A BOY ON CRUTCHES
Two workouts that day, although each was brief, left Stuart’s body
rather lame, for, while he had led a mildly strenuous life in camp and
at sea during the last three months, some of the muscles brought into
play in football practice were decidedly flabby. At supper that first
evening, although he hid his twinges, the fact that he appeared to be
the only one of the squad inconvenienced by the day’s activities caused
him to acknowledge to himself that there might be something in summer
training after all!
He prepared for the conference with Coach Haynes by determining to be
rather on his dignity, telling himself that, in the interest of future
harmony, it would be well to deal with the other with a firm hand, to
let him understand right at the start that revolutionary changes in the
conduct of the team or the campaign would not be welcomed. There was,
for instance, the coach’s plan of doing away with the training table,
as silly an idea as Stuart had ever heard of! Stern measures now might
prevent later trouble, the captain reflected.
The coach, however, appeared in a most conciliatory mood, paid
respectful attention to Stuart’s ideas and failed to show the cloven
hoof at all. On several occasions Stuart forgot his dignity and, to his
later annoyance, found himself laughing heartily. They made excellent
progress. Some of the coach’s notions didn’t coincide with Stuart’s,
but he was so far from insistent, so evidently open to conviction, that
for the most part the captain let them pass unchallenged. After all,
Mr. Haynes had no more to say in favor of a thorough grounding of the
team in the fundamentals than Stuart knew to be tenable. Nor, though
he certainly showed a leaning toward the old-style football, did he
asperse the newer and trickier plays. He found some fault with the
schedule, but there Stuart was at one with him, for undoubtedly the
playing of Walsenburg as early as the middle of October was a mistake.
Stuart explained that Walsenburg had refused a later date and that,
rather than lose the benefit to be had from a game with an opponent
of Walsenburg’s mettle, it had been decided to take her on in early
season, slipping Williston down the schedule to the Saturday before
Pearsall.
“We must just make up our minds to a defeat on October 16, then,”
replied the coach smilingly.
“I’m not so sure, sir,” said Stuart. “We’ve got quite a bunch of
veterans this year and I guess we’ll be able to squeeze through with no
worse than a tie. Walsenburg won’t be running very strong herself at
that time.”
“Those big schools start out stronger than we do,” said the coach. “We
won’t trouble about it, though. Sometimes, I think, a trimming isn’t
bad medicine for a team along in the early season. It’s likely to cure
overconfidence.”
“Yes, but we rather hate to get licked here at Manning,” demurred
Stuart, frowning. “And Walsenburg hasn’t beaten us but once in four
years. I――I don’t think the fellows would take very kindly to it, sir.”
“Hatred of defeat is a credited aversion, Harven, but it isn’t always
wise to win. Sometimes the cost is too great. I never like to bring a
team along too fast in October. Usually you pay for it later. Well, we
can deal with the Walsenburg game when it comes. Tell me about Lansing
High School. That comes first, doesn’t it? Yes, well, what do they
usually do?”
Afterwards they discussed the players. Mr. Haynes seemed particularly
anxious to learn about the linemen. “We’re strong at the center, you
say?” he asked. “‘Got veterans there,’ have we?”
“Yes, sir, and corkers! Cutts, the big red-haired fellow, you know;
and Beeman and Towne for guards. And we’re fixed for tackles, too,
Mr. Haynes. Jack Brewton’s one of the best in the business, and Ned
Thurston’s nearly as good. ‘Thirsty’s’ been playing tackle two years
already. Jack was in every game but one last season and he’s a whale.”
“Sounds good. I liked the looks of Brewton immensely. He’s the ideal
build for tackle. Cutts seemed a trifle heavy for a center, though. But
perhaps he’s a bit overweight. I have a weakness for fast men in the
center, Harven.”
“Well, Joe isn’t so slow, and I guess he’s due to drop eight or ten
pounds in the next week. You’ll like him when you see him work, sir.”
The subject of the abolishment of the training table was not introduced
by the coach and so it didn’t come up for discussion. After the other
had taken his departure, Stuart rehearsed the evening and uneasily
came to the conclusion that so far as firmness was concerned he had not
been an overwhelming success. Still, there hadn’t been much chance for
firmness. He consoled himself with the promise to maintain a watchful
eye on the coach and be on guard against that gentleman’s smooth
diplomacy.
Practice went very well. Other candidates showed up day by day, and
on Sunday, Fred Locker, the manager, returned. Stuart was glad to see
him, for Fred was a hard-working, invaluable chap and, moreover, a firm
adherent of Stuart’s; and now and then the latter felt dimly that,
should it ever come to a show-down between him and the new coach, he
would need all the backing he could get. There was no doubt that Mr.
Haynes had found much favor with the football squad. There was constant
proof of it. They had already conferred a nickname on him and, save to
his face, he was called “Hop,” that being a favorite ejaculation of his
used on all sorts of occasions. He didn’t join the players at meals in
Lyceum House, but none seemed to feel himself affronted, although Mr.
Craig, the former coach, had always presided at the head of the table.
Mr. Haynes had found quarters just across the river, convenient to the
school, and on Sunday evening Stuart and Fred Locker and The Laird met
there and went very thoroughly into many questions.
