UNCLE EZRA ARRIVES
For a moment Dick half thought it was a joke, and he was about to laugh
it off. The idea of a member of the football squad--even though
temporarily deposed from the team, stopping another team member when on
athletic business, even though against the rules, was almost unheard of.
"I guess it's all right--you might remember the countersign for me,"
said Dick lightly.
"Not much!" snapped Porter.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't choose to. You're under arrest and you will so report
to Major Webster.
"Do you mean it?"
"I certainly do."
"But it's--it's so unusual."
"That's just the reason I'm doing it. They make a fellow do guard duty
on a frosty night, to catch guard-runners, and then some one kicks when
he does it. No, I'm in earnest, and if some of the other fellows who do
sentry-go would be the same, they'd stop this. I don't care enough
about war tactics to be a sentry, but as long as I am here no one can
run the guard on me."
"I wasn't running the guard. I told you where I was going. I want to see
if Hatfield had heard from the Haskell team yet."
"And I find you headed toward the stable where your dog is kept, so I
can believe you or not as I choose."
Dick started. It was, in a measure telling him that he had not spoken
the truth and for a brief moment he felt the hot blood mount to his
head. Then he calmed down as he remembered that he was captain of the
eleven, and, in a measure responsible to his men for his conduct.
Besides, he reflected quickly, Porter might be trying to force him into
a quarrel, and that would never do.
"Very well," answered Dick, as quietly as he could, "I'll report to the
major. Good night!" He swung on his heel and turned aside.
"Um!" was the only reply that Porter grunted out, as he resumed the
patrolling of his post.
"Well?" asked Paul, as his chum entered.
"Not well--bad. I was caught."
"By whom?"
"Porter."
"Porter. Hum! Was he in earnest about it?"
"He seemed so," and Dick recounted the conversation.
"Well, there's something in what he says," agreed Paul. "Sentry-go is no
fun, but as long as we're at a military school we have to do it once in
a while. Still if enough of us enforced the rules, as I suppose we ought
to do, there'd be one of two things happen. They'd either abolish it, or
running the guard would stop, and there wouldn't be anything for the
sentries to do."
"That's so. Well, I'm the goat to-night. Might as well have a bad job
over with. I'm going to report."
"Then you didn't see Hatfield?"
"No, we'll have to wait until morning to hear."
Dick went off in no very happy frame of mind, and he was a little uneasy
as to what form of punishment the major would mete out. But he was
fortunate in finding that old soldier entertaining a war comrade in his
room, and swapping campaign stories. The major was, therefore, in a very
amiable mood, and after listening to Dick's frank report said:
"Hum! Well, don't do it again. You may write me out a page of field
tactics and consider yourself relieved of arrest. Don't do it again.
Good night, Captain Hamilton."
Dick saluted and swung away, highly pleased at the lightness of his
task. He heard the major and his comrade-in-arms laughing as he strode
away, and the instructor in tactics exclaimed:
"That's not a circumstance to what we used to do, eh, Ned, when we were
camped near some city and wanted to go in and have a good time?"
"That's right," agreed his friend.
Dick's little escapade was known all over the academy next morning, and
there was almost universal condemnation of Porter's act. But Dick, to
the no small astonishment of his chums, declared that the deposed
left-end had done just right.
"What are you sticking up for him for?" asked Paul in some indignation.
"It'll get so all the other sentries will do the same thing."
"Well, that might not be so bad. Besides, I do think he did right--even
though class custom is against it. Then, too, I don't want to get on
unfriendly terms with him. I hope to keep in touch with that old miser
Duncaster through Porter."
"Oh, yes, about your father's business. How is it coming on?"
"Not very well. I hear that the other side has made a very good offer to
Mr. Duncaster, but he has turned them down the same as he did me. There
are other matters cropping up, however, that make things complicated in
the electric road business, and poor dad is worried to death. I don't
know what his next move will be."
"Did you hear whether or not we'll have a game with Haskell?"
"No, but here comes Hatfield now. We'll ask him. He has some mail,
perhaps he just heard."
"It's all right!" joyfully called the manager, waving a letter at Dick.
"They'll play us next Saturday. Those coaches must have quite a pull."
"Will they put in their first team?" asked Dick anxiously, for there
would be little glory in beating the Haskell scrub.
"They'll do that, and also come here to give us a game."
"On our own grounds? Good!" cried Paul. "We'll play our heads off!"
"It's great!" declared Dick. "I only hope we--but there of course we're
going to win!" and he changed his sentence with an assumed confidence he
hardly felt.
"Will we work any of the new plays on 'em?" asked Paul. "I like the wing
shifts and the sequence plays."
"We'll work 'em if we get a chance," said Dick. "It will all depend on
what sort of a game they put up. We may have to kick a lot."
"Well, we're up to snuff on that line," declared the manager. "Now I
must arrange the details. I hope we get out a big crowd and make some
money."
"And I hope the fellows come out to practice this afternoon," spoke
Dick. "Come on Paul, we've got the science lecture on now."
The scrub, against whom the Varsity matched forces that afternoon, had
been having some secret practice of their own, and they worked a couple
of tricks on the rather surprised first team that netted a good gain,
and eventually a touchdown.
"That's something you must be on the lookout for," said Mr. Martin, who
was a bit chagrined over what had happened. "It isn't enough to play
well on your own team, you must watch what the other fellow is doing.
Now try again, and put some ginger into your work."
"Yes, you're getting a bit stale I'm afraid," declared Mr. Spencer, and
he added some rather sharp words of correction.
The Varsity members were somewhat hurt. They did not know that the words
were spoken intentionally, and to force them to do a little better.
The rebuke had the desired effect, and thereafter the unfortunate scrub
team was shoved all over the gridiron, not only not getting within
striking distance of their opponents' goal line, but having three
touchdowns rolled up against them in short order.
"That's something like!" cried Mr. Martin in approval. "Now, Hamilton,
try that wing shift," he whispered to Dick. "I think we can fool them."
It was a well executed play, and when the man with the ball got safely
away, and through the scrub line Dick slipped and fell, for the ground
was soft from a recent rain. Down he went at full length into a puddle,
with another player on top of him, and when he arose he was rather a
sorry-looking sight, but not injured.
Time was called directly after that, and as the players filed off the
field, passing through a little knot of spectators, Dick heard his name
called.
"Well, of all the disgraceful sights, you certainly present one!"
exclaimed a rasping voice. There was a menancing growl from Grit, whom
one of Dick's friends held in leash. Our hero looked toward where the
voice had sounded.
"Uncle Ezra!" he faltered, as he saw his grim-visaged relative.
"Yes, I'm here, and I must say of all the brutal exhibitions I ever saw,
this is the worst. I never saw a bull fight, but it can't be much
worse!"
There was some laughter at this, and Dick looked at his crabbed uncle in
some alarm.
"Have you come to see me?" he asked.
"Not exactly. I came because your father is in trouble, and I want to
help him."
"Trouble? What kind--the--" began our hero.
"If you'll go somewhere and get washed up, and put some clean clothes
on, so you won't look so much like a tramp, I'll talk to you," said Mr.
Larabee stiffly. "I've come to take you back home, Nephew Richard."