FOOTBALL PRACTICE
For a few seconds no one spoke after Dick Hamilton had mentioned his
plan for improving the Kentfield eleven. But at length, with a
long-drawn sigh of satisfaction, Innis remarked:
"Dick; you're a trump!--a brick!--an ice-cream brick on a hot
day!--you're all to the mustard!--a----"
"Cut it out!" cried our hero, "can't you see how I'm blushing? But
seriously, fellows, is my plan all right?"
"I should say it was!" exclaimed Paul Drew.
"But look at what it's going to cost," objected George Hall. "Those Yale
and Princeton coaches are high-fliers--that is, if you can get them to
come--and then besides their salary, we'll have to board 'em. Though I
s'pose we could put 'em up at the Pig, provided they won't scrap all the
while over different training plans."
"Oh, I fancy that part will be all right," remarked Teddy Naylor.
"But do you think you can get any Yale or Princeton coaches to come
here--to Kentfield--with her poor, old, broken-down team--that is
according to Anderson," spoke Frank Rutley.
"Well, of course we'll have to take a chance on that," replied Dick. "If
we can't get men from those two colleges we can try some others. But dad
is an old Princeton grad. and I have sort of a distant forty-second
cousin who was once a star half-back at Yale. I might get them to put in
a good word for us."
"Hurray!" cried Innis in the excitement and exuberance of the moment.
"That's the stuff! Now we'll wipe up the ground with those Blue Hill
snobs! Whoop-la!"
He shot out a sturdy fist, and squarely hit a football that Teddy Naylor
was balancing on his hand. The spheroid flew straight and true across
the room, and caught John Stiver on the chin. Stiver at that moment
happened to be looking at the sporting page of a paper and did not see
the ball coming. Consequently it was quite a surprise, and he went over
backward against Paul Drew, both going down in a heap.
"I say, who did that?" cried John, as he arose with the symptoms of
wrath in his eyes.
"I did, old chap!" confessed Innis contritely. "You see I felt so good I
wanted to start something. I beg your pardon."
"Granted. But you certainly started something all right," remarked John
grimly. "There goes Drew's nose bleeding. You sure started something all
right."
"Oh, I don't mind," responded Dick's roommate, as he went to a toilet
room to staunch the flow of blood. "If we get a good team and play some
stiff games I'll probably have worse than this before the season is
over."
Innis went out with Paul to assist in attending to the bleeding member,
and the others resumed their football talk. There was but one opinion
about Dick's plan--everybody said it was just what was needed, and to
all suggestions that it would cost a mint of money, the young
millionaire declared that it would be worth all it cost him.
"What's the use of having a fortune if you don't spend it?" he asked
with a smile. "Though I suppose if my Uncle Ezra hears about my latest
scheme he'll try again to kidnap me, to stop me from carrying it out.
But he isn't here, is he Grit, old boy?" and Dick stooped over to pet
his bulldog, who crouched at his feet, the animal being an honorary
member of the Sacred Pig Society.
Grit growled at the mention of the name of Uncle Ezra. He had a deep
antipathy to that gentleman, and with reason, for Mr. Larabee hated
dogs, and kicked Grit on the sly every time he got the chance.
"Then it's all settled," remarked Dick, when Paul and Innis had come
back to the general room. "I'll get busy writing some letters, and we'll
see what we can do. It's lucky the season hasn't started yet, for we
have plenty of time to get into shape."
"Yes, and we'll not only do up Blue Hill good and brown, but we'll put
it all over Mooretown and some of the other teams in the Military
League," declared Innis. "But you fellows must get at practice, and try
and harden yourselves. I wish Bert Cameron was here--I don't know how
he's going to take to this new coaching idea."
"Oh, Bert won't mind," declared Jim Watkins. "He'll be only too glad to
be relieved of the coaching, for I heard him say he was trying for an
extra exam. in maths, and he needs all the time he can get."
Bert, who was a star football player, had given up active participation
in the game to act as coach for Kentfield. But, as his chums well knew,
he had not the necessary time to devote to the work of telling them what
to do and how to do it, and the team suffered in consequence.
However, the mention of this gave Dick an idea. He did not want to hurt
the feelings of Bert, and, when the coach entered the club a little
later the matter was mentioned to him.
"Go ahead, grand idea," he declared and his enthusiasm was not forced.
"I know I haven't been keeping you fellows up to the mark, and I'll be
glad to see some one here who can. Besides, I need all the time I can
get to bone away at my maths."
"Then I'll go ahead," declared the young millionaire. "I'll have the new
coaches here in a week if I can get them, and I'll meet any financial
demand they make."
"That's the way to talk!" cried Paul, clapping his chum on the back with
such energy that Dick uttered a protest.
When our hero turned in at taps that night, his mind was filled with two
main thoughts. One was the future of the football team, and the other
was the trouble that threatened his father. Then another remembrance
came to him.
"I wonder who that Mr. Duncaster is that we so nearly ran over?" mused
Dick. "He must know dad. He's a queer sort of a character, I guess."
Dick little thought of what an important part in the future of himself
and his father this same Mr. Duncaster was to play.
"Well, I'll see if I can get any more information from Porter about the
deal his father is in," said Dick to himself, as he turned over to
compose himself for sleep. "There must be more than one man in the game,
and it's up to me to find out who the others are, so dad can be on his
guard. I hope he doesn't lose control of the trolley, for a lot of small
investors have put all their money in it, and if other interested men
get hold of it the investors might lose all they have. I guess that's
why dad is so worried. I'll cultivate the acquaintance of Porter and
Weston, though I don't care much for them."
