“SPY!”
Springdale lies nestled amongst the hills six miles inland from
Clearfield, and one may make the journey speedily enough by either
steam railroad or trolley line. Lanny and Chester chose the latter
route, and after an early dinner on Saturday, climbed into a front
seat of one of the big, lumbersome cars and settled themselves for the
forty-minute trip. Chester――he was a sturdily-built chap of seventeen
with a pleasant countenance and a singularly attractive voice――was
supplementing his hasty meal with peanuts. Lanny declined the delicacy
and intimated that the quarterback would be a whole lot better off
if he didn’t eat such “truck” between meals. Lanny was inclined to
be irritable to-day, recognizing which fact, Chester diplomatically
confined his entire attention to the contents of his paper bag while
the car rumbled over the B Street Bridge after slowly and noisily
trundling its way through most of the business portion of the town.
By the time it had left the mills behind and had plunged into the
country――it sped across fields and through woods with no heed to the
highways――Lanny was ready to talk. Perhaps the crisp October breeze
had blown his irritability away. At all events, after that they
chatted pleasantly enough and watched the long line of shining rails
rush toward them at breath-taking speed. Every few minutes the car
slowed down at a tiny station and folks got off or on, and the two
boys, now being in excellent spirits, viewed and discussed them and
whimsically invented histories and careers for them. The big car pulled
into Central Square in Springdale right on time and the visitors had
nearly an hour in which to see the town and walk out to the High School
athletic field. Springdale is less citified than Clearfield, even
though it has a slightly larger population. Perhaps the fact that it
is on the main line of the railroad and so nearer the city in point
of time accounts for its popularity as a residence town. The State
Agricultural Experiment Station lies just outside, and Chester, who was
an enthusiastic chicken fancier, was all for going out there to see
the poultry farm. But there was hardly time for that excursion, and
so they contented themselves with wandering about the streets of the
business section for half an hour, quenching their thirst at a soda
fountain, standing for several minutes in front of the gaudy placards
outside a moving-picture theater, and all the time pretending amused
contempt for Springdale’s village aspect. Then it behooved them to
reach the field and they tore themselves away from the interesting
display in a picture-dealer’s window and moved out Maple Boulevard,
their feet rustling through the fallen leaves that almost hid the
sidewalk. They were soon part of a straggling procession of boys and
girls and older folks all headed toward the athletic field. A number of
merry-faced youths in striped brown-and-white uniforms rode past, and
the throngs on the sidewalks waved their blue pennants with the white
S’s and shouted laughing comments after the visitors.
Lanny and Chester yielded their quarters and, being early, found places
near the center of the field in the comfortable and commodious new
grandstand. “This,” said Lanny enviously, “is what we ought to have.”
“We will some day,” replied Chester. “It’s a peach of a stand, isn’t
it?”
“Yes. How many do you suppose it holds? Five hundred?”
“Five hundred!” exclaimed Chester. “Nearer a thousand, I’ll bet!”
“It’s all very fine being presented with an athletic field,” said
Lanny, “but it’s going to keep us poor. There’s taxes to pay on it, and
they’re big, too. That’s the trouble with having your field right in
town like ours is. Then we need a new fence all around and a new stand.
We ought to have two stands, one back of the plate for baseball and
one beyond first base for football. The committee said the reason they
didn’t want to pay a coach this Fall was so they could fix the field
up, but I haven’t seen them doing anything yet. There’s Weston coming
on. What sort of a team have they got, Chester?”
“I guess it’s not much. They look pretty spry, though. Say, that was
some punt, wasn’t it?”
The stand was beginning to fill and they had to edge along to make room
for a party of boys whose conversation, overheard by the visitors,
indicated that they were Springdale High School students. Once Lanny
intercepted an inquiring look aimed at him by one of the group and for
the first time experienced an uncomfortable realization of his role.
After all, when he came to consider it, there was something sort of
underhand about what he and Chester were doing, or, at any rate, it
seemed so to him at that moment. He glanced at his companion and found
Chester staring frowningly at the squad of brown-and-white players who
were trotting past in signal practice. Perhaps feeling Lanny’s eyes on
him, he turned.
“I’m not crazy about this business,” he growled. “It’s a bit too
sneaky.”
“Nonsense,” replied Lanny in low tones, as anxious to persuade himself
as Chester, “we’ve got a perfect right to come here and see these chaps
play if we want to, same as anyone else has.”
“Just the same,” responded the other stubbornly, “I don’t like it. Next
time Dick may send someone else. I don’t like being a spy.”