The fall term began Tuesday, and on Monday the influx of returning
students began. Rumor had it that the school was to be filled this
year, which meant an enrollment of three hundred and fifty. Not since
the opening of Byers, the latest of the new dormitories, had the school
held a full quota, and the report was pleasing to Stuart, among others,
since, theoretically at least, the more students there were the more
football players there would be. He hoped that among the new fellows
entering the senior or upper middle classes there would be a few
experienced ones, perhaps even a star or two. To anticipate a trifle,
however, Stuart’s hope proved vain, for among the newcomers there was
but one fellow of first team caliber. Haley Leonard, entering the
upper middle class, had weight and a year’s experience behind him and,
after being miscast for part of the season in a rushline position, was
relegated to the backfield and made good as fullback.
On Tuesday afternoon, one of the numerous carriages that rattled to
and fro between the station and the school that day, stopped in front
of Lacey Hall and three boys emerged. Two of them hustled forth,
paid the driver and were quickly swallowed up in the entrance to the
dormitory. But the third member of the trio alighted more slowly, and
it is with this third youth that we have to do. First the end of a
pair of crutches came into sight. Then, the rubbered tips secure on
the pavement, a boy of sixteen swung himself nimbly out. Seen without
his crutches, there was nothing in his appearance to suggest physical
disability. He looked to be normally strong and healthy, with the usual
number of arms and legs, a well-developed torso, and a good-looking,
clean-cut countenance wherein a pair of very deep blue eyes constituted
the most attractive feature. Settling with the driver, he accepted the
bag which the latter handed to him and, with surprising dexterity, took
himself and bag across the walk and up the steps. Once inside, however,
his progress became slower, for the steep stone stairway presented
difficulties when a suitcase hung against the right-hand crutch. Had
any one appeared he would have given over his burden, but as it was he
made the ascent alone, and, at last gaining the second floor, swung
himself along more quickly than another would have walked to the portal
of Number 12. Inside the room the expression of pleasure faded from
his face, for there was no one there to greet him. Setting down his
bag, he looked at his watch and understood.
“Practice,” he muttered. “I might have remembered.” The qualm of
disappointment vanished and, abandoning one of his crutches, he set
about the unpacking of his suit case. From bag to chiffonier, closet
and table he went quickly and efficiently, sometimes throwing his full
weight on the remaining crutch, sometimes placing an aiding hand on
table or chair back or bedstead. Presently, since his trunk was still
to arrive, his task was completed and he seated himself in a chair
that faced the south window, laying the crutch beside him. It would
have taken keen observation then to have suspected anything wrong with
the apparently sound limbs stretched before him, yet the truth is that
never in all his life had they once sustained his full weight. Place
Neil Orr in the water and he could swim like a fish, but ashore and
minus his crutches he was as helpless as a crawling baby. Perhaps had
he once had the full use of his legs he would have minded the lack of
it a great deal, but as it was, while he often envied others their
ability to walk and run and take part in athletics, he was quite
contented with his lot.
Perhaps the Lord had been fully as kind to Neil as to seemingly more
fortunate youths, for while Neil had been denied the usual means of
locomotion he had been blessed with a happy disposition; and were I
forced to make choice of the two gifts I’d never hesitate in choosing
the happy disposition. You are not to suppose that Neil was one of
those objectionably cheerful idiots who, when you pound your thumb
with a hammer under the mistaken idea that you’re hitting a nailhead,
smilingly reminds you, while you dance around with your thumb in your
mouth, that it would have been much worse had you been using an ax,
and that “it will be all the same ten years from now.” A sense of
proportion must accompany a happy disposition if the latter is to be
of use, and in Neil’s case it did. He also had a nice sense of humor
and a kindliness of heart that won him friends everywhere. Among those
who knew Neil only by sight there were probably some who wondered that
Stuart Harven should forgo the privilege of spending his upper middle
year in the greater comfort of Meigs Hall in order to remain with the
younger boy, but those who were acquainted with the latter didn’t
wonder at all. Jack Brewton, close friend of both, smiled to himself
when Stuart explained that he had decided to stay on in Lacey because
it didn’t seem fair to Neil not to. Stuart honestly thought that he was
conferring a benefit, but Jack knew that he was receiving it!
Stuart and Neil had been friendly acquaintances before coming to
Manning. Back home, in Springfield, they had gone to school together,
been of the same “crowd” and done the same things. Although they were
nearly of an age, Stuart was the senior by four months――Neil had always
been one year behind the other in school, owing to the fact that Stuart
possessed a faculty for, as he phrased it, “hitting the high places”
in his studies. Teachers shook their heads over that faculty. They
knew perfectly well that Stuart was, to make use of another convenient
phrase, “beating the game,” but there was nothing they could do about
it. He got high marks, even though his instructors were convinced that
he knew far less of the subjects than did many boys who were marked
much lower, and there was nothing for it but to pass him. Some did it
sadly, with earnest exhortations to more serious and thorough work,
others did it quite as grudgingly but with a secret envy for a quality
not possessed by their plodding, slow-going minds. Once interested in
a course, Stuart could fairly “eat it up,” but the trouble was that few
courses interested him, and even during his two years at Manning――he
had entered the lower middle class――he had continued to rely on his
uncanny ability to learn just enough and no more than was necessary
to keep him in good standing. Since the classes were larger here, he
managed to fool many of the instructors and even gain a reputation for
brilliancy, which reputation helped him to go on fooling them. Among
the few who were not deceived was the English instructor, Mr. Moffit.
