THE BLUE HILL GAME
The thoughts of the young captain were rather alarming as he made his
way to the apartment he shared with his chum. He had paid little
attention to the complaint Paul made of not feeling well, thinking it
was only a temporary indisposition. That had been several hours before,
for time had passed quickly in the room of Innis, with the spirited talk
of football.
"And he had to send for a doctor when I wasn't there with him!"
exclaimed Dick to himself regretfully. "That was tough. But I kept
thinking he'd join us every minute or I'd gone back. I hope it isn't
anything serious."
Then he recalled several stories he had read of football players being
secretly "doped" before big games in order that they would go "stale"
and not be in form.
"That may have happened to Paul!" half-gasped the young captain. "Some
of those Blue Hill fellows, fearing we will beat them, may have sent him
some dope. If they have----"
Then Dick laughed at his preposterous fears, and by this time he was at
his room. Behind the closed door he heard the murmur of voices. One he
recognized as that of his chum, and the other was Dr. Fenwick's.
"Well, he's alive at any rate," thought the young millionaire. "He can't
be so bad."
Nevertheless it was rather an alarmed countenance of Dick Hamilton that
gazed in on his chum a moment later. Paul was in bed, and in the room
was one of the academy orderlies, while the physician was bending over a
table, mixing some medicine in a glass.
"Paul!" cried Dick impulsively. "What's the matter? Jim Watkins just
told me Dr. Fenwick was here. How did it happen? What is the matter? I'm
so sorry I left you alone, but I thought every minute that you'd be
over. I'm all cut up about it."
"It's all right, Dick, old man," replied Paul, but in fainter tones than
he was in the habit of using. "I'm just a little under the weather I
guess. I'll be on the active list again soon."
"I hope so," murmured the captain, with the memory of the impending Blue
Hill game. Paul was one of his best players--one who could always be
depended on in an emergency--one who always had some "go" left in him,
when it seemed that mortal flesh and bone could do no more. He could
tear through the line, and break up interference better than any guard
Dick had ever seen, and for nailing the man with the ball Paul was a
star. No wonder the young captain did not want to lose him.
"Is it anything serious, Doctor?" asked Dick.
"I hope not," replied Dr. Fenwick. "I don't like some of his symptoms,
but they may pass away."
"How did it happen--how did it come on?" inquired the young millionaire.
"Oh, I hadn't felt well all day," replied the plucky left guard, "but I
didn't think anything of it. Then a little while ago I suddenly felt
dizzy, and before I knew what was happening I keeled over--fell on the
floor. Brooks, in the next room, heard me, and came rushing in. He got
the doctor--that's all I know."
"And I wasn't here?" exclaimed Dick reproachfully.
"I fancy it is only due to an upset condition of the stomach," put in
the physician. "He has an attack of vertigo, which is not uncommon.
There, Mr. Drew, I'll leave this medicine, and look in on you in the
morning. If you need me in the night don't hesitate to send for me."
"I'll look after him," promised Dick. The physician and orderly were
about to leave when several of the cadets who had been in Beeby's room,
and who wondered at Dick's sudden desertion, came trooping in, to ask
all sorts of questions concerning Paul.
"Now, young gentlemen, this won't do!" insisted the doctor cheerfully
but firmly. "Mr. Drew must be kept quiet. He is in no danger, and
you'll have to leave."
They did, after nodding pleasantly to the sick lad, and then Dick began
a vigil of the night.
"Jove! I hope Drew doesn't go back on us in the Blue Hill game,"
remarked Dutton.
"It would sort of break us up, even though Berkfeld fills in pretty well
at guard," spoke George Hall.
As for the worriment of the young captain, only he himself realized the
depth of it.
Paul was restless all night, and had a slight fever. Dick was a faithful
nurse, administering the medicine regularly. Once his patient was
delirious, and murmured something about matters at home. Again he
fancied himself on the gridiron, and called out:
"Touchdown! Touchdown! We've got to make a touchdown! That's it. Go
through the line now!"
"Poor Paul," murmured Dick. "I'm afraid it will be quite a while before
you play again."
Twice, when the lad's condition seemed worse, Dick was on the point of
sending for Dr. Fenwick, but he refrained and the spell passed over.
Morning came, pale and wan, shining in the room where the electric
lights burned with a sickly glow. Dick turned them out and softly laid
his hands on Paul's cheek.
"He seems cooler," he whispered. "I believe the fever has gone down. I
hope it has. He's sleeping soundly. I--I believe I'll lie down for a
moment."
Dick himself felt weak, for he had been up nearly all night, and the day
before he had practiced strenuously. He stretched out on the lounge, and
before he knew it he was sleeping soundly. He awakened as a voice called
faintly:
"Is there any water handy, Dick?"
"Paul! How are you?" he cried, springing up. "Oh, I must have dozed off!
