THE SEARCH OF ADVENTURE
BY that time Brimfield had played her second game and lost it, 6 to 14,
to Canterbury High School. Canterbury was not considered very formidable
and Brimfield usually had little trouble with her. But this year things
had gone wrong from the start of the game to the finish, wrong, that is,
from Brimfield's point of view. Fumbling had been much in evidence and
poor judgment even more. Carmine had worked like a Trojan at
quarter-back for two periods, but had somehow failed to display his
usually good generalship, and McPhee, who had taken his place at the
beginning of the second half, while he ran the team well, twice dropped
punts in the backfield, one of which accounted for Canterbury's second
touchdown and goal. Oddly enough, it was the veterans who failed most
signally to live up to expectations, and of all the veterans Tom Hall
was the worst offender. Possibly Tom's shoulder still bothered him, but
even that couldn't have accounted for all his shortcomings. Crewe, who
played tackle beside Tom, was not a very steady man, and Tom's errors
threw him off his game badly, with the result that, until Coach Robey
put Pryme in for Tom in the third period, Canterbury made a lamentable
number of gains at the right of the Brimfield line. Even Tim Otis,
usually undisturbed by anything short of an earthquake, was affected by
the playing of the others and finally had what he called a "brain-storm"
in the third period, getting the signals twisted and being thrown back
for an eight-yard loss. That misadventure bothered him so that he was
heartily glad when Gordon was rushed in a few minutes later.
The team took the beating to heart and the school at large was disposed
to indulge in sarcasm and bitterness. Only Coach Robey seemed
undisturbed. He lavished no praise, you may be sure, but, on the other
hand, neither did he utter any criticism after the contest was over.
Instead, he laid off more than half the line-up on Monday and Tuesday,
and, since the weather continued almost unseasonably warm, the rest was
just what the fellows needed. Wednesday's practice went with a new snap
and vim and those who broiled in the afternoon sun and watched it found
grounds for hope.
It was on Wednesday that Don began his connection with the second team,
and by then the injured hand was so well along that he was able to
discard the glove. Three days of kindergarten work followed, with, on
Saturday, a short signal drill. The first team journeyed away that
afternoon to play Miter Hill School, and Don would have liked very much
to have gone along. But Boots put his charges through a good, hard hour
and a half of work, and Don had all he could attend to at home. Just
before supper he did, however, walk down to the station and meet Tim
when the team arrived home. Tim, who seemed remarkably fresh for a youth
who had played through the most of four ten-minute periods, scorned the
coach and he and Don footed it back.
"Twenty to nothing, my boy," said Tim exultantly. "They never had a
look-in. It was some game, believe me, dearie! And I want to tell you,
too, that Miter Hill is fifty per cent better than Canterbury ever
thought of being!"
"That's fine," said Don. "What sort of a game did you play?"
"Me? Oh, I was the life of the party. Got off two nice little runs, one
for thirty and the other for forty-five yards. Got a touchdown the
second time. I wouldn't have, though, if Steve hadn't paced me most the
way down and put the quarter out. Old Steve played like a whirlwind
today. We all did, I guess. There was only one fumble, and that wasn't
anyone's fault. Holt got a forward pass and a Miter Hill chap plunged
into him and just about knocked the breath out of him and he let go of
the ball."
"Twenty to nothing? Three touchdowns, then."
"Yep, and Rollins only missed one goal. Rollins scored once, I scored
once and Steve took over the last one."
"Forward pass?"
"No, end-around. It went off great, too. We were way back on the
eighteen yards, I think it was, and we worked the fake forward pass
play, with Steve taking the ball from Carmine. We fooled them finely.
They never got onto it at all until Steve was over the line. Some of the
fellows who were doing so much grousing last week ought to have come
along today and seen some real football. Robey was as pleased as
anything. You could tell that because he looked sort of cross and told
us how bad we were!"
"Wish I'd seen it," mourned Don.
"It was some game, all right, all right! We're going to have a modest
celebration this evening; just Tom Hall and Clint Thayer and Hap Crewe,
maybe, and yours truly. Better come along. Will you?"
"Where are you going?"
"Oh, just down to the village. We'll leave the window open."
"You'll get nabbed if you try that," demurred Don. "Better not, Tim."
