DEFEAT
There was a buzz of excitement; everyone was whispering to his neighbor,
and there was even talking among the members of the faculty.
Dr. Churchill gave a few more facts concerning the matter, stating that
though the first move had gone against the college, the Randall legal
representatives hoped to be successful in court.
"I might add," went on the good doctor, "that we are making every effort
to locate the missing quit-claim deed. And I might also add that if any
of you young gentlemen happen upon it, the faculty and myself, as well
as the directors, will be under great obligations to you, if you will
turn it over to us.
"To that end, perhaps, I had better describe the deed," which the
president did, at the same time making a few remarks concerning legal
matters, and impressing on the students the necessity of taking care of
legal papers.
"You will now know the document, if you should happen to see it," he
concluded, "though I fear we cannot hope for that. But we will not give
up yet," he added, and then the exercises came to an end.
Discussion on the new development of the trouble continued, as the
students filed out of chapel, and strolled across the campus, some to
lectures, some to studies, while others, who had the early periods free,
made for the football field.
"It's a rotten shame, isn't it?" exclaimed Holly Cross, as he dug his
toe into the pigskin with vicious force. "I wish I had some of the
lawyers who are making the trouble where this ball is," and as the
spheroid again sailed high into the air, Holly grinned in delight at his
effort.
"Yes, it's just like Langridge to make trouble," agreed Tom. "Probably
he's delighted at the turn affairs have taken, and he very likely hopes
to see Randall down and out."
"Well, he won't!" declared Frank, as he passed the ball to Jerry
Jackson. "I feel sure we're going to win. As sure as I feel that----"
"We'll put it all over Fairview," finished Billy Housenlager. "We've
just _got_ to do 'em!"
"Glad you feel that way," spoke Captain Woodhouse. "But with Phil laid
up----"
He did not finish, but they all knew what he meant. Up to the last,
there was hope that Phil might pull around in time to play at least
part of the game, but the doctor soon put an end to this thought.
"It's utterly out of the question," he said, and Phil, with a groan,
turned his face to the wall.
As if Randall did not have trouble enough, more developed the night
before the game. There had been a final meeting of the eleven, and Phil
had managed to limp to it on a crutch. Final instructions were given by
the coach, some new plays were decided upon, and a particular code of
signals, of which there were several in use, was adopted.
"No objections to taking a glass of ginger ale before we turn in, is
there, Mr. Lighton?" asked Jerry Jackson of the coach, who was a strict
trainer.
"I'll allow you one," he answered.
"Come on then, fellows, I'll stand treat. Got something extra in my
allowance this month," went on the Jersey twin, and he led a crowd of
his chums to a small refreshment place that did a thriving business just
outside the college grounds.
Whether it was the ginger ale, or the excitement caused by anticipating
the game, was not ascertained, but it was a fact that in the night Sid
Henderson was taken ill. Tom heard his chum groaning, and, sitting up in
bed, asked:
"What's the matter, old man?"
"I don't know, but I feel as if I was burning up inside."
Tom was at Sid's bed in a moment, and placed the back of his hand on his
friend's cheek.
"Why, you've got a fever!" he exclaimed "I'm going to call for Dr.
Marshall."
Wallops was sent for the physician, who pronounced Sid a very sick
youth, and ordered his removal to the sick ward, a sort of emergency
hospital maintained at Randall.
"I shouldn't be surprised but what it was the ginger ale," said the
physician, after questioning Sid. "You have a very bad bilious attack."
"Will I--will I be all right by morning?"
"By morning? Gracious, young man, what do you think we doctors are,
magicians? We have to wait for Nature to help us."
"Then I can't play."
"Play? I should say not! You've got to stay in bed."
"Well, wouldn't that get your goat!" exclaimed Tom, when he heard the
news. "Phil and Sid both out of the game. Now we _are_ up against it,
for further orders."
Phil did not answer, but he gritted his teeth, and in the darkness
stepped out of bed, bearing his weight on his injured ankle. He could
hardly keep back an exclamation of agony, as a sharp pain shot through
him, and he knew that what he had hoped for--that he might possibly
play--was out of the question.
