THE GAME WITH FAIRVIEW
The first half of the Beechcroft-Fairview game may be easily disposed
of. There was no scoring, nor did either team get within scoring
distance of the opponent’s goal. From the moment Beechcroft kicked off,
and the Fairview left tackle caught the ball and brought it back ten
yards before being downed, the battle raged hotly in the center of the
field. Not once did Fairview get beyond her enemy’s thirty-yard line,
and not once did Beechcroft penetrate even so far into the opponent’s
territory. After a few tries at the ends, which ended disastrously for
her, Fairview buckled down to hammer-and-tongs football. There were no
weak places in the light-blue line, and time and time again Fairview
failed by the merest fraction of a foot to gain her distance. There was
almost no kicking. On one occasion, having been driven back to her
twenty-five yards, Beechcroft punted, in the hope that Fairview would
fumble. But, although Hansel was waiting beside the red-and-blue left
half back when the ball came down, that player went to earth with the
oval firmly clasped.
It was uninteresting playing, or it would have been, had not the two
or three thousand persons who looked on been enthusiastic partisans.
The worst of it all, from a Beechcroft point of view, was that during
that first period of play, Fairview showed herself a little better
in defense, and noticeably stronger in attack. When the whistle
blew, the two teams, panting and exhausted, were above Beechcroft’s
thirty-five-yard line. The home team, joined by the blanketed
substitutes, trotted up the terrace to the gymnasium, while the
visitors retired into the shelter of the two barges which had brought
them from the station. The crowd moved about, such as were not fearful
of losing good seats, and for ten minutes the green presented a scene
of gayety quite unwonted. Then back came the light-blue players, and
were welcomed with thundering cheers; and out tumbled the Fairview men
and received their meed of applause.
Beechcroft had the west goal. It was Fairview’s kick-off. Bert received
the ball and made well over twenty yards through a crowded field. An
attempt to get around Fairview’s left end lost four yards, Conly being
thrown back. A tandem play with Bert carrying the ball netted three
yards. On third down, with six yards to gain, Cotton kicked. The ball
went almost straight into the air and came down into the crowd. Love,
the Beechcroft left tackle, recovered it. After that, by alternate
attacks at guards and tackles, Beechcroft advanced the ball by a series
of short rushes for thirty yards. On the opponent’s thirty-eight yards
she was held for downs, and the pigskin went to the red and blue.
Fairview began a merciless hammering at the right side of Beechcroft’s
line, confining her attention largely to Mulford at tackle. Beechcroft’s
hopes dwindled. Back down the field advanced the red and blue, slowly at
first, then, as Mulford weakened, faster and faster, making gains of
three, four, even six yards at a time. Hansel went to the rescue of his
tackle, and Lockhard and Bert threw themselves time and again at his
back. Had the secondary defense not been what it was the story of the
second half might be speedily told. On her twenty yards, Beechcroft
called for time. Mulford, weak and white, and woe-begone, was taken out
and Carew took his place. A tentative try at the newcomer proved to
Fairview that she must look elsewhere for consistent gains. A clever
double pass enabled her quarter to get around King, at left end, and he
reeled off twelve precious yards before Cotton nabbed him. Beechcroft
was now almost at her last ditch, and a score for the red and blue
looked certain. A tandem went through for two yards between Royle and
Stevens, and the Fairview right half dug himself into Love for one more.
Then it was third down, with two to go. Beechcroft was almost under her
crossbar; only five yards lay between the ball and the goal line. From
across the field came the incessant appeals of the light-blue adherents
to “_Hold ’em! Hold ’em! Hold ’em!_”
And hold them she did. Not an inch was gained by the next play,
although the Fairview tandem smashed viciously at right guard and
the balance of the team threw themselves behind it. The attack was
crumpled up, and when the piled-up mass of bodies was disentangled the
ball lay fairly on the white line.
Down the field sailed the ball, and under it raced Hansel. On
Fairview’s forty yards it plumped into the arms of the red-and-blue
quarter who, the next instant, was on his face on the turf, three yards
nearer his goal, with Hansel hugging his legs. Then it began all over
again, that remorseless charge down the field. Fairview’s fast, heavy
backs crashed into the opponent’s line for short, steady gains. Near
the middle of the field the light blue received the ball on penalty,
only to lose it again the next moment by a fumbled pass from Cotton
to Lockhard. A weak place suddenly developed at center, where Royle,
despite his size and weight, had been clearly outplayed all along by
the man opposite him who, although many pounds lighter, was quick and
heady. Past Beechcroft’s thirty yards crashed the conquerors, past her
twenty-five, past her twenty. Then time was called for an injury to
Bert. But even as the spectators discussed hopelessly or cheerfully,
according to the colors they wore, what would happen if the Beechcroft
captain was taken out, he was up again and was limping along his line,
thumping the fellows on back or shoulder, and hoarsely calling upon
them to hold.
Two downs netted Fairview three yards. Captain and quarter held a
consultation, and then right half dropped back for a place kick from
the thirty-yard line. Quarter threw himself upon the turf, and the
onlookers held their breaths. Back flew the ball on a good pass,
quarter caught it, turned it, cocked it toward the crossbar, and right
half, with a quick glance toward the goal, stepped forward and kicked.