Mr. Moffit――Miss Muffit the boys called him――said one day, half in fun,
half in earnest: “Harven, you’re a smart chap, but your smartness is
the Devil’s kind, and some day you may regret it. A juggler may toss up
a glass bowl and a silk hat and a billiard cue ninety-nine times and
catch the hat on his head, the cue on his chin and the bowl on the cue.
But the hundredth time something goes wrong and there’s an awful smash.
Better watch out for the hundredth time, my boy!” To which Stuart
had replied apologetically: “Maybe I don’t go into things as hard as
I should, sir, but there’s lots of time yet. You wait till I get to
college!”
Neil didn’t have Stuart’s gift, fortunately or unfortunately, as you
choose to view it, and he worked much harder for no better surface
results. He regarded his friend’s method with secret doubt but never
criticized it. When he reached Manning, a year after Stuart, it seemed
quite natural that they should take a room together. Neil admired and
liked Stuart for the qualities that attracted other fellows, and,
besides, for his athleticism. Even in the early school days Stuart had
been a leader in games of all sorts. Stuart was as willing as Neil to
join forces. He liked the other boy immensely, and was sorry for him,
although there was something in Neil’s attitude that prohibited pity,
and felt that it would be a friendly act to look after him and see
that his physical disability didn’t act as a handicap. They had spent
a year together in the corner room in Lacey and everything had gone
wonderfully. You couldn’t quarrel with Neil if you wanted to because he
simply wouldn’t have it. If you got nasty Neil merely retired within
his undisturbed self and waited for you to get over your mood. Then he
went on again as if nothing had happened. There might have been rows
aplenty had Neil desired them, for, while Stuart wasn’t quarrelsome,
he was fond of his own opinions and impatient of others’. But Neil
didn’t consider his views or any one else’s views of much importance,
certainly not important enough to become ruffled over! What had begun
as mutual respect and liking had grown within one school year to
something much deeper and stronger, though, boylike, neither would have
cared to give a name to it.
The shadows were growing long on the campus when Stuart returned to No.
12. The greetings exchanged were almost casual, but the handclasp was
hard and the faces of both boys showed their pleasure.
“I’m beastly sorry I couldn’t meet you, Neil,” said Stuart, “but I
couldn’t cut practice to-day. How long have you been here?”
“Perhaps an hour. I unpacked my bag and have been waiting for my trunk.
There’s some of your laundry in it, by the way. Your mother sent it
over yesterday and asked me to bring it along.”
“Thanks. Well, how are you, anyway?”
“Fine,” smiled Neil. “Don’t I look fairly healthy?”
“I’ll say you do. And you’ve got a corking tan. Where’d you get it?”
“I was on the river a good deal. You aren’t exactly pallid yourself,
you know.”
“I know. Hot, isn’t it? Haynes gave us nearly two hours to-day, drat
him!”
“Tell me about him, Stuart. What’s he like?”
“All right, I guess. Rather nice-looking chap. Pleasant and all that.”
“I’m glad,” said Neil. “I hope you’re going to get on together all
right.”
Stuart frowned slightly. “Why shouldn’t we? Gee, you talk as if I
didn’t usually get on with folks!”
“I didn’t mean to,” replied the other. “What’s the news? Who’s back?
How’s Jack?”
“Jack’s all right. Most of the fellows we know are here, I guess. There
isn’t much news though. We’ve put in four days of hard practice, two
sessions daily, and things look pretty good. We’ve got a corking lot of
fellows to start with. If Haynes doesn’t develop too many fool notions
I guess we’ll have a record season.”
“I hope so. I’d hate horribly to have Pearsall beat us this year, when
you’re captain. What do you mean by fool notions, Stuart? Is the new
coach notional?”
“Sort of.” Stuart frowned again. “Most of it’s just talk, though, I
guess.”
“Do the fellows like him?”
“Yes. They won’t, though, if he keeps on working them as hard as he
did Saturday and to-day. By the way, I’m putting you up for Lyceum
to-morrow, Neil, so you’d better get ready to ride the goat.”
Neil smiled. “Thanks. I’ll practice on the footboard of the bed.”
“I told you so you could turn down Manning if they got after you.”
“There’s nothing like being beforehand,” replied Neil demurely.
“Well, they’d get you if they could, I guess. What are you looking so
foxy about? Have they been after you already?”
Neil laughed and nodded. “More than a month ago. Greg Trenholme wrote
me.”
“Oh! What did you tell him?”
“Declined, with proper expression of polite regret. I dare say I’d feel
rather the fool if I failed at Lyceum. Still――――”
“Fail? Why should you? Don’t be an ass! You’ll go through flying. Well,
let’s get washed up. I’m as hungry as a bear!”