LOUISE HAS AN IDEA
Clearfield played Highland Hall Military Academy four days later and
it is safe to say that practically the entire juvenile population of
the town turned out to see the first football game of the season.
Perhaps the weather had something to do with the size of the audience
that filled the grandstand and overflowed on the field, for there was
a zest and a snap to the air that hinted overcoats, and the sun played
hide-and-seek behind the scudding gray clouds. Brent Field, as the High
School athletic grounds are called, is only a scant block and a half
from the river and when the wind is from the northwest, as it was this
afternoon, the few scattered buildings between field and river afford
but little protection.
Highland Hall had brought along most of its Fourth Year Class――the
Academy regulations forbade members of other classes accompanying
the teams away from school――and the forty-odd boys looked very fine
and manly in their cadet-blue cape-coats, below which tan-gaitered
legs twinkled. They assembled at one end of the stand and gave their
team a lusty welcome when it trotted on the gridiron, waving their
blue-and-blue banners proudly. The dark blue and light blue of the
flags was repeated in the costumes of the players, and their sweaters
held the letters H. H. M. A. cunningly arranged, the first H taking the
form of a football goal and the other letters appearing in the space
under the cross-bar. But, in spite of the neat attire of players and
supporters, Highland Hall was no dangerous adversary. The fellows,
as Fudge explained to Gordon, were allowed only two hours a day for
recreation and were coached by the Commandant, a grave martinet of a
man who knew more of military tactics than football. Fudge and Gordon
were seated on the bench, after a ten-minute workout, and Fudge, who
had more flesh than he needed, was still breathing hard from his
exertions.
“That’s the coach over there,” he said, nodding across the gridiron.
“He’s a terror, they say.”
“You have a cousin at Highland, haven’t you?” asked Gordon. “Is he here
to-day?”
“No, he’s only in the Second Year Class, and they don’t let any but the
Fourth Year fellows go away from school. They’re strict as anything.
I’m glad they didn’t send me there. Dad wanted to, but ma and I were
dead against it.” Fudge grinned reminiscently. “I told ma I didn’t
think I was strong enough for it.”
“Fudge, you’re a fakir,” said Gordon cheerfully. Fudge was starting to
deny this indignantly when Lanny White, returning from the center of
the field where he had won the toss-up, summoned the players.
“All right, fellows,” said Lanny. “They kick-off and we take the west
goal. Get into it, now, and let’s get the drop on them!”
“Now let’s see who’s who,” murmured Gordon as the team trotted out and
spread over the west end of the field. “Haley, center; Cable and Kent,
guards; Horsford and―― Hello, Will Scott’s playing right tackle! What’s
the matter with Wayland?”
“Sick; has tonsilitis or something. Who’s that going to play left end,
Gordie?”
“Jim Grover; and Toll is right end, Cottrell, quarter, Lanny and Rob
Hansard, halves, and Felker, fullback. I guess that’s about the way
we’ll line up in the Springdale game, barring accidents; only, of
course, Way will get in, and Morris Brent.” Gordon leaned forward and
spoke along the bench. “Aren’t you going to play, Morris?”
Morris shrugged the shoulders under the purple sweater he wore. “I
don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe in the last quarter.”
Gordon nodded. “Hope so,” he said. And then, to Fudge: “Lanny’s not
taking any chances with Morris, is he? There’s the whistle!”
Lanny got the kick-off and, unaided by interference, raced back nearly
twenty yards before he was stopped. Clearfield set to work with the few
plays she had ready, simple attacks from a tandem formation in which
the runner relied more on speed and force than deception. Two first
downs were gained and then a fumble necessitated a punt, and Felker,
who was called on, booted the ball almost straight into the air and
Clearfield not only lost possession of the pigskin but some eight yards
besides.
Highland started in with a will. She used a wide open formation and
on the first play attempted a double pass which, had it succeeded,
would have netted much territory. But, perhaps more by good luck than
good management, Jack Toll nailed the runner near the side line for a
scant two-yard gain. A second attempt, a forward pass straight over the
middle of the line, went better and Highland made her distance easily.
An involved play in which quarter faked a kick and then passed to a
halfback for a run around the short side, only resulted in the ball
being taken in about where it had gone into play. A plunge at tackle on
the left gained three yards and, with six to go on third down, Highland
punted. The ball was well handled and well kicked and Cottrell got it
behind his goal and touched it back. On her twenty yards Clearfield
started her advance once more and carried almost to midfield before she
was again forced to punt.
