COTTING TELLS A STORY
“Stood there like a silly dummy and let St. Matthew’s jump on him,
that’s what he did!”
“Lost his head completely, Teddy! Worst case of stage fright I ever saw
on a football field!”
“Had a clear field ahead of him if he’d started on the jump. Gee, it’s
enough to sour your disposition!”
“I always said he’d never make another Ginger. Anyone can see that by
looking at him. Don’t see what the dickens Cotting kept him on for!”
“Well, he’s played a pretty fair game at times, Bill, you’ve got to say
that for him. I suppose every fellow is likely to make mistakes――――”
“Mistakes! He didn’t make any mistake; he just didn’t do
anything――until it was too late. Of course, the St. Matthew’s game
doesn’t mean much to us, although they looked such a cocky lot I’d
liked to have seen them beaten, but, if he does things like that in an
unimportant game, he’s likely to do them when we’re playing Bursley, I
guess. Best thing Cotting can do is drop him.”
This is the conversation Rodney overheard that evening in the corridor
of West Hall. He had hurried through his own supper in order to catch
Mr. Cotting before the latter left the school dining-hall, and arriving
there early, had perched himself on top of a radiator in a dim angle
of the corridor to wait. The three boys who had emerged from supper
a minute later either didn’t see him or failed to recognize him, and
their remarks lasted from the doorway to the entrance, a few yards
distant, where they stood a few moments before going their separate
ways. Rodney’s thoughts had not been pleasant before, but this
exposition of what Rodney believed to be the popular judgment left him
tingling and miserable. As little inclined as he was to be seen just
now, he left his corner and stood in the light for fear that others
might come out, and, not noticing him, give further expression of
public opinion. He was glad when Mr. Cotting emerged presently. A boy
who followed him out started toward the coach, but Rodney got ahead of
him.
“Mr. Cotting, may I speak to you, please, sir?”
The coach, slipping into his raincoat, turned.
“Hello, Merrill! Why, yes, certainly.” He put his cap on and led the
way to the entrance. Rodney was relieved to find that the three critics
had taken their departure. “Will you walk along with me toward my
place, or shall we drop into the library?”
“I’ll walk, sir. It isn’t much, what I want to say. I――――”
“Stopped raining, I guess. How do you feel after your game, Merrill?”
“All right, thanks.”
The coach took the circling path that led around Main Hall and Rodney
ranged alongside.
“I just wanted to say, sir, that――that I’ve decided to resign from the
team.”
“Have, eh?” Mr. Cotting seemed neither surprised nor disturbed.
“Decided to give up football, have you?”
“Yes, sir, for this year, anyway.”
“Think you’d like to try again next fall?”
“Yes, sir, I think so.”
“It doesn’t occur to you, does it, that I might hesitate to take you
back and give you another trial if you had run away on the eve of
battle, so to speak?”
Rodney glanced up in surprise and found the coach smiling.
“Why, sir, I thought――it seemed the best way out of it!”
“Best way out of what, Merrill?”
“Out of――out of the mess I made to-day. I lost the game, you know, sir!”
“Hardly that, Merrill. You failed to win it, but you can’t be said to
have lost it. Even if you had, though, what’s that got to do with it?
Seems to me if you made a mess of things you’d want to stick around and
see what you could do another time. Sort of weak, isn’t it, to cut and
run?”
“But――I thought――” Rodney stopped, trying to get the coach’s surprising
point of view.
“I know what you thought, Merrill.” Mr. Cotting laid a hand on the
boy’s shoulder. “You thought everyone had it in for you, that we
blamed you for the loss of the game, and that we wouldn’t want you any
longer, eh?”
“Yes, sir, about that.”
“Yes. Well, let me tell you something that happened to me, Merrill,
when I was here, and that’s a good many years ago now. I made the team
in my second year. Our game was a good deal different then from what
it is now, but we took it pretty nearly as seriously. I was rather a
clever end for a youngster, and so when we played Bursley I got in at
the beginning of the second half. In those days an end had less to do
than he has now, but he was supposed to get down under punts no matter
what else he did or didn’t do, and that was rather a specialty of mine.