“You’re not,” returned Lanny half-heartedly, “you’re a scout.”
“Same thing,” Chester growled. “And for goodness sake don’t say
anything to let on, Lanny. Those fellows next to you have been staring
and whispering at a great rate. Bet you they suspect!”
“Let them!” said Lanny. “We’re not doing anything, I tell you. They do
the same thing themselves. Didn’t they send scouts over to watch us
last year when we played Corwin or Benton?”
“I dare say they did. Just the same――――”
“If you say that again I’ll chuck you off the stand,” exploded Lanny in
sudden irritation. “If you’re so touchy you’d better go home and let me
do this.”
“If I was half as touchy as you are I’d jump in the river!” retorted
Chester peevishly. “If you think I’m going to make notes with those
fellows watching you’re mistaken. Bet you every one of them knows who
we are!”
“Oh, get out! Why should they?”
“Why shouldn’t they, you mean. They’ve seen you play, haven’t they? And
me, too. Even if they don’t recognize me you needn’t think you can get
by with that white thatch of yours!”
“Well, what’s the difference? You don’t expect me to dye my hair and
wear false whiskers, do you, you idiot?”
“No, I don’t, but stop whispering, for goodness sake, and don’t act
like a conspirator! We’re giving the snap away as fast as we can
talk. Talk out loud.” And, suiting action to word, Chester began to
discuss the weather with startling enthusiasm and vociferation, and
kept it up until Lanny dug an elbow into his ribs and begged him to
“cut it out, for the love of mud!” And that minute the Springdale
team trotted on the field and a boy at the foot of the stand led a
weak cheer. Evidently Springdale was too sure of the game to display
much enthusiasm. Lanny and Chester gave their attention to the
blue-stockinged players who had taken possession of the farther end of
the field and, divided into two squads, were going through signals and
practicing punts and field-goals.
“Recognize any of them?” asked Lanny.
Chester shook his head doubtfully. “Some of them look familiar, but I
don’t remember their names.”
“That’s the same quarter they had last year. I think his name is Kelly.”
“Yes, I remember him. And the tall end on the further squad. He was on
last year’s eleven. That’s a good punt, Lanny; forty-five yards, easy.
I wonder who that chap is.”
“The little fellow hasn’t made but one goal so far,” said Lanny. “He’s
had about five tries. There goes another, from the thirty. They ought
to be pretty evenly matched at punting. What was the name of that
center they had? Hill? That’s he coming this way; the fellow over there
with the new trousers.”
“It wasn’t Hill, though; it was――Heath, wasn’t it?”
“That’s it, Heath. I’d like to know how many of last year’s fellows
they’ve really got.”
“The paper said six, didn’t it?”
“Yes, but some of those were subs last year. Get on to the referee
with the swell sweater! Lavender and yellow! That’s a peach of a
combination, what?”
The players trotted off and, after the usual preliminaries, the teams
faced each other and the game began. From the first Weston, which was
a much lighter team, played a wide-open game and strove to outspeed
her opponent. The first quarter proved unexpectedly exciting, for
Springdale was by no means prepared for the sort of plays Weston
introduced, and she was caught napping time and again. But Weston
always lacked the final punch necessary to score, and the teams changed
places with the honors belonging to the visitors. In the second
quarter the Blue met the adversary’s attacks better, and, securing the
ball, began a march down the field that ultimately took the pigskin to
the ten-yard line. There, however, an attack on center was stopped and
a skin-tackle play fared no better, and Kelly, the Springdale quarter,
tossed a forward pass to the tall end whom Chester had recognized. But
that youth, having made a perfect catch, fumbled the instant he was
tackled and one of the brown-stockinged visitors fell on the ball. A
long and high punt sent the pigskin to midfield after two downs had
failed to advance it, and Springdale, in fourteen plays, craftily
mixing line-plunges with wide end-runs and three forward passes, all of
which were completed, soon pushed her left half over for a touchdown.
No goal resulted and, with the score 6 to 0, the half ended soon after.
Lanny looked questioningly at Chester as the blanketed warriors left
the field. “A dandy attack and no defense worth speaking of,” was
Chester’s verdict.
Lanny nodded. “It’s early for a perfect defense,” he replied. “They’ve
got team-play, though, all right. They’re two or three weeks ahead of
us on that. If we were to meet them next week they’d lick us about
twenty to nothing.”
“Easy,” agreed Chester. “But we aren’t. And I’ll trust Dick to bring us
around in plenty of time.”
“You really think he’s doing pretty well, do you?” asked Lanny
anxiously.