This time Felker did better, although the ball covered but a scant
twenty-five yards. Highland, failing to gain at center, returned
the kick and the ball was Clearfield’s on her forty-five yards. Rob
Hansard got away around right end for a first down and on the next play
repeated the performance for four more. Lanny made the distance off
left tackle. The Blue-and-Blue was proving weak at her wings and Lanny
wisely continued the assault at those positions. Both he and Hansard
got around without much difficulty until the ball was on the opponent’s
twenty-yard line. Then Lanny was nailed for a five-yard loss, and
Cottrell, faking a forward pass, tossed the ball to Felker and that
youth banged his way straight through the middle of the enemy’s line
for twelve yards. From there, in three plays, Clearfield took the ball
over, Hansard securing the touchdown. Cable missed the try-at-goal.
The first quarter ended after the kick-off, the score 6 to 0.
The second period saw one more score for the home team. Highland
fumbled on her forty yards and Cottrell picked up the ball and tore off
fifteen yards before he was stopped. A fake forward pass with the ball
going to Lanny failed to gain, but Felker smashed through for four and
Hansard barely gained first down by sliding off right tackle. Felker
fumbled but Lanny recovered for a two-yard loss and then skirted the
opponent’s left end for a touchdown in the corner of the field. The
punt-out placed the ball directly in front of goal and just back of
the fifteen-yard line, and this time Bert Cable had no difficulty in
negotiating the extra point. For the rest of the period Clearfield
played on the defensive and kicked frequently, and the half ended with
the ball in Highland Hall’s possession on her own forty-three yards.
Dick watched the game from the grandstand in company with Louise Brent,
who, like most of the High School girls, was an ardent football lover.
Between the halves, however, Louise abandoned the game long enough to
announce the progress of the Fund.
“It was forty-three dollars and sixty cents this noon, Dick,” she
said. “That isn’t bad, but I thought we’d have lots more by this time.
The girls have done heaps better than the boys. They’ve given almost
two-thirds of the total. Do you think the boys really dislike Mr.
Grayson; many of them, I mean?”
“No, but most of the younger fellows don’t have much spending money,
Louise, and I suppose they think they need sodas and candy and such
things more than Mr. Grayson needs a new desk!” Dick smiled at his
companion’s expression of disapproval. “They’ll fall into line in the
end, though, I guess. Gordon told me last night that most of the
fellows he has been after have only given twenty-five or fifty cents.”
“Well, you’ve done beautifully,” said Louise.
“I’ve bullied the chaps,” laughed Dick. “Anyway, it’s easier to get
money from the seniors. They’ve got more, in the first place, and then
they’re more willing to give it up. Some of the younger boys have it
in for Mr. Grayson for one reason or another, I suppose. We’ll get the
full amount finally, I think. It would be a lot easier if we didn’t
have to be so secret about it. We could call a meeting some day at
recess and pretty nearly get the whole amount, I’ll bet. But it would
surely get around if we did that and Mr. Grayson would hear of it.”
“Yes, and half the fun will be in surprising him,” said Louise. “We’re
going to take Miss Turner into the secret and she will let us into Mr.
Grayson’s office the night before his birthday. Won’t it be exciting?”
“Terribly,” agreed Dick. “Imagine us tiptoeing in there in the dark,
you carrying the desk and May the revolving book-case and Nell the――the
arm-chair――――”
“No, don’t let her take the arm-chair,” begged Louise. “She’ll be sure
to set it down and go to sleep in it. What are you going to carry?”
“I thought I’d take the small chair,” replied Dick gravely. “I’m very
unselfish, you see. I leave the larger honors to the rest of you.”
“Yes, larger and heavier,” laughed the girl. “There they come again! Do
you know, I sort of half wish Highland Hall would score, Dick? They’re
such nice-looking boys, and their uniforms are so stunning!”
“They’ve certainly got us beaten on appearance,” said Dick. “Hello,
Lanny’s sending the same fellows back.”
“Shouldn’t he?”
“There’s no law against it, only, with a lead of thirteen points, it
seems to me it would be a good chance to let some of the subs smell
gunpowder. I guess he knows what he’s doing, though.”
“I do hope he has a successful season,” said Louise. “I like Lanny, and
he always works so hard at everything that he deserves to win.”
“He’s pretty well handicapped just now. The team really does need a
coach, and the Athletic Committee didn’t make any kind of a popular
hit with the school when it decided against paying for one the other
night. The fellows blame Mr. Grayson for that, by the way, and I
suppose that’s one reason why they don’t subscribe more liberally to
the Fund. There’s a wretched kick-off for you!”
“Did Bert Cable do that, Dick? I thought he usually kicked splendidly.”
“He does the best he can considering that he doesn’t think it worth
while to cock the ball any,” replied Dick dryly. “Bert evidently thinks
that pile of sand out there is to look at. If he’d tee the ball up
properly and―― Good work, Clearfield!”