I had a neat way of fooling my opponent and getting off quickly, and
once off I was hard to stop. Bursley had us six to four when the second
half began and we needed a touchdown to win. Half way through that half
we punted and I streaked down under the ball. I remember that Stallings
was our punter――he played with Princeton afterwards――and he was a
wonder. Used to get fifty yards often. This time he outdid himself,
and the Bursley quarter saw that the ball was going over his head and
started back toward his goal for it. I was after him hard and the ball
struck beyond both of us and bounded away at a funny angle toward the
side of the field. We each got to it at about the same instant. I stood
as good a chance of getting it as he did, better, I’ve always thought,
because I was rather a clever kid with a rolling ball; and if I had got
it I could have romped over the line for an easy score. Well, what do
you suppose I did, Merrill?”
Rodney shook his head.
“I tackled that quarter! I brought him down good and hard when we were
both a couple of yards from the ball, and I wound my arms around him
and held him tight. I can still remember the surprised grunt he gave
when I crashed into him. Don’t ask me why I did it! Heaven only knows,
Merrill! Call it mental aberration, that’s as good a name for it as I
know of. I did it, though. And I thought I knew football!”
“And――and what happened to the ball, sir?”
The coach shrugged his shoulders. “A Bursley man came along and picked
it up and romped back a few dozen yards with it before anyone got to
him. That ended our chance and we lost the game.”
“That was too bad,” said Rodney sympathetically.
“I thought so then. I didn’t dare look anyone in the face the rest of
that day. The coach called me all the kinds of a fool he could think
of. I didn’t mind that half as much as I minded what the fellows didn’t
say but thought! A week after I was surprised to discover that I was
holding my head up again, that the world was still turning around, and
that from a tragedy the thing had become a joke. It was a pretty sore
joke for me, but I took it many and many a time, and gritted my teeth
and smiled. Well, it took me two years to even up. The next season I
was so afraid I’d do some other fool trick that I didn’t play half the
game I could have. Every time we got into a tight place I was haunted
with the fear that I’d make another costly mistake. As a result I
played everything safe, and was probably one of the worst ends the
team ever had. I don’t know now why they kept me on. But the next year
I got together again and――I made good.”
“How, sir?”
“Oh, it’s ancient history now, Merrill. I had my chance in the Bursley
game and took it, that’s all. They said I won the game, but I didn’t
win it any more than you lost to-day’s. I’ve told you all this just
to show you, Merrill, that the world doesn’t bust up and blow away
because you make a mistake or let a chance slip in a game of football.
If it comes to that, every game that is lost can be traced to someone’s
failure at some moment in the contest, Merrill. If there were no
mistakes the game would be pretty uninteresting. We’re all human and
all likely to fall down at a critical moment some time or other. My
advice to you is, forget it, Merrill. Have you got time to come in for
a minute?”
They had reached the steps of the house in which the coach had his
rooms.
“Yes, sir, if you want me to,” replied Rodney.
He followed the other into the house, and waited at the door of the
room while Mr. Cotting found the gas jet and lighted it.
“Sit down, Merrill. Throw your coat off first. Put it anywhere. Now
then, let’s talk this thing over. Your brother and I were good friends,
my boy, and we’ve had some fine old chats in this room. You may have
wondered sometimes why I kept you on the squad when you weren’t showing
very much in the way of football, Merrill. I’m speaking quite frankly,
you see. I did it because, in spite of appearances, I had it in my head
that you could be taught the game, taught to play it――well, perhaps not
quite the way your brother did, but well enough to make it worth the
trouble. I still think so, Merrill. But there’s something wrong yet.
You haven’t found yourself. Perhaps you don’t put your whole soul into
it. Now tell me about to-day. You had the ball, the way was clear. What
went wrong?”
“I hardly know, sir. I――I wasn’t supposed to take the pass, and when
it came I――somehow I didn’t seem to know what to do for a second. And
then――it was too late.”
Mr. Cotting nodded. “I see. Mind didn’t work quick enough. Well,
that’s something that will remedy itself, I think. After all, the best
way to learn football is to play it. What you need is, I fancy, only
experience, after all. So, Merrill, I guess we won’t say anything more
about resigning.”
“Then, sir, you think――――”
“I think you’d much better stick it out. Watch the way other fellows
play the game, do the best you can when you get your chance and, above
all, don’t imagine that because your wits failed you to-day they’re
bound to do it again. I made that mistake, as I’ve told you, and wasted
a year. Perhaps you won’t get into the game next week, it’s likely your
turn won’t come; but keep on watching and learning, Merrill. We may
need you badly next year.”
Rodney tramped back toward school through the dim, leaf strewn streets
comforted and encouraged. And he made up his mind that when the next
chance came, if ever it did come, he’d be ready for it.