A DARING PLAN
"Well, what do you boys think of yourselves?" asked Coach Martin the day
after the game with Dunkirk, when the football eleven and its supporters
had gathered in the gymnasium preparatory to going out to practice.
"Why, did we do so rotten?" asked Innis.
"Had we ought to have piled up a bigger score?" inquired George Hall.
"We did make a few fumbles--at least I did, and once I didn't take care
of my man," admitted Jim Watkins. "But----"
"No, I haven't a bit of fault to find," went on Mr. Martin. "I was just
wondering whether you felt more confident of your playing ability than
you did before we came. I want to get a sort of line on my ability."
"Yes," put in Mr. Spencer, "we are far from finding fault with you, for,
on the contrary I think you did exceptionally well. We couldn't ask for
any better results, but what Mr. Martin means is whether or not you
yourselves feel satisfied."
There was a moment's hesitation. The boys did not know exactly how to
take the questions.
"I wish we could beat Blue Hill to a standstill," murmured Captain Dick.
"And then wallop Mooretown," added Ray Dutton.
"Say, can't we challenge Blue Hill now?" asked John Stiver eagerly.
"Yes, let's do it!" came a chorus of voices.
"Better wait," advised Mr. Martin with a laugh and a quick look at his
colleague. "If you sent Blue Hill another challenge so soon, they'd only
laugh at you, and very likely they would say you arranged the whole
coaching plan merely to beat them. If you will permit us to suggest
something, we have another scheme."
"What is it?" sung out Innis with engaging frankness.
"We will play some other strong team before we again ask Blue Hill to
let us have a chance at them," suggested Mr. Martin. "Then, if we win,
as I hope we shall, we will be more in their class. Beating Dunkirk
hardly put us there, even though we made a bigger score against them
than Blue Hill did. And then, after you get your second wind, so to
speak, we will consider getting into the Military League. Do you agree
to that plan?"
"Sure!" came instantly from all present. The boys would have agreed to
anything that would have paved the way to tackling Blue Hill.
"Then we'll go ahead on that understanding," proceeded the coach. "And
now for the second part of the plan. You know it is of little benefit to
play some team weaker than you are. What you want to do is to take on
some eleven that you know is going to be hard to beat. That will bring
out whatever good points we have not yet discovered. Is that clear?"
Once more the boys looked at each other in some astonishment. What was
the coach leading to?
"Am I making myself clear?" he asked again.
"Yes. Sure. Go ahead," were some of the answers.
"Then the plan of Mr. Spencer and myself is this," went on Mr. Martin.
"We will put you through some hard practice in the next week, and then
we will challenge Haskell University."
For a moment there was a period of intense silence in the room. Then
several half-astonished gasps could be heard. Once more the boys looked
at one another, but this time, instead of with puzzled glances, it was
more with looks of fear, or at least uncertainty.
"Haskell University," murmured Dick Hamilton.
"Champions of the Military League year before last," added Innis.
"And likely to be again this year," put in George Hall.
"And he wants us to tackle them--us the tail-enders," muttered Jim
Watkins. "It can't be did! We'd all be in the hospital, fellows, and
our team would be crippled."
Talk was flying thick and fast now, and almost every remark seemed to be
against the daring plan of the coaches. Then Dick realized that he, as
captain, ought to say something. It would not do to knuckle under in
this craven fashion. A team to do anything must do or dare.
"If Haskell will take us on, we'll play them," he said simply, as he
arose in his seat. "But will they, after Blue Hill turned us down?"
"I'm glad that at least your captain isn't afraid," spoke Mr. Spencer,
for he and his colleague had heard the half-suppressed whispers of
objection. "I know it sounds like a big thing to you, for I know what a
strong team Haskell has. But I believe it will do you good to play that
eleven. Of course if you don't feel that you could stand the pace,
or----"
"Go on! Challenge 'em! We'll play 'em."
"Of course we will."
"And beat 'em, too!"
These expressions took the place of those heard a few minutes before. It
argued a good change of heart.
"I'm glad to hear that," commented Mr. Martin. "Then if Manager Hatfield
will confer with us after the meeting and practice, we will arrange to
get a date with them."
"But will they play us?" asked Dick. "You know they always like to
arrange big games, and they may not want to take us on."
"Oh, I fancy that can be arranged," spoke Mr. Martin easily. "Mr.
Spencer and I know the coach there and he is a good friend of ours. I am
acquainted with the captain, too, and I am almost sure they will give us
a game. Now let me congratulate you once more on the showing you made
yesterday, and suggest that we get out to practice. We can't get any too
much if we are to play Haskell--and beat them." He concluded his remarks
with a grim smile.