Kent, the purple-legged right guard had broken through and smeared
Highland’s play behind her line, and an approving cheer arose from
the stand. Highland tried an end run and made four yards and then
attempted a forward pass which failed. With almost ten yards to go,
she got a fine long punt away and her ends raced up the field under it
and, undisturbed by the wretched attempt at interference put up by the
Clearfield backs, nailed Cottrell in his tracks. For six of the ten
minutes constituting the third period Highland, playing desperately,
held her opponent away from her goal line. Then a fumble by Lanny
worked to Clearfield’s advantage, for Chester Cottrell recovered the
ball as it trickled back, dodged a plunging Highland forward, put an
end out with a straight-arm and suddenly found himself clear. That
run began on Clearfield’s thirty-seven yards and would certainly have
resulted in a touchdown had not Cottrell, in evading a tackle by the
opposing quarter, slipped one foot across the side line. Although
Cottrell kept on and landed the ball under the cross-bar, and although
Clearfield expressed its delight with much shouting, the referee called
the ball back and put it in play on Highland’s twenty-three yards. The
Blue-and-Blue won the admiration of friend and foe alike then, for she
disputed every inch of the ground and Clearfield won her first down
only after the hardest work and by a margin so slim that the linesmen
had to trot in with the chain and measure the distance. Lanny’s attempt
on the next play to circle the opponent’s left wing failed and Felker
could make only three yards through the line. With seven to go on the
third down, Lanny and Cottrell put their heads together and Lanny
called in Morris Brent.
The ball was then almost opposite the center of the goal and on the
ten-yard line. Morris dropped back to kicking position, swung one
sturdy leg experimentally and held up his hands. Highland, shouting,
“_Block it! Block it!_”, poised, ready to break through. Then back shot
the ball. Morris barely caught it as it tried to pass over his head.
Before he could get back into position the Blue-and-Blue was on him.
Wisely, he made no effort to kick, for the ball would surely have been
blocked, but instead ran back and desperately attempted a forward pass
to Grover. The ball, however, grounded and there was a minute of time
during which Highland tried to persuade the referee that the pass was
illegal, that Morris had purposely grounded the ball to save a loss of
territory. But the official decided that the play had been fair and the
teams lined up on the twenty-one yards and again Morris walked back.
The chance of scoring by drop-kick was pretty slim now, for the kicker
was near the thirty-yard line and Highland had just demonstrated her
ability to break through. But Morris did it. The pass was straight
and breast-high and the ball left his toe quickly and surmounted the
upstretched hands of the leaping enemy. There was an instant of doubt
as the pigskin seemed to hesitate at the bar, but it went over,
although by inches only, and Clearfield’s thirteen points became
sixteen.
As the teams lined up again for the kick-off Morris retired once more,
receiving an ovation as he walked to the bench. Nelson Beaton took his
place for the few seconds remaining. Then the whistle blew and the
third period was at an end.
When the teams faced each other again on Clearfield’s thirty yards
substitutes were much in evidence. Jones was in place of Grover,
Arthur Beaton for Haley, Tupper for Hansard and Kirke for Cottrell,
and Felker was back at full. Highland Hall, too, had run new men on.
Clearfield started rushing again and was soon past the center of the
field. Kirke, the substitute quarter, got his signals mixed then and
there was a ten-yard loss, and Clearfield kicked. Highland caught the
ball on her twenty-five-yard line and came back twelve, the Purple’s
ends showing up poorly. In the next scrimmage Beaton, Clearfield’s
substitute center, received a blow on the head and retired in favor of
Pete Robey. Pete had been trying for guard position and the duties of
center rush were none too familiar to him, and, in spite of Lanny’s
coaching, he was very weak on defense. Twice Highland made big gains
through him before the secondary defense came to his assistance. Near
the middle of the field Highland was forced to punt and Tupper fumbled
on his twelve yards, recovered, tried to advance by a run across the
field and was finally stopped for no gain. A fake-kick play with Felker
taking the ball for a try around left end resulted in a loss and Felker
kicked on second down. Highland signaled fair-catch and held the ball
on Clearfield’s thirty-seven yards. A forward pass went diagonally to
the right end and that youth plunged through half the Clearfield team
before he was forced out near the twenty-yard line. The blue-coated
adherents of the visiting team cheered lustily and implored a touchdown.
A wide end run gained a scant three yards and took the ball well over
to the Clearfield side of the gridiron. Another forward pass was tried
but was incompleted, and, with seven to go on third down, the Highland
right tackle fell out of the line and walked back to about the thirty
yards, while the quarterback knelt in front of him and patted the turf.
“I hope he makes a goal,” declared Louise Brent, in the grandstand.
“He won’t this time,” answered Dick, as Highland arranged her men to
protect the kicker. Louise looked a question. “Highland has two downs
yet,” he continued, “and that angle is almost impossible for anyone but
a Brickley. They’ve made our fellows spread out and open their line and
they’ll either snap the ball to that fellow who pretends he is going
to place-kick and he will try a forward or the ball will go to one of
those backs for a run straight through the middle. At least, that’s the
way I size it up. We’ll see now.”