That was careless of me. Are you all right? I'm a swell nurse, I am."
"Oh, don't worry. I'm much better, and I'm hungry and thirsty."
"That's a good sign. I'll get some fresh water."
Paul drank eagerly, and Dick, taking his temperature with the
thermometer the physician had left, was glad to note that the little
silver column was at ninety-eight and three-fifths, or normal.
"Your fever's gone!" he announced, with a thrill in his tired voice.
Dr. Fenwick came in a little later, and seconded the opinion Dick had
formed. Paul was weak, but the danger had passed, he announced.
"It must have been something he ate," was what the doctor said, and Dick
thought no more about "dope."
"Will I be able to play Saturday?" asked Paul eagerly.
"Humph! Yes, I think so, if you get back your strength. You lost
considerable in a short time. But take it easy at first."
They missed Paul at practice that day, and as Dick was somewhat worn
with his sleepless night, the coaches did not insist on very strenuous
work. What was done, however, showed that the Kentfield eleven was
holding its own.
Paul was out the next day, and did light work. He was a bit "off his
feed" as he expressed it, but he was sure he would be all right when it
came to the big game.
Little was talked of in the academy but the coming contest, which was to
take place on the Kentfield gridiron. Some of the sporting crowd had
what they called "big money" up on the game, but few of the football
contingent indulged in this practice.
"I got odds of two to one from some of the Blue Hill crowd," boasted
Porter, who had a liking for betting. "I could have gotten bigger odds
before the Haskell fight, but the Blue Hill fellows are a bit shy now. I
should think you'd back your own team, Hamilton," he said, with a half
sneer at Dick.
"It isn't in my line," was the answer, "though I've no objections to you
fellows backing us for all you're worth. We'll come in winners, I'm
sure."
"I wish I could play," spoke Porter more earnestly than he was in the
habit of doing. "Is there any chance for me, Hamilton?" He had
effectually put his pride in his pocket to thus appeal to the lad who
for no cause he disliked.
"I wish there was," answered the captain. "Of course you will have the
same chance as the other subs, and if the fight is as rough as I expect
it will be, we may be playing all of you before it's over."
"Then I can't go in at the opening?"
"I don't see how you can very well. Of course I haven't it all to say.
Why don't you go see the coaches?"
"What good would that do. They're in your pay, and----"
"That will do!" cried Dick sharply, and Porter knew enough to stop that
sort of talk. He turned away, a bitter look on his face and a bitter
feeling in his heart.
"I'll get even with you yet," he muttered. "I'll fix you and your
football team, Dick Hamilton!"
Dick was like some anxious mother the night before the game. He went to
the rooms of each of his players and saw that they were in. Inquiries as
to how they felt met with the reply that they were all "fit."
Paul Drew seemed himself again, and assured Dick that he was ready to do
battle with their common foe.
"Wouldn't it be great if we could shut them out altogether?" he asked
exultingly. "After the fuss they made about not wanting to play us, and
the record they've made, if we could bar them from crossing our
line--wouldn't it be immense?"
"'Dreams--idle dreams,'" quoted Dick with a smile. "I shouldn't ask
anything better, but I'm afraid they're too strong for us. Why they came
within an ace of beating Haskell the other day."
"That was on a fumble."
"I know, but fumbles count in football. No, if we beat them by a good
score I'll be satisfied, even if they cross our line."
It was the day of the great game, a great game in the sense that
Kentfield had made a record for herself in a remarkably short time under
the skillful coaching of Mr. Martin and Mr. Spencer, and because she was
to meet a foe who had despised her--meet a team that, hitherto had not
considered our cadet heroes worthy of their steel. In a sense it was a
triumph for Kentfield even before the game was started. As for Dick he
was modestly proud.
There was a record-breaking crowd in attendance, for the word had gone
around among lovers of football that Kentfield was putting up a great
game, and the grandstands that in years past had held only a scattering
throng, now overflowed.
"We'll be able to pay all our debts and close the season with a
balance," exulted the manager and treasurer together.
"I'd rather win this game and lose every dollar!" cried Dick, as he ran
to join his comrades on the gridiron.
Blue Hill was to kick off, and after the preliminary arrangements the
pigskin was "teed" in midfield and there came a hush while each captain
looked to see if his men were all placed.
"Are you ready?" came the call.
"Ready," answered Dick.
"Ready," answered Ford Haskell, the Blue Hill captain.
The whistle blew, and hardly had the echoes died away than there sounded
the soul-stirring "ping" and the toe of Tod Kester's shoe dented the
leather as the big centre sent the ball well into the territory of our
friends.
"Now boys, back with it!" cried Dick. "Shove for all you are worth when
it comes to a line up!"
Jake Weston caught the ball, and the speedy right end was down the field
with it like a shot. He dodged several of the Blue Hill men, but at last
Ned Buchanan, the husky right guard, got his arms around him, and Weston
went down hard.
