FULL-BACK TO RIGHT TACKLE
Returning to Number 15 Tuesday to look over his mathematics before an
eleven o’clock recitation, Jim found Clem reading a letter from Martin
Gray. Jim knew that the letter was from Mart because the envelope of
thin, ash-hued paper, adorned with a foreign stamp, lay face-up on
the table. Mart had written to Clem several times since school had
commenced and each letter had reported improvement. When Clem finished
the present missive he folded it and returned it to the envelope rather
thoughtfully. Then he raised his eyes and regarded Jim, who had taken
possession of the window-seat, for a long moment before he finally
announced: “Had a letter from Mart.”
“How is he?” asked Jim.
“Fine, and having a wonderful time. They’re at some place outside
Florence. They’ve taken a place called the Palazzo Something-or-Other
which Mart says is a stone morgue entirely surrounded by flowers. He’s
playing tennis a lot, so I think he must be a good deal better.”
“I’m awfully glad,” said Jim.
“Yes, so am I.” Clem paused in the manner of one who has not finished,
and after a moment’s silence he added: “He writes that he thinks now he
will be able to come back to school after Christmas.”
Jim raised his eyes from the book he held and looked out of the window.
“Well, that’s certainly fine news,” he commented. “Maybe he can make up
enough to graduate next spring.”
“He seems to think so,” agreed Clem.
“Well, as soon as you know for certain, Clem, let me know and I’ll fix
to get out.”
“No need of that. I don’t think he’d expect you to. Don’t see how he
could.”
“It would be only fair, though. I’d rather, Clem.”
Clem flushed slightly and shrugged. “Oh, if you feel that way,” he said
stiffly. “But I dare say he and I could get into Lykes, and so you
wouldn’t have to budge.”
Jim considered that placidly. “Mean I’d stay here and get a room-mate?”
“Yes, or you could keep the room alone, unless Faculty put some one in
with you.”
“Would I have to pay for the whole room if I was alone?”
“No, of course not. But I fancy they’d find some one to dump in on you.
Trust them for that! Well, there’s nothing sure about it yet. Maybe
you’ll have to put up with me for the rest of the year.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” replied the other mildly.
Clem frowned slightly, placed Mart’s letter in his pocket and went
out, closing the door behind him with a soft violence that to a close
observer might have suggested disapproval if not indignation.
At about the same time Lowell Woodruff and Coach Cade were in
consultation in the latter’s room regarding the accommodations for the
football squad at the hotel in Lakeville. The team and substitutes
were to have luncheon at the hotel and were to dress there before and
after the game, and the price submitted by the hotel had brought the
alarmed manager to Mr. Cade post-haste. “Of course,” Lowell was saying
sarcastically, “the poor fish misunderstood my letter. He’s laboring
under the delusion that I asked a price on a week’s accommodations for
the whole thirty-five.”
Mr. Cade chuckled. “It does sound so, doesn’t it? But I suppose, as
the letter says, prices have risen since two years back. I’d tell him
what a small appetite you have and ask him to knock off about fifteen
dollars.”
Lowell grinned, but became serious again in the instant. “Oh, well,
if we had plenty of money in the old sock, it wouldn’t matter a whole
lot, but the jolly old treasury is so low you can see the bottom of
it. And, what with fares and getting out to the field, we’ll be closing
the season no better than even.”
“The field,” said Mr. Cade, “is merely a pleasant walk from the hotel,
and I don’t think it would hurt any of the crowd to do it afoot. You
can save ten dollars or so right there.”
“That’s so. Some of the fellows will kick, though. We’ve always ridden
out before, you know.”
“There’ll be no chance of a kick,” returned the coach. “I’ll tell them
I want them to have the exercise. As a matter of hard fact, I think it
will do them good.”
“All right, sir. Then I’ll close with the old robber. See you this
afternoon.”
“By the way, I had a caller last night. That fellow Todd.”
“Todd! Don’t tell me he’s resigned again!”
“No, he followed me after I left you to say that that paper you handed
me was his.”
“The one Squires found? Well, why didn’t he say so when--”
“I asked him that and he said he was afraid the fellows would make fun
of him.”