As Dick ended the ball shot back from center into the hands of the
second back from the line and that youth put down his head and sprang
straight ahead and went through for all of five yards before the
secondary defense stopped him. Once more Highland Hall cheered loudly,
and, almost before they had ceased, the Blue-and-Blue had added another
three yards by an attack on right tackle and had gained her first
down and shifted the ball a good twelve feet nearer the center of the
field. The play was just inside the home team’s ten-yard line now and
Clearfield supporters were hoarsely commanding the defenders of the
east goal to “Hold ’em!” The time-keeper trotted on to announce two
minutes left as the Highland quarterback piped his signals again. A
half was sent hurtling against the left of Clearfield’s line for a
scant yard, and a plunge at center, with quarterback carrying the
ball, netted but two more. Again the tackle stepped back, this time
apparently for a drop-kick, since the quarter did not accompany him,
and again the defenders spread their line. The angle to the goal was
by no means impossible now and the watchers held their breaths as the
teams crouched.
“Block this!” implored Lanny. “Block this kick!”
“Watch for a fake!” counseled Kirke shrilly from between his
goal-posts. Then came the signals, a halfback moved slightly forward,
the ball shot back to the outstretched hands of the waiting tackle and
the teams sprang together. The tackle’s long leg swung, and a few of
the opponents who were cut off from sight of the ball, leaped into the
air, but there was no thud of ball against shoe, for the tackle stepped
nimbly to the right, poised the pigskin and hurled it straight and hard
across the battling lines to where an undetected back had stolen around
and behind the goal line. Though frenzied hands strove to intercept the
ball, it settled into the catcher’s hands and stayed there while he
was hurled to the ground two yards back of goal.
Perhaps the blue flags weren’t waved then as the cape-coated squad
sprang to their feet and hurled joyous shrieks to the sky! And perhaps
that crafty back wasn’t thumped and hugged when he was at last pulled
to his feet! For Highland had done what she had never done before
in ten years of Clearfield contests; she had crossed the Purple’s
goal-line!
Disgustedly, Clearfield lined up under her goal as the ball was taken
out for the try, and still more disgustedly she saw it pass a minute
later straight over the bar, while Highland Hall shouted and waved
riotously. Over at the score-board the small sophomore who officiated
there smeared out the figure 6 after “Highland Hall” and, protest in
every movement, chalked up a big white 7.
Clearfield tried to take revenge in the remaining sixty-odd seconds and
fought desperately, but the time was too short and the last whistle
blew with the ball in Highland’s possession near her thirty yards.
“I’m glad they scored,” said Louise a trifle defiantly as Dick put his
crutches under his arms preparatory to descending the stand. “They
deserved to, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Dick agreed doubtfully. Then he repeated the word ungrudgingly.
“Yes, they did deserve to, Louise. Any team deserves to win who is
smart enough to take advantage of its opponents’ mistakes. And that is
what Highland Hall did.”
“That,” responded Louise, as they waited for the aisle to clear,
“sounds as if you thought the others didn’t really earn that score,
Dick.”
“I didn’t mean it to. Highland earned her touchdown, all right.
Profiting by the other fellow’s mistakes is more than half the game.”
“But I thought our boys played a very good game,” objected Louise
loyally.
“Far be it from me to dispute you,” replied Dick, with a smile.
“But didn’t they?” she insisted. “Of course, Dick, I don’t know very
much about such things, but I want to learn. Didn’t they play well?”
“Clearfield,” answered Dick, “was at least twenty-four points better
than Highland Hall, Louise. She won by the score of sixteen to seven.
As Mr. Grayson says, I invite your consideration.”
“Oh!” said Louise. “What was the matter, Dick?”
“Well,” replied the other, as he stumped cautiously down the steps,
“it’s the general who watches the battle through a pair of field
glasses who sees best what’s going on. Clearfield needed a general. It
was a good fight on Clearfield’s part, but there was an unnecessary
loss of lives!”
“Oh, you mean we needed a coach!”
“Badly,” said Dick.
“Then――then why don’t you do it?” exclaimed Louise. “Dick! Why don’t
you?”
“Oh, you mustn’t think that just because I can criticize I could have
managed that game any better,” laughed Dick. “Almost anyone can be a
critic, but football coaches are a scarce article, Louise.”
“Just the same, I believe you could, Dick! And I think it’s funny Lanny
hasn’t thought of it!”
“I don’t,” Dick replied. “I’d think it funny if he did, considering
that I’ve never played it and have to toddle around on a pair of
sticks!”
“That has nothing to do with it,” replied Louise convincedly. “I shall
speak to him about it right away. Isn’t it perfectly fine that I
thought of it?”