"Ready boys--come on," cried Dick, and this was the signal for a fake
kick without any other word being given. They lined up and before the
surprised Blue Hill team was aware of what was happening, and when their
startled full-back had begun a retreat ready to catch the ball John
Stiver had the pigskin, had passed it to Hal Foster and the latter
smashed through the line for a ten yard gain.
"That's going some!" cried Innis Beeby when the scrimmage was over.
Indeed it was a good gain for that play, and Dick and his men rejoiced.
Quickly they lined up again, and this time Dutton was sent smashing
through between left guard and tackle. But this was not so successful,
for the Blue Hill lads massed at that point, and blocked the advance
after four yards had been covered.
But the ball had been advanced enough so that Dick felt he need not call
for a punt, and this time he gave the signal for a play around right
end. John Stiver got the ball and got into the play on the jump but to
his own surprise and that of his comrades, he was almost nailed in his
tracks by Lem Gordon, the husky left guard who broke through Innis
Beeby.
Instead of a gain there was a loss of a few feet, and, seeing it, Dick
felt his heart sink. Blue Hill had developed unexpected strength.
A kick was now necessary, and the ball was sent spinning into the
enemy's territory. They ran it back a short distance, and then came
their line up.
"Now, boys, see how we can hold 'em!" cried Dick cheerfully. "We'll have
the pigskin in a couple of downs."
"Not much!" cried Captain Haskell, of the Blues.
Against the Kentfield line came smashing Rud Newton, the left half. He
tried for a hole between Frank Rutley and Paul Drew at left tackle and
guard respectively. Rutley held like a stone fence, but Paul, after a
moment of opposition, gave way and Newton came smashing through. Dick
and Hal Foster managed to nail him, however, but not before five yards
were gained.
"You've got to hold better than that, boys!" called Dick, but they all
knew it was Paul who had given way, and there was not one of them but
what feared he would not hold out through the game. His recent illness
was doubtless responsible.
Again Blue Hill tried a smashing play in the same place, hoping they had
found a weak spot, but Dick and his men were ready, and Paul was
supported to such advantage that not a foot was made.
There came a try for around the left end, but Tom Coleton and his
colleagues were there ready to nab the man, and he actually ran back and
was downed for a loss. Then came the inevitable kick, and Dick's side
had the ball, practically where it had been in the first scrimmage.
"Do or die!" murmured our hero, and he called for some line-smashing
plays. They were given with a will, but there was a defense that was
well-nigh impregnable, and murmurs of astonishment began to go around
among the spectators.
"They're as evenly matched teams as have ever played!" declared Coach
Martin. "There may be no score."
"Oh, our boys have _got_ to score!" cried Mr. Spencer.
Back and forth the game see-sawed, the ball most of the time, save when
there was an exchange of kicks, being in the centre of the field. It was
a kicking game, and Dick rejoiced that he had men who could be depended
on to punt.
Again and again did the opposite sides hurl themselves against each
other in the line, neither team being able to gain. Then a kick would be
called for. This made it interesting for the spectators, but it was
wearing on the players.
At last Dick, in desperation, decided on some sequence plays. These were
three maneuvers to come one after the other at a certain signal, there
being no word given for each individual play. Usually this was not done
until the ball was within about twenty-five yards of the goal, when
desperate work, to disconcert the opponents was necessary, but our hero
thought he might now gain some ground in this way.
"We've got to do it! Pull together now!" called Dick. This meant that
three plays, previously decided on were to come without further word
from the quarter-back.
The plays were right half-back through right tackle, left tackle through
right tackle and left half-back through right tackle, thus directing
three smashing attacks in quick succession against the same place in the
Blue Hill line.
The first attempt did not gain much, but when Frank Rutley came at the
unfortunate Jean Trainor, who had just sustained one tremendous smash,
there was a clean ten yards reeled off. Then, without a word being
uttered, John Stiver jumped for the same breach on the next line up, and
fifteen yards were gained.
Kentfield's supporters nearly went wild, for her boys were now within
striking distance of the enemy's goal. But there was an enraged crowd of
opponents to be reckoned with, for the Blue Hill cadets were half
frenzied with the trick that had been played on them, and Dick knew he
could not hope to work it again.
He called for an end run, and it seemed as if it would result in a good
gain, but George Hall was downed before he had gone far. Then came a
smash at the Blue Hill centre, and to the dismay of Dick, Paul Drew
fumbled the ball. In an instant one of the Blue Hill players fell on it,
and quickly booted it out of danger.
There was a groan, and Dick felt his heart sink. All their brilliant
work in the sequence had gone for naught. The Blue Hill crowd went wild
with delight.
"Line up!" called Dick grimly, and once more he began his line-smashing
tactics. But there was no gain, and a kick was called for. Similarly
the opponents of Kentfield could not advance the ball, and they punted.