"Beat 'em! We'll be lucky if we hold 'em down to as much as the score by
which we beat Dunkirk," remarked George Hall, as he stepped out beside
Captain Dick.
"Here! None of that!" cried the young millionaire, half seriously.
"None of what?" asked George.
"That treason talk," replied Dick. "I want you all to feel that we're
going to win, or there isn't much use playing."
"Oh, well, just as you say," agreed George with a laugh. "Do you think
we'll win, Paul Drew?"
"Of course," was the answer, for Paul was always loyal to his chum.
As several of the cadets were lame and stiff from the unusual exertion
in the Dunkirk game, only light practice was indulged in. Several minor
faults were corrected, and then the coaches put their charges through
some wing-shift plays, and gave them a chance to improve their work in
the on-side kick and the forward pass, in both of which the Kentfield
lads were a trifle uncertain.
"Oh, we'll have you in shape to tackle Haskell before you know it," said
Mr. Martin encouragingly.
If any of the players were doubtful about this they did not say so, and
they took heart from the confident air Dick Hamilton assumed.
In the days that followed the practice gradually became more and more
rigorous, and, as a result, fast, snappy playing became the order of the
day.
"Have you heard whether or not Haskell will play us?" asked Paul of Dick
one night, as they sat in their room studying and waiting for "taps" to
sound.
"No, I haven't. I meant to ask Hatfield to-day whether he had heard from
their manager, but I was so busy drilling a squad of raw recruits that I
didn't get a chance. Guess I'll go to his room now and ask him. I'll
have time I think."
As Dick arose there sounded the mournful yet sweet notes of the bugle
that was a signal for "lights" out.
"Too late!" exclaimed Paul.
"I'll chance it," ventured Dick. "I can cross to his dormitory by the
rear path, and the sentries are hardly posted yet. Besides, I guess they
won't report me when they know it's football matters. I'm anxious to
know."
"Better stay here--morning will do," counseled Paul.
"No, I'm going, I'll be right back," replied his roommate, and off Dick
started before the last notes of the bugle had died away.
Rules regarding being out of the academy after taps were very strict,
except at certain times when more liberty was allowed. But this was not
one of those occasions, and Dick knew he would have to be careful. He
did not mind indulging in a few pranks occasionally, but now, as he was
on the eleven, and captain as well, it behooved him to be careful, so
that he would not be barred from athletics.
He swung quietly along the tree-shaded path leading to the dormitory
where Hatfield had his rooms. The path was not so well shaded now as in
summer, for the trees were almost leafless save for certain oaks, the
brown foliage of which rustled in the night wind.
"Sounds like a storm," mused the young millionaire. "I hope it keeps
clear long enough for the Haskell game--that is if they'll play us."
As he strolled along he kept a lookout for any sentries, for sometimes
new cadets were picked for this duty, and they took delight in reporting
their older comrades. But the coast seemed to be clear.
"Guess I'll go see how Grit is, before I go to Hatfield's room," said
Dick half aloud, for his pet was now kept in one of the stable barracks.
"Poor old fellow, I wish they'd let me keep him with me nights; but they
won't."
He swung off in the direction of the building where the cavalry horses
were kept, and, as he neared the one where his dog slept he saw a dark
figure step out from behind a tree. The figure was that of a cadet with
a rifle.
"Hope that's a friend of mine," mused Dick grimly.
A moment later came the command:
"Halt!"
Dick obeyed.
"Who goes there?" was the inquiry as the rifle was swung around.
"Friend."
"Advance friend, and give the countersign."
Dick was startled. Though this was strictly in accordance with the
rules, it was something that was seldom enforced. And, to tell the
truth, Dick did not have the countersign.
"Well?" came the impatient query. Dick wondered who his challenger could
be, for the face was in the shadow.
"I--I'm afraid I haven't the countersign," faltered Dick, who was
somewhat annoyed. "Is it actually necessary?"
"Of course it is," was the snapping answer. "Otherwise I shouldn't have
asked for it. If you haven't it, you're under arrest."
"I'm Dick Hamilton," said our hero, "and I was on my way to see Hatfield
about some football matters. Besides taps have only just sounded."
"Some time ago," was the curt reply. "Besides Hatfield's rooms aren't in
the stable."
"I know, but I wanted to see if my dog Grit was safely fastened."
"Oh. Well, I'm sorry," but there was no contrition expressed in the
voice, "but I'll have to place you under arrest for trying to run guard,
Captain Hamilton," and with that the sentry stepped out from under a
tree, revealing himself as Sam Porter.