“Dick? I certainly do! Don’t you?”
“Y-yes, only sometimes it seems to me that he’s a little too――too
cautious――or something. We’re getting along awfully slowly, Chester.”
“Slow and sure,” replied the quarterback untroubledly. “These chaps
will be in top-shape long before our game, if they don’t watch out.
What do you think of that forward-pass formation of theirs?”
“I don’t know. It worked well enough, but it doesn’t seem to me that
sending three or four men down the field that way to protect the
catcher is a good scheme. It shows where the pass is going, in the
first place, and gives the other fellow a chance to get there. Seems
to me Weston’s scheme, which is about like ours, has it beat. I mean
sending three or four men to different parts of the field and so
keeping the other chaps guessing.”
“It worked pretty well, though,” mused Chester.
“Against a lighter team, yes. We could break it up without much
trouble, I’ll bet. It stands to reason that if you see a bunch of
fellows getting together――――”
“Suppose, though, Springdale sent another man to another place and
threw to him instead?”
“Hm; well, that might go once. It would depend altogether on what sort
of a defense the other team put up. Of course, if you’re going to let a
man go down the field uncovered there’s bound to be trouble.”
“Did you notice the lateral pass Weston got off in the first quarter?
It would have been a dandy if the runner had got away with the ball!”
“Yes, but he didn’t. I don’t believe those laterals are going to be
what they’re cracked up to be, Chester. They give the other team a lot
of time to size up the situation and meet it. If you could pull them
off quick, before the other fellows could guess them, they’d be fine.
Dick has the right idea, I guess, when he claims that’s the only way to
work them――――”
“Not so loud!” cautioned Chester. “Those chaps next to you are trying
to listen.” Just then one of the chaps in question left his seat and
sauntered down the aisle. Chester watched him suspiciously until he
was lost in the gathering that filled the space between grandstand and
field.
“So far I don’t think we’ve learned a great deal,” said Lanny
thoughtfully. “That fullback of theirs is a good one and, in fact,
their whole backfield works together finely and has a good deal of
punch. And Kelly looks to me like a pretty nifty little quarter. But
their line hasn’t shown much. The left side is weak. Look at the way
Weston got through tackle there half a dozen times.”
“They certainly haven’t shown anything startlingly new, unless it’s
that forward pass dodge of theirs. They use the same five-men-in-line
formation on defense they used last year. I noticed, though, that they
pass direct to the runner a good deal.”
“There’s nothing new in that,” said Lanny. “Here they come again. I’d
like to see Weston get one over on them. I wonder if they’ve got a man
who can kick field-goals.”
“If they have they ought to have used him last time,” replied the
other. “They had a fine chance when they were on Springdale’s ten and
couldn’t get through.”
“Perhaps they wanted a touchdown.”
“Maybe, but Farrell used to say ‘Hit first!’ and it’s a good scheme,
Lanny. If Weston had got three points then you don’t know what the
effect on Springdale would have been.”
“She’d have played harder,” said Lanny.
“Yes, but playing harder doesn’t always mean playing better,” replied
Chester, with a wise shake of his head. “I tell you, Lanny, there is
a whole lot in getting first blood. I’ve seen it win lots and lots of
times.”
“Look down there,” whispered Lanny suddenly. “See those two fellows
looking up? Isn’t the smaller chap the one who went down a while ago?”
“Yes,” answered Chester softly. “And he’s told the other fellow about
us and he’s recognized us. See them talking it over.”
“Well, let them talk,” grunted Lanny. “They’ve got nothing on us.”
“No, but I don’t like my job, just the same. There they go. Do you
suppose they’re going to look for a cop?”
“I dare say. Maybe they’re going to send for the ambulance,” replied
Lanny with a grin. “Which way did they go?”
“I lost them. No, there they are, and―― Say, isn’t that Newman, the
coach, they’re talking to?”
“Where? Yes, by Jove, it is! He’s looking up here now!”
“Put your head down! Don’t let him see that white thatch of yours,
Lanny!”
“I will not!” declared Lanny defiantly. “I’m not doing anything I’m
ashamed of!”
“I suppose not,” muttered Chester, “only, just the same, I sort of feel
as if I were!”
“Buck up!” chuckled Lanny. “Here comes the Smart Aleck who went down to
tell. Now watch the excitement when the glad news gets out!”
The boy in question pushed his way back to his seat and his companions
leaned eagerly toward him. But, although Lanny and Chester frankly
listened, they could hear only low whispering and, finally, chuckles.
Lanny frowned.