Then after some see-sawing work, time was called for the ending of the
first half, with the ball on Blue Hill's forty-yard line. Neither side
had scored.
"Well, what do you think of 'em?" asked Mr. Martin of Dick.
"Hard as nails," was the reply.
"I fancy they have the same opinion of you," said Mr. Spencer. "But I
think you can get one touchdown the next half. They are tiring. Do you
think you can risk another sequence play?"
"I believe so. I'll try it on the other side next time."
"I would, but wait until you're nearer their goal."
The rest period seemed all too short for the tired players, but they
came out on the gridiron again leaping, laughing and shouting, though
some showed the marks of the conflict.
There were shrill cries from many girls and women in the grandstands and
Dick, giving a quick glance up saw Nellie Fordice, Mabel Hanford and
some of their friends.
The second half began with a rush that meant business. Each side tried
the line-smashing, but found it as before, and there was much kicking.
Blue Hill finally had the ball, and there was a moment's consultation
before the signal was given. Then came a terrific smashing play at Paul
Drew. Dick saw one of the Blue Hill players deliberately strike Paul in
the stomach with his elbow. Poor Drew went down in a heap, and over him
climbed the man with the ball, making a six yard gain before he could be
stopped.
"A foul!" cried Dick, and reported to the umpire what he had witnessed.
But that official had seen nothing, or at least said he had not.
"Watch 'em!" warned Dick to his players, while Paul had some wind pumped
back into him.
"Can you play?" asked Mr. Martin.
"Yes--of course!" was the half-fierce reply.
Once more came a smashing attack at the unfortunate left guard. His
opponents had discovered his weakness. Though he was not struck, the
attack was so merciless that he could do nothing, and he had to be
carried off the field, his weak condition being partly responsible, for
his stomach still troubled him.
"Get in the game, Natron," called Dick, to the substitute guard, and
then the Blue Hill attack was directed on the other side of the
Kentfield line. But there Innis Beeby was ready for them, and he tackled
his man with such fierceness that time had to be taken out to restore
his half-scattered senses.
"They won't try any more slugging here," said the right guard grimly.
But Blue Hill was evidently "out for blood," and the slugging went on.
The umpire saw it once, and ordered the offender out of the game.
All this while, however, the ball had been steadily advanced toward the
Kentfield goal, and after Tom Coleton had been knocked out, giving
Porter a chance to get back on his old position of left end, the advance
was even faster.
Then, in one black and disheartening moment, came the fatal play. It was
around Porter's end, in spite of the desperate effort Hal Foster made
to tackle the man, the ball was touched down, and the goal kicked.
There were tears in the eyes of more than one Kentfield player, and Dick
felt his heart sinking. But he grimly called on his men to respond, and
for a time they had the ball in their enemy's territory.
Another of Dick's men was knocked out, and two of the Blue Hill players
had to retire. The time was getting short, and Dick once more decided to
use the sequence work, for with so many new cadets on the other side, he
figured that they would not be prepared for them.
The plays were rattled through, and this time with such relentlessness
that in a short time the ball was within ten yards of the Blue Hill
goal.
"Touchdown! Touchdown!" came the imploring call from the Kentfield
grandstands.
"Touchdown it shall be!" thought Dick fiercely. He sent Innis Beeby
smashing through centre for three yards, and then, hoping Dutton could
make the remaining distance, passed the ball to him.
Right into the line smashed the big right half-back, but someone tackled
him with a fierceness that sent him unconscious to the ground, the ball
rolled from his arms, and a moment later a Blue Hill man had it, and was
racing down the field with all the speed left in him.
There was not a player to stop him, for all of Dick's team had been
drawn close in, hoping for the touchdown, and before they were aware of
what was happening the man with the ball was on the forty-yard line.
"Catch him! We've got to catch him!" yelled Dick. "It's another
touchdown if we don't!"
After him sprinted every man on the Kentfield team, save Dutton who was
still stretched on the ground, and then, straggling after their
opponents, came the Blue Hills in scattered formation.
It was a foregone conclusion, for the Kentfield players were so wearied
with their recent line-smashing attack that they could hardly run, and
with tears in their eyes they saw the ball again touched down back of
their goal posts. They had been so near to scoring, only to see their
hopes dashed from them, and on what was nearly a fumble.
The goal was kicked and the score stood twelve to nothing against our
friends. Dutton was revived, but was unable to resume play, and a
substitute went in. There were only a few moments of the game left.
Desperately Dick called on his men for those last few minutes, and they
did play to fierce advantage. There was some kicking, and when the
Kentfields had the ball they rushed it down the field so fast that they
were soon within striking distance of their opponents' goal.
Then fate, in the shape of the time whistle blew, and the contest was
ended. Blue Hill had won.