The day dawned cold and fair, ideal weather for football, with no wind
to make kicking difficult. The contest was to take place at Randall, and
the squad was out early at practice. It was rather a serious gridiron
squad, too, for the absence of two of the best players crippled the team
in a manner that none cared to think about.
"Jove, but I wish I was going to be with you!" spoke Sid softly, when
Tom paid a visit to him, just before the time for calling the game.
"I wish you were," said the end. "I guess you'd better pray for us, Sid,
for we sure are up against it."
Phil managed to limp out on the side lines, where he sat wrapped in a
blanket like an Indian brave, and watched the preliminary practice,
unable to keep back the tears that came into his eyes.
There was a big crowd present. Every stand was filled, and there were
throngs about the field. George Carter was to play in Sid's place,
and Art Benson would be at quarter. The rest of the team was made up
substantially as the one that had played the previous games, save that
Frank Simpson was slated to play one half at left guard, dividing with
Sam Looper.
It was the first big game of the season, and both teams were on their
mettle. In the stand given over to the cohorts of Fairview there was a
big crowd, of which a goodly part were girls from the co-educational
institution. Their shrill cheers, songs and cries mingled with the
hoarser shouts of the Fairview lads.
"I wonder if Madge and the others are cheering against us?" asked Tom,
as he passed the ball to Simpson.
"Well, you can hardly blame them for sticking up for their own college."
"No, that's so. Say, they're a lively eleven, all right, aren't they?"
"They sure are! Never mind, though, Parsons, we'll go through 'em all
right."
There had been many changes in the Fairview eleven, but some of the lads
who had played before were on the team. There was Lem Sellig, who played
quarter, instead of in his old position of left half-back, Frank
Sullivan was at right end, and Roger Barns was full-back; Ted Puder was
playing left guard.
The practice was over, the toss had been made, and Randall was to kick
off. Bean Perkins had led his cheerers in many songs and college yells,
and the colors on his cane were frayed from much waving.
The referee's whistle blew, and Kindlings, with a final glance at his
own men and those of Fairview, nodded to Holly Cross, who was to send
the ball down the field.
There was a thud as the toe of the big centre met the pigskin, and away
it sailed. It was caught by Ed Turton, who was playing left half-back,
and he managed to get over about fifteen yards before he was caught and
heavily thrown by Tom Parsons. Then came the line up, and the first
scrimmage.
At the line came Fred Hanson, the right half-back, aided by his mates.
Right for a space between Bert Bascome and Snail Looper he headed, and
managed to get through.
"Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" begged Kindlings, desperately, but his men were
shoved back, and there was a two-yard gain. It was not much, but it
showed the power that was behind the Fairview plays. There was a burst
of triumphant cheers from the co-educational supporters, and silence on
the part of the cohorts of Randall, as they waited for the next play. It
came promptly, and netted three yards. Then a run around right end tore
off four yards more, and it looked as if Fairview would rush the ball
for a touchdown in short order.
But, in answer to the frantic appeals from Kindlings, his players braced
desperately, and held their opponents to such advantage that Fairview
was forced to kick, and Randall had the ball, and a chance to show what
she could do.
"Now, then, boys!" cried Benson, as he began to give the signal, "tear
'em apart!"
It was a heart-meant appeal, but something was lacking. Phil's magnetic
presence was needed, and though Pete Backus, to whom the ball was
passed, managed to wiggle through for a yard gain, there was noticed
a great strength in the line of Fairview, against which the Randall
players hurled themselves. Another try only netted two yards, and then,
not wanting to give up the ball by sending it sailing into the enemy's
territory, Benson signalled for a fake kick, Joe Jackson dropped back,
and Holly Cross snapped the ball to George Carter, who was playing in
Sid's place. Carter at once passed it to Joe, who ran with it. But, alas
for the hopes of Randall! Joe dropped the pigskin, and Jake Johnson, the
big centre of Fairview, who had broken through, fell on it.
[Illustration: CARTER AT ONCE PASSED IT TO JOE, WHO RAN WITH IT.]