“What are they choking about?” he asked. “They evidently think they’ve
got a great joke on us.”
“Probably think we don’t know they’re on to us. There goes the
kick-off.”
Lanny, however, was stealing a look toward his neighbors and was
puzzled to find them all observing him with amusement. The boy next
to him but one nodded impudently as he met Lanny’s gaze. “How’s
everything in Clearfield?” he inquired politely.
“Fine, thanks,” replied Lanny gravely. Chester turned an anxious
countenance.
“Came over to see a real football team, I suppose,” continued the
Springdale youth with a grin.
Lanny nodded. “Yes, and I’m still looking for it,” he answered.
“Keep right on looking,” another boy chuckled. “You won’t see much
to-day, old top.”
“I haven’t so far. You fellows are playing your Scrubs, I see.”
“Shut up, Lanny,” whispered Chester.
“Yes, we are,” was the reply from the adversary. “We’re giving them a
little work so as to get them in shape for Clearfield. No use using the
regulars in that game, you know!”
“That’s right,” returned Lanny cheerfully. “Put your strongest team in
the field. You’ll need it!”
“We can beat you with the girl’s basket-ball team,” was the scathing
retort. But Lanny, hearkening to Chester’s entreaties, turned away
without response, and the neighbors contented themselves for the rest
of the game with talking at instead of to them.
It was soon made clear to the two scouts why the boys at the other end
of the seat were amused. For the rest of that half, Springdale used
only the most ordinary, old-fashioned football. It was quite plain
that the Springdale coach, either because he feared the two visitors
might really learn something of use to them, or because he wanted to
have a joke on them, had instructed the team to show nothing. Lanny and
Chester exchanged amused glances when, on Weston’s twenty-yard line,
with four to go on fourth down, Springdale chose to lose possession of
the ball by a hopeless plunge at guard rather than make her distance
by a trick play or even try for a field-goal. In the last quarter
Springdale was hard pressed to keep her goal line from being crossed,
for Weston, using every play in her programme, got as far as the six
yards and might have gone over if, in her eagerness to score, she had
not fumbled on the threshold. The game ended soon after that, the
figures on the board unchanged, and Weston, possibly puzzled by her
adversary’s strange choice of plays in the last half, but evidently
well pleased at the outcome, trotted off with the airs of a victor,
while a small group of supporters at the far end of the stand waved
brown-and-white banners and cheered proudly!
When Lanny and Chester arose to leave they found that their neighbors
in the row were waiting for them to pass out ahead. With a slight
frown, Lanny led the way, crowding past the youths, and Chester
followed silently. As they passed, the enemy indulged in pointed
remarks to each other. “Seen any spies about to-day, Hal?” “I thought I
saw a couple of the things.” “Guess they didn’t learn much, eh?” “No,
it’s a poor day for spies.” “Too bad to come all that way for nothing!”
“Yes, isn’t it? Poor chaps, I’m sorry for them!”
Lanny only smiled untroubledly, and Chester, trying to look quite as
if he heard nothing, gazed intently at the back of Lanny’s head. But
when he was squeezing his way past the last boy in the row a foot went
out and Chester, stumbling, had to catch Lanny’s shoulder to keep from
falling. Instantly he turned and confronted the grinning face beside
him.
“Don’t do that,” he said quietly, “or you’ll get hurt.”
There was something in Chester’s countenance that silenced the retort
on the Springdale youth’s lips, and it was not until Lanny and Chester
were in the aisle and on their way down that the fellow’s courage
returned. Then, raising his voice, he called:
“You wouldn’t hurt anyone, you Clearfield spy!”
A jeer from the others accompanied the taunt, but Chester kept straight
ahead. He was thoroughly angry inside, but he knew that it would never
do to accept that challenge. Chester was no coward, but he realized
that it would look rather disgraceful for a member of the Clearfield
team to visit Springdale as a scout and then get into a fracas! All the
way down the stand, and, indeed, until they were well back into the
town, they were uncomfortably conscious of the curious, amused, often
unfriendly regard of the Springdale fellows, and more than once the
word “Spy!” reached them as, striving to converse unconcernedly, they
followed the returning throng toward the town.
But eventually they found themselves alone, and Lanny heaved a sigh
of relief. “I wouldn’t do that again for a thousand dollars!” he said
emphatically.
“And I wouldn’t do it for ten thousand,” replied Chester. “The next
time Dick wants any dirty work like that done he may do it himself! The
worst of it was we couldn’t fight!”
“Which,” replied Lanny dryly as they boarded a car, “was lucky for us!”