“And I guess they would have. Is the play really any good, Coach?”
“Tell you more in a day or two, after we’ve tried it out. It looks
promising, though. I sat up with it until after midnight and I think
we’ve got a pretty smooth-running play. By the way, get this back to
Todd, will you? There’s some sort of a letter on the other side. Not
valuable, probably, but he may want it. He left it on the table. I’m
certain to forget it, myself.”
“Yes, sir.” Lowell accepted the folded sheet and dropped it in an
inside pocket. “I’ll see him in math class. That all? Then I’ll beat
it.”
Jim went out for practice that afternoon determined to make good. He
had thought a great deal about what Mr. Cade had said the evening
before and as a result the task ahead of him seemed now vastly more
important and much more worth-while. He had taken the coach’s praise
with a generous pinch of salt, but it had encouraged him nevertheless.
To-day he showed up a great deal better than he had at any time since
his misunderstanding with Clem, and those who played opposite him
on the second team had their hands more than full. Both he and Sam
Tennyson were relieved before the last period of the scrimmage game was
over and sent off behind the north stand by Mr. Cade.
“I want you fellows to take a ball,” said the coach, “and practice some
long passes. Start in at about twenty yards and increase the distance
gradually. I want you, Tennyson, to get the overhand spiral throw down
pat. You know how it should be made. Go ahead and learn to make it.
Take plenty of time and try for accuracy and precision first. Speed and
distance can come later. You, Todd, practice catching. I’ve seen you
make several very good catches of a passed ball. See if you can’t do
still better. Learn to take them high and make them sure. Put in about
twenty minutes of it, but quit before that if your arms get tired. Go
ahead.”
Sam Tennyson, who was a tall and fairly heavy youth with light-brown
hair and a pair of sharp dark eyes, accompanied Jim in silence after he
had obtained a ball. The full-back was a quiet chap at best, and just
now he had less to say than usual. About all he did say as they made
their way around the empty stand was: “Something up, Slim. Johnny’s got
a hunch.”
Wednesday again the pair went through the passing practice and spent
nearly a half-hour at it this time. Tennyson, who had not been called
on before for the trick, progressed more slowly than did Jim. He got
along well enough until he tried to speed the throw. Then the ball’s
flight became erratic and Jim had to run three, four or five yards
out of position to get it. But Tennyson had a long arm and plenty of
strength and, throwing slowly, could make the oval travel a remarkable
distance. The work went on each day, sometimes before scrimmage,
sometimes after. On Friday, since there was only one scrimmage period,
and the first-string players were dismissed a half-hour earlier than
usual, Mr. Cade himself took Jim and Sam Tennyson in charge, leaving
the argument between the substitutes and the second to Mr. Lake and Mr.
Myers. When he had watched two throws he stopped the performance and
coached Sam in holding the ball and in spinning it as it was shot away.
“Now,” he said, “go back another five yards, Todd. What do you make
that distance?”
“About forty, sir.”
“Or forty-five. All right. Now, Tennyson, elbow close to your side,
and don’t forget to whip your fingers under. Just think that you’re
pegging a baseball from the plate to second. It’s the same sort of a
motion: a throw from the ear, as the catchers call it. That’s not bad,
but you went three yards at least to the left. That’s another thing, by
the way. If you must shoot to one side of the receiver, shoot to the
right--your right, not his. But try to land the ball in his hand.”
Presently he walked over and joined Jim. “I think you’d better put
your hand up and signal,” he said. “Better get used to doing it. Don’t
signal, though, until you know that the thrower has the ball and is
looking for you. If you do you advertise to the other team. That’s
it, only stretch your hand just as high as you can. You’ve got a long
arm, Todd, and you might as well make use of it. Remember that the
thrower has to find his target quick. By the way, I see you’ve taken
the bandage off your fingers. Did it bother you in catching?”
“No, sir, but the fingers are all right now.”
“Think you could catch if you had your four fingers bandaged?”
Jim observed the coach doubtfully. It sounded like a joke, but Mr.