But Beechcroft, goaded by desperation, had broken through, and the ball
rebounded from Stevens’s broad chest as he sprang into the air. Half a
dozen men threw themselves toward it, but it was Royle who captured it.
For a time the tide of fortune seemed to have turned. Beechcroft
hammered desperately at the Fairview line and managed to work the
ball back to her fifty-yard line. But there Carew was caught holding,
and Fairview received fifteen yards. Cotton kicked poorly, and it was
Fairview’s ball again on her fifty-three yards. Once more the advance
began. But this time each attack brought a longer gain. Beechcroft
was weakening all along her line. On her forty yards the Fairview
quarter, fearful perhaps that not enough time remained in which to
cover the remaining distance by line plunging, tried a run and got away
without difficulty between Love and King, the latter allowing himself
to be put entirely out of the play. But Conly tackled him at the end
of ten- or twelve-yard sprint, and the fierce plunges at the center
began again. This time, surely, thought the watchers, nothing could
stay Fairview’s progress. Twice Beechcroft had valiantly staved off
defeat, but that she could do so again was too much to expect. Yet as
her opponent neared the goal, the light blue’s defense strengthened.
Past the twenty-five-yard line crept the foe, yet succeeding attacks
netted shorter and shorter gains, and over on the stands the Beechcroft
supporters took courage and never paused in their cheering. Twelve
yards from the goal line the advance stopped. The Fairview left tackle,
at the head of a tandem, was hurled back for a loss, and the ball went
to Beechcroft.
There remained but four minutes of playing time. On the Beechcroft
stand and along the right of the upper side of the field pale-blue
flags waved and flourished, and voices hoarsely shouted their delight.
Beechcroft’s only hope now was to keep her rival from scoring; all idea
of winning the game herself had long since passed away; a no-score game
would be enough. On the side line Mr. Ames, watching grimly, mentally
petitioned the Fates for an 0 to 0 result. But perhaps the Fates didn’t
hear him.
Cotton, realizing that their only hope lay in keeping the ball out of
Fairview’s hands for the next four minutes decided not to kick until
forced to. On the first play the ball went to Bert, and Bert, aching,
wearied, limping, smashed his way like a cyclone through Fairview’s
line for five yards. Again he was given the ball, but this time no gain
resulted. Then it was Lockhard’s turn, and he managed to get a bare
yard outside of right tackle. With four yards to gain on third down, a
kick or a fake was the only hope. Cotton decided upon the latter. He
dropped back to the five-yard line, the defense formed about him, and
Royle passed back the ball. But it never reached Cotton, in spite of
the fact that he went through the motions of catching and kicking it,
and in spite of the fact that half the opposing team rushed down upon
him. Lockhard had the pigskin nestled into the crook of his elbow,
and was streaking around the right end of his line with a small but
well-working interference. Hansel had put the opposing tackle out of
the way, and Bert had sent the Fairview end sprawling on his back, and
through the resulting hole Lockhard had sped. Ten yards beyond, Bert,
handicapped by a wrenched knee, dropped back and only Lockhard and
Hansel kept up the running.
[Illustration: “Lockhard ... was streaking around the right end of his
line.”]
But now the field, friend and foe alike, had taken up the chase, while
ahead, coming warily down upon them, was the Fairview quarter back.
Both Lockhard and Hansel were fast runners, though the latter could at
any time have outstripped the other. For the moment danger from behind
was not pressing, and Hansel gave all his attention to the foe ahead.
Running abreast of Lockhard, he called to that youth to keep out. Then
he made straight for the quarter back. But the latter was an old hand,
and was not to be drawn from his quarry. As they came together, Hansel
found with dismay, that the enemy had fooled him, and had got between
him and Lockhard. Desperately Hansel crashed into him, but the quarter,
giving before the attack, kept his feet, and the next instant sprang at
Lockhard.
Down went the latter just as Hansel, swinging about, swerved to the
rescue, and as he fell the ball bounded from his grasp and went bobbing
erratically toward the side line. Hansel was on it like a cat on a
mouse, and before the quarter or the nearest of the pursuit could reach
him had dropped upon it, found his feet again after rolling over twice,
and was off once more toward Fairview’s goal.
From the sides of the field came a confused inarticulate roar as the
spectators, on their feet, watched with anxious hearts the outcome of
the race. Five yards ahead of the nearest pursuer sped Hansel, running
like a flash. Behind him, with outstretched, clutching hands, ran
the Fairview right end. Back of him friend and foe were strung along
the field. Hansel’s feet twinkled above the thirty-yard line. Beside
him, dangerously near, was the white boundary line, but he dared
not edge farther toward the middle of the gridiron lest it prove his
undoing. Another white line streak passed beneath him, and then a
second. The goal line was clearly in view. But he had played through
almost seventy minutes of a hard game, and his limbs ached and his
breath threatened at every stride to fail him. Once he faltered--that
was near the fifteen-yard line--and a note of triumph burst into the
pandemonium of sound from the watchers. But he struggled on again.