A better day for football practice could not have been desired. There
was just enough crispness in the air, and the gridiron, newly marked
with its chalk-lines was green under the autumn sun as a crowd of cadets
released from drill and studies, flocked over the campus, shouting and
laughing.
"Line up there, you scrubs!" called Paul Drew. "This is where we walk
all over you. Here, Dick, catch this!" and he kicked a puzzling spiral
toward the young millionaire.
Dick made a jump for the ball, but it slipped through his fingers.
"Wow! Rotten!" he cried. "That wouldn't do in a game."
"That's right," agreed Innis. "But you're no worse than the rest. Look
at Watkins miss that drop kick he tried to make."
Shouts of derision from the scrub greeted the effort of Watkins to boot
the pigskin. The scrub, in spite of its unenviable position, had been
doing better in practice than the regular team. Captained by Tom Coleton
the lads had scored many a touchdown on their superiors, and they were
proud of it.
"Line up, fellows!" called Teddy Naylor, the Varsity captain. "We'll see
what we can do."
The game at Kentfield was played under the old rules of halves, instead
of quarters, and, in fact, all the teams in the Military League
preferred that style.
Goals were chosen, and it was announced that two ten minute halves would
be played. Dick was to play at quarter-back, John Stiver at left
half-back, Ray Dutton at right half-back, Paul Drew at left guard,
George Hall at right tackle, Teddy Naylor at full-back, Frank Rutley at
left tackle, Jim Watkins at centre, Innis Beeby at right guard, Sam
Porter as left end, and his crony, Jake Weston, at right end.
The scrub were to kick off, as Teddy wanted to see how well his men
could rush back the ball. Not that he expected much, but somehow, under
the stimulus of the new plan proposed by Dick, there was a more
confident feeling among members of the Varsity eleven, than had existed
in some time.
"I think we'll surprise 'em to-day," remarked Paul Drew, as he took his
place beside Jim.
The signal was given, and Hal Foster made a big dent in the side of the
ball. It came sailing toward the spread-out Varsity team, and was caught
by Dick. He started back over the chalk marks, well protected by
interference.
"Grab him! Don't let him get past you!" called Tom Coleton, who was in
charge of the scrub. Dick's helpers shoved aside several impetuous lads
who tried to break through to tackle him, and it looked as though he
might make a sensational run. But when Bart Gerard slipped past Paul
Drew, and got in to the running lad, there was a quick, fierce tackle,
and Dick went down heavily.
"Not so bad! Line up!" cried Bert Cameron, who stole a few minutes from
his studies to come out and see how the play was going.
"Get ready, fellows!" cried Dick, as he took his place behind Jim, while
the big centre leaned over and prepared to snap back the ball when the
signal was given.
Dick called out a string of numbers which indicated that Ray Dutton was
to take the ball between the left guard and tackle of the scrub. The
ball came back, and with all his might Dutton leaped for a hole that
Beeby and Hall made for him. On and on he struggled pushing and being
pushed.
"Brace, fellows! Brace!" implored Coleton, and his men tried, but there
was no withstanding the fierce rush of the Varsity. Through they went,
and when Dutton was finally stopped he had gained five yards.
"It's been some time since we did that," commented Dick, as he looked
back at the ground covered--ground whereon were strewn fallen players
for the rush had been a fierce one.
Again came the line up, and again the advance with the ball, Stiver
taking it this time for a run around end. He made a good gain. Then
followed more rushing tactics, until, when in reasonable distance of
the goal, Dick gave the signal for a try for one from the field.
Straight and true the ball came back to Teddy Naylor, and the next
instant it was booted over the crossbar.
"Wow!" cried Beeby capering about. "That's the stuff. Now if that was
against Blue Hill I'd stand on my head!"
"Impossible, old chap--I mean impossible to stand on your head--you're
not balanced right," panted Dick, for the last few minutes of play had
been strenuous. "But it was good work all the same."
"You can't repeat it," declared Coleton, half chagrined yet glad that
the Varsity was picking up.
But the Varsity did even better, for they rolled up two touchdowns in
that half, a thing they had been unable to do since practice started.
They did not have things all their own way, however, for the scrub
played so fiercely and with such desperate energy in the next half, that
they, too, got a touchdown, and would have had another but for a
splendid tackle Porter made.
"Good!" cried Teddy encouragingly, for Porter was not a good player, and
would not train properly. But he had been picked on the team early in
the season, when available material was scarce, and the captain did not
like to drop him now. His fine stopping of the man with the ball,
however, showed what he could do when he tried.
The play was resumed. There were only a few more minutes left, and the
scrubs were trying with all their might to score again, while, on their
part, the Varsity was trying to stop them. The scrub had the ball on the
Varsity twenty-five yard line, when the signal came for a play through
centre.
Dick half guessed that it was coming, and when the man with the ball
made his appearance in the hole torn for him, our hero met him with a
suddenness that shocked them both.
"I've got you!" cried the young millionaire. There was a revolving
struggle, and then something hit Dick on the head. It became black all
around him, and he went down in a limp heap, while he heard some one
crying:
"Get up, fellows, Hamilton's hurt!"