ball to
the ground and it was their duty to fall on hip and elbow and secure
it. Falling on a dribbling ball is not the easiest thing in the world
for a novice, for the ball does the most unexpected things, such as
bounding to the right when you think it is going to jump to the left,
or stopping short when you think it will come on. On the whole, Ira
comforted himself with the reflection that he met with more success
than many of the squad even if he didn't do as well as a select few.
Practice at starting followed, and for ten minutes they raced from a
mark at the instant that Cheap snapped the ball. Then they were coached
in picking the ball up without stopping and in catching it on the bound
as it was tossed in front of them. By that time Ira was drenched in
perspiration and was extremely short of breath. Finally, they were
formed again into a ring and the ball was passed from one to the other
as before, the boy at the right throwing it at the next fellow's
stomach and the next fellow making a "basket" for it by raising one
leg, bending his body forward at the waist and holding has hands apart.
If he was successful the ball thumped against his stomach and his hands
closed about it. If he wasn't, it leaped away to the ground and he had
to fall on it. Ira discovered that day why his brown jersey was padded
at elbow and shoulder!
Cheap strolled off to the side line, leaving them to continue the
exercise without him, whereupon conversation went around with the ball.
"I'm getting sick of this," said the fellow at Ira's right as he gave
the pigskin a more than ordinarily vicious drive at Ira's stomach. "We
were at it five minutes before you came."
"I guess I'll dream of it tonight," laughed Ira breathlessly, passing
the pigskin along to his left-hand neighbour.
"If you don't it'll be a wonder," growled the other. "I did for
two or three nights. Cheap makes me tired, anyway. He's a regular
slave-driver. If we don't get something else tomorrow I'm going to
quit."
"You said that last week," remarked a small youth beyond him. "So did
I. But we're still here. Change!"
He started the ball around in the other direction and the fellows
shifted to meet the new order. Presently Cheap returned, watched
disapprovingly for a minute and then called: "That'll do, squad! You're
fine and rotten! On the run to the bench, and put your blankets on!"
Trotting half the length and width of the field seemed to Ira the final
insult, but he managed to reach the substitutes' bench without falling
by the way and sank on to it with a deep sigh of gratitude. The rest
of the practice time was spent by his squad and one other in watching
the half-hour scrimmage. Then came the return to the gymnasium, showers
and a leisurely dressing, during which nearly every muscle in Ira's
body ached protestingly.
But after he had eaten his dinner he felt, in spite of his soreness,
particularly fit, and found himself looking forward to the next day's
work with a sort of eagerness. It wasn't so much that he expected to
enjoy it as that he was curious to know whether he would survive it!
He did survive it, however, although when he rolled out of bed in the
morning he had to groan as his stiff muscles responded to the demands
put on them. He underwent an examination at the hands of the physical
director, Mr. Tasser, at noon, and was put to all sorts of novel tests.
Mr. Tasser was not very communicative. His conversation consisted
entirely of directions and non-commital grunts. While Ira donned his
clothes again the director filled out a card with mysterious figures
and symbols, and it was when he handed the card to Ira that he attained
the zenith of his loquacity.
"Very good," he said. Then he grunted. And after that he added: "Better
than the average. Lower leg muscles weak, though. Twelve pounds
overweight, too. Good morning."
Practice that afternoon, which was no different from the day before
except that it contained a strenuous session of dummy tackling, left
Ira lamer than ever, so lame that he couldn't go to sleep for some
time after he was in bed. And the next morning he groaned louder than
before when he tumbled out. He wondered what they would say or think if
he begged off for that one day's practice! But when he had been up and
about awhile he found that the lameness had miraculously disappeared,
or most of it had, and it didn't come back again that Fall! He was
given easier work that afternoon, for Billy Goode, the trainer,
informed him that he was losing too fast.
"'Tain't good to drop your weight too suddenly, boy. You do some
handling today and run the field a couple o' times at a fast trot and
come in. That'll do for you."
Oddly, Ira somehow resented being pampered and was inclined to grumble
when, having had thirty minutes of kindergarten work and trotted twice
around the oval, he was remorselessly despatched to the showers.
That, having dressed, he did not return to the gridiron to watch his
companions disport themselves shows that so far as football fever is
concerned Ira was still free from contagion. Instead, he went to his
room and put in an extra hour of study which shortened his evening's
duty by that much and allowed him to do something that he had had in
mind to do for some time, which was to call on Mart Johnston.