The ten-yard line was almost under foot when he felt the shock of the
tackle. Grimly he hugged the ball, struggled to advance, did manage
to cross the white streak, and then stretched his length on the turf,
hunched his head out of danger, and had the last breath driven from
his body as the foremost of the pursuit hurled themselves upon him.
Somewhere, very, very far away it seemed, a whistle blew. And then he
knew nothing more until the big sponge splashed over his face, and he
regained consciousness to find them pumping his arms up and down and
kneading his chest. He smiled up into Bert’s anxious face.
“All right,” he murmured faintly.
And in another minute he was back at his end of the line and Bert was
telling them that there was only a minute to play, and that they’d got
to get through. The ball was eight yards from the last white line and
Fairview, desperate and ugly, was between.
“All right, fellows!” shouted Cotton. “Everybody into it! Signal!”
Then Hansel was running back to shove and grunt behind a confused mass
at the center of the line. Canvas rasped against canvas, short groans
and cries of exhortation filled the air, and somewhere in front Bert,
with the ball clasped tightly to his stomach, was fighting inch by
inch, foot by foot, toward the goal line. Then something gave somewhere
and Hansel went stumbling forward into a confused maelstrom of legs and
bodies, while against his ears burst a sudden tempest of shouts. He
found his feet, hurled some one, friend or foe, he never knew, from his
path, and emerged from the mass of fallen players to see Bert, white
and unconscious, lying sprawled upon his back across the goal line with
the ball well over.
A goal from that touchdown was too much to hope for. The punt-out
failed, and the ball went back to the center of the field. But in a
moment it was all over, and the final whistle sounded the defeat of
Fairview. And Hansel, on the side line, with Bert’s head on his knees
grinned foolishly and was very happy. Bert opened his eyes.
“Over?” he whispered weakly.
“All over!” answered Hansel.
Bert sighed again, and again closed his eyes.
“We win,” he said faintly.
* * * * *
It was three hours later. Mr. Ames, his hands clasped behind him, was
strolling thoughtfully to and fro along the corridor of the first floor
of Weeks. In the dining hall, behind closed doors, the football team
had gone into executive session in the matter of choosing a captain
for next year, and when, in the course of his trips back and forth, he
passed the big doorway, the dim murmur of earnest voices met his ears.
There is no training-table room at Beechcroft, and the team members
dine at one end of the big hall. To-night the other students had
been hustled out of the hall very early, and since before seven the
football warriors, with the coach, the trainer, and several graduates
of prominence, had been in full possession.
There had been broiled chicken and Maryland biscuits and French fried
potatoes, and many other luscious dishes served to the players and
their guests as extras, for to-night’s supper was their “banquet,” and
if it wasn’t as elaborate as the after-victory feasts of some teams, it
tasted mighty good to the fellows upon whom the monotonous _régime_ of
steaks and chops, milk and toast, had begun to pall. After the banquet
there had been speeches. The graduates had spoken, Mr. Ames had spoken,
Bert had spoken, even Mr. Foote had found a word or two to say. Then
they had sung the school song, standing about the long table, and had
cheered for Bert, for Mr. Ames, for Mr. Foote, for the manager, for the
grads and for Beechcroft. After that the outsiders had gone their ways
and the big doors had been closed again.
Down on the green, dark forms moved about in the moonlight, coming
from all directions and meeting in the corner of the field sacred to
bonfires. Throughout the village wise householders were on the alert,
keeping watchful eyes on gates, chicken coops, and like movable and
inflammable matter. Now and then a boy stuck his head in the door and
looked questioningly and impatiently at Mr. Ames. Outside a group
awaited the news; waited, too, to carry off the heroes to the scene
of the celebration. Mr. Ames passed the closed doors for perhaps the
twentieth time, and looked at his watch. They were taking a long time
in there. He wondered whether the election would turn out the way he
wanted it to. As he turned again toward the outer door Phin entered and
approached him.
“Have they elected a captain yet?” he asked eagerly.
Mr. Ames shook his head.
“Not yet, I think; everything’s been pretty quiet in there so far.”
“Do you think Hansel has a show?”
“Why not? There’s scarcely anyone besides he and Royle that can take
it.”
“I hope he does get it,” said Phin.
“I think he would make a good captain,” said the other thoughtfully.
“And I think he deserves it.” Mr. Ames smiled. “With Dana as captain
and you as manager, next year I fancy we’ll have a wonderful
administration.”
“I don’t know about that,” answered Phin. “In fact, I may not be here.
A good deal depends on whether I get a scholarship this year.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” answered the instructor dryly. “If a
student deserves the money and does his work conscientiously, as you
have, the faculty generally looks after him. And there’s Cameron. He’s
in about the same boat with you. But I fancy we’ll see you both here
next year.”
“Cameron? I hope so. I hope he’ll be able to play for us, sir. It’s
been rather hard lines on Cameron, but he took it finely, didn’t he?”
“He did, indeed.”
“I’ve been wondering,” continued