There was a wild riot of yells on the part of the Fairview crowd, and
groans of anguish from Randall. The Fairview players quickly lined up,
and almost before Kindlings and his men had recovered from their
astonishment and chagrin, Fred Hanson had broken through, and was
speeding for the goal line. He got past all the tacklers, and after a
sensational run, planted the ball between the posts.
"Touchdown! Touchdown!" came the fierce cries. Randall realized that she
had been scored upon for the first time that season, and the fact was
bitter to her.
The goal was kicked, and there were six points against our friends. It
was disconcerting, but they went back into the play with such fierce
energy that inside of the next ten minutes they had forced their
opponents up the field to their five-yard line.
"Now, boys, give it to 'em! Don't wait until you can see the whites of
their eyes, but give it to 'em!" howled Bean Perkins.
"Touchdown! Touchdown!" yelled the Randall crowd.
"Give 'em the good old song, fellows," fairly screamed Bean. "Conquer or
Die," and he led the singing of "_Aut Vincere, Aut Mori_."
It was just the note needed to make the Randall players turn themselves
into football fiends, and they ripped the Fairview line apart, and had
the ball over in another minute.
"Now, kick the goal, and tie the score!" urged Bean, but it was not to
be. The ball hit the post, and bounced back, and Fairview had still one
point the better.
There was hard playing the rest of the half, but neither side scored.
"Well, what do you think about it?" asked Kindlings, of the coach,
during the rest period.
"I'm afraid to say," was the answer. "We'll have to do better, or----"
"Lose," spoke the captain, grimly.
The story of the second half of the game is shameful history to Randall.
It started off fairly well, but there was fumbling, and even the
presence of the big Californian, who replaced the Snail, could not avert
the defeat that was in store.
Try as Randall did, she could not make the necessary gains, and the
players hurled themselves against the stone wall defense of Fairview. On
the other hand, the Fairview players found several holes in their
opponents' line, through which they made substantial advances with the
ball.
"Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" begged Kindlings, desperately, the fear of defeat
staring him in the face. His men worked like the ancient trojans, and
Tom Parsons covered himself with glory twice; once when he made a
sensational tackle, and saved a touchdown that seemed imminent, and
again when he made a brilliant run of sixty yards, and would have
scored, but for an unfortunate slip that enabled George Curtis, the
Fairview left end, to nab him.
That was as near as Randall came to scoring in the second half, while
Fairview made three more touchdowns, though only one resulted in a goal.
The score stood twenty-two to five against Randall when she was awarded
the ball for interference and offside play on the part of her eager
rival, who wanted to roll up a bigger total. There was only a little
time left to play, and Kindlings desperately called upon his men in
every way he knew how to rally and score again.
There were desperate--aye, even tear-stained faces--among the Randall
players as they lined up. Hearts were beating as though they would
burst. Lungs were panting, and tired muscles fairly begged for relief.
There came a great heave as the big Californian tore a hole in the
Fairview line to let Pete Backus through, but Pete was almost downed in
his tracks, and ere the line could be formed again, the whistle blew,
and the game was over.
For a moment the struggling players could scarcely realize it, and then,
as the truth broke over the Randall lads, and they heard the shouting of
the great crowd--as they knew the score--twenty-two to five--they filed
silently from the gridiron.
It is not writing of anything disgraceful against old Randall when I say
that more than one player shed tears--bitter tears. And they were not
assuaged by the hearty cheer which Fairview gave her rival.
"Now--boys, three--three cheers for Fairview!" called Kindlings brokenly,
in return, and his voice was not the only one that faltered when the
tiger was given.
Silently the Randall crowd left the grandstands, while the victorious
cohorts of Fairview were singing their songs.
"Boys!" cried Bean Perkins, eagerly, "don't let our fellows go off that
way. Give 'em the 'Conquer or Die' song, but--sing it softly!"
And then, out over the big field, welled the beautiful strains of the
Latin hymn. The effect was wonderful, for the boys were good singers.
The great crowd halted and listened, as the last chords died softly
away.
Then came a great cheer--a cheer from friend and opponent alike--a cheer
for defeated Randall--for Randall that had not conquered, but had been
conquered. Then the players filed to their dressing rooms.