Cade’s face was quite serious. “I don’t know, sir,” answered Jim, “but
I guess I could.”
“We’ll try it Monday. That’s the way. Take them high and pull them down
quick. And freeze onto them hard, Todd. Never mind about being too
particular on the throw. I don’t believe you’ll be on that end of it
much. I want you to specialize on catching. You see, I’ve had you in
view all the season as the man who might work in nicely at the other
end of a long pass. You might drop around this evening after nine and
I’ll tell you how I mean to use you a week from to-morrow.”
Saturday’s game with Oak Grove went about as predicted. The opponent
was never dangerous, and this year, while the visitors put up rather
a sterner defense than usual, Alton had no difficulty in scoring two
touchdowns in the first period and one in the third and in keeping
her own goal-line uncrossed. In fact, Oak Grove never had the ball
inside the Gray-and-Gold’s thirty-yard line save in the last quarter
when the Alton team was composed almost entirely of first and second
substitutes. Pep Kinsey, who acted as quarter-back during three
periods, was the individual star for the home team, making some
dazzling run-backs of punted balls and twice scampering around the Oak
Grove end for long gains. Besides that he ran the team smoothly and
fast, getting plays off with a celerity that more than once found the
opponents completely unprepared. Frost made two touchdowns and Sam
Tennyson one, and Steve Whittier kicked two goals. Steve had rather
an off-day in the backfield and yielded his place to Larry Adams when
the last half began. It was in Steve’s absence that Kinsey missed
the try-for-point after that third touchdown. The final score was
consequently 20 to 0.
Nothing new was shown by Alton, although Oak Grove opened her bag of
tricks wide and tried some weird plays in an effort to score in the
fourth period. There was a good deal of punting, with honors fairly
even, and each team tried the passing game, Alton making good four out
of seven attempts and Oak Grove succeeding five times out of fourteen.
Two of Alton’s passes were pulled down by Jim, and only a watchful
defense prevented him from getting away on long runs. He showed an
almost uncanny ability to get into position unnoticed and on each
occasion that the ball was thrown to him he caught unchallenged. Only
alertness and speed on the part of the Oak Grove backs spoiled his
chances of long gains. Jim put himself back on the football map that
afternoon and finally and conclusively ousted Willard Sawyer from the
position of right tackle. This fact was not known to Jim then, but he
may have guessed it. Others did. Jim was a terror on offense and as
solid as a stone wall on defense. He raced his end nip-and-tuck down
the field under punts and was into every play it was possible for
him to reach. In brief, Jim had a big day, and if half a dozen other
Alton men hadn’t played far better than they had played before that
season he might easily have shared the honors with Pep Kinsey. But the
Gray-and-Gold eleven had found its stride and Jim’s work was no better
than that of several others.
In the last period there was a brief scare when Oak Grove, fighting
valiantly and desperately against what was almost a third-string
Alton team, hurling forward-passes of all sorts to all directions,
faking passes to hide off-tackle plays, using criss-crosses of every
conceivable variety, worked her way to Alton’s twenty-seven yards,
where, meeting at last with denial, she was forced to a well-nigh
hopeless try-at-goal from the thirty-six yards. The attempt failed
widely and she had shot her bolt.
That game added more enthusiasm at Alton, and the mass meeting in the
auditorium that evening attained unprecedented heights of emotion.
There were speeches and songs and cheers, and noise and confusion
enough to gladden the heart of the most irrepressible freshman. And
after the adjournment the whole affair was reënacted with only slightly
less enthusiasm in front of Academy Hall, the evening’s program ending
with a large and certainly hilarious parade around the campus and,
finally, to Coach Cade’s residence. Learning at last, after repeated
demands for a speech, that the coach had gone home over Sunday, the
parade disintegrated, its component parts returning to their various
domiciles in small, but far from silent, groups.
On Monday the final week of preparation for the great battle started
with a hard practice for all hands. No one was spared and no one, it
seemed, desired to be. The second earned a broad niche in the local
Hall of Fame that afternoon if only for emerging from the two periods
of fighting without casualties. The first team had found itself and was
there to show the world!