"Well, we may be back by ten. No harm in having a way open in case
something delays us, though. We'll have a little feed at the Inn, you
know, and----"
"Don't be a chump," growled Don. "You're in training and you know mighty
well Robey won't stand for any funny-business."
"What Robey doesn't know isn't going to hurt him," replied Tim
untroubledly. "And he won't know anything about this because he's off
for home on the seven o'clock train. Tom heard him tell Steve he
wouldn't be back until Monday noon."
"Yes, but someone will see you and Robey'll hear of it. And then you'll
get the dickens from him and be hauled up to the office. Better not risk
it, Timmy."
"Gee, you're worse than Mr. Poe's crow! Or was it a raven? What's the
difference, anyhow? Now don't tell me they're both anthropeds or pods,
or whatever it is, because I'm onto you as a disseminator of knowledge!
I never got even with you yet for calling me 'something like a human
being'."
"I'll take it back, then; you aren't. But, just the same, Tim, I wish
you'd cut out the celebration."
"You're all the time interfering with my innocent pleasures," protested
Tim. "Why, bless you, dearie, we aren't going to cut-up. We're merely
going to stroll quietly to the village, trolling a song, mayhap, and
look in the windows."
"That'll take you a long time," Don laughed. "There are only half a
dozen."
"Wrong. A fellow opened a watchmaker's emporium next door to the post
office t'other day and has a most fascinating window. It has four alarm
clocks, three pairs of cuff-links and a chronometer in it! Oh, it's
swell! Do you realise, Don, that slowly but surely our little village is
taking on the--the semblance of a metropolis? All we want is a movie
palace!"
"Let's start one. They say there's a lot of money in them."
"Bet there is! We've got three or four at home, and they're peaches.
Full every minute, too. I went a lot last Summer; had filmitis, I
guess. But how about the party? Will you come along?"
"No, thanks."
"Oh, come on, Don! Have a heart! Be one of our merry gang."
"I'd rather not, thank you. I like Josh well enough, but I don't like to
stand on the carpet and hear him say 'Until further notice, Gilbert.'
Nothing doing, Tim!"
And Don remained adamant the rest of the way to school and while they
made a hurried toilet and rushed to dining hall in an effort to reach it
before the food gave out.
The team members received an ovation that evening when they entered the
dining hall. It seemed as if the school wanted to make up for its
unkindness of a week before. Some few of the fellows, recalling
sarcastic comments overheard, were inclined to be haughty and
unforgiving, but eventually they melted. Don, now at the second
training-table, presided over by Mr. Boutelle, saw that Coach Robey's
chair was vacant, which fact bore out Tim's statement that the coach had
gone home over Sunday. But, even granting that, Don didn't approve of
Tim's celebration, for, as he very well knew, after a football victory
fellows were very likely to be carried away by their enthusiasm and to
forget such trifling things as rules and regulations. He determined to
try again to dissuade Tim after supper.
But Tim, who was in a very cheerful and expansive mood, refused to be
dissuaded. Instead, he turned the tables and begged so hard for Don to
come with him that Don finally relented. After all, there was no harm in
the excursion if they got permission and were back in hall by ten
o'clock. And it was a wonderfully pleasant, warm evening, much too fine
an evening to spend indoors, and--well, secretly, Don wanted some fun as
much as any of them, perhaps!
Permission was easily obtained and at seven they met Tom Hall and Clint
Thayer in front of Torrence. Crewe failed them, but Tim said it didn't
matter; that there were only four "Three Musketeers" anyhow! So they set
off for the village in high spirits, through a warm, fragrant,
star-lighted evening, with no settled plan of action in mind save to do
about as they liked for the succeeding three hours. Clint Thayer had a
strip of plaster across the saddle of his nose, which gave him a
strangely benign expression. Tom walked a bit stiffly and confessed to
"a peach of a shin," which probably meant something quite different from
what it suggested. Only Tim, of the three first team fellows, had
emerged unscathed, and he referred to the fact in an unpleasantly
superior manner which brought from Tom Hall the remark that it was easy
enough to get through a game without any knocks if you didn't do
anything! Whereupon Tim flicked him across the cheek with an imaginary
glove, the challenge was issued and accepted and the two fought an
exciting duel with rapiers--as imaginary as the glove--on the sidewalk,
feinting, thrusting, parrying, until Clint cried "The guard! The guard!"
and they all raced down the road to the nearest lamp-post, where Tim
insisted on looking to his wounds. To hear him tell it, he was as full
of holes as a sieve, while, on the same authority, Tom was a dead man.
Tom denied being dead, but Tim insisted and refused to pay any heed to
him all the rest of the way to the village on the ground that, being
dead, Tom had no business to talk.
But when they reached what Tim called "the heart of the city" Tom was
allowed to come to life again. The heart of the city consisted of the
junction of two village streets whereon were located the diminutive town
hall, the post office, a fire house and five stores. They began with the
druggist's, ranging themselves in front of one of the two windows and
pretending to be overwhelmed with the beauty and magnificence of the
goods displayed.
"What beautiful soap," exclaimed Tom. "I never saw such beautiful soap,
fellows. Pink and green and white! Looks almost good enough to wash
with, doesn't it?"
"And get on to the lovely toilet set in the green velvet box," begged
Tim awedly. "Scissors and brushes and little do-funnies and----"
"I'm going to buy a bottle of that hair-grower," announced Don. "I want
to raise a beard."
"Let's get a bottle and present it to Uncle Sim," suggested Clint. Uncle
Sim was Mr. Simkins, the Greek and Latin instructor, and was noticeably
bald. The others chuckled and thought very well of the suggestion until
Tom discovered that the price, as stated on the label, was one whole
dollar. They had, they decided, better uses for what little money they
carried. Eventually they went inside, and sat on stools in front of the
small soda fountain and drank gaily-coloured concoctions which,
according to Tim, later, sounded better than they tasted. Having
exhausted the amusement to be derived from the drug store, they went to
the fire house next door and, pressing their noses against the glass,
debated what would happen if an alarm was rung in. There was a box
beside the doors, a most tempting red box and Tim eyed it longingly
until Don led him gently but firmly away from temptation.
In the small store across the street they examined all the books and
magazines displayed on the counters, which didn't take long, as
literature was not a large part of the stock. Tim spent ten cents for a
football guide, explaining that he had always wanted to know some of the
rules of that game! Don bought some candy and Clint a bag of peanuts,
although the others protested that if they ate truck they'd spoil their
appetites for real food. The force of the protest was somewhat marred by
the actions of the protestants, who helped themselves liberally to the
contents of the two bags.
There was a convenient fence a few steps along the street and they
perched themselves on the top rail and consumed the peanuts and candy
and watched the "rush of the great city," to again quote the poetic Tim.
During the next twenty minutes exactly eight carriages and four
automobiles entered their range of vision; and at that Clint insisted
that they had counted one automobile twice. He accused it of going
around the block in order to add to the confusion. Possibly some three
dozen people passed within sight, although that may have been a too
liberal estimate. Tom at last declared that he couldn't stand the
excitement any longer; that his brain reeled and his eyes ached; and
that he was going to find a quiet spot far from the dizzy whirl. So they
adjourned to the grocery and butcher shop and talked learnedly of loins
and shoulders and ribs. And Clint dragged what he alluded to as a
"brisket" into the conversation to the confusion of the others, who had
never heard of it and didn't believe in it anyway. Tom said Clint meant
"biscuit" and that this wasn't a bakery. Then he caught sight of some
rather pathetic and unseasonable radishes and, having a passion for
radishes, went in and purchased four bunches. That outlay led to an
expenditure for salt, and as a large, round pasteboard carton of it was
the least they could buy, they retreated down the street to the Inn
porch, trickled the salt along the top of the railing, drew up chairs
and consumed the radishes at their leisure. All, that is, save Tim. Tim
didn't like radishes, called them "fire-crackers" and pretended to be
deeply disgusted with his companions for eating them.
When the radishes were consumed they invaded the Inn and assaulted the
water tank in force. Then, as there were practically no sights left to
be viewed, they went back to their chairs and, as Tom had it, waited
for inspiration. Don was for trolleying over to the shore, having a dip
in the ocean and returning to school in good time. But Tim pointed out
that the trolley line was a good half-mile distant, that he had not
filled himself with radishes and was consequently quite famished for
food and favoured remaining within easy distance of the Inn so that, in
case he grew faint, he could reach sustenance. Don's motion was
defeated. In view of what eventually occurred, that was, perhaps,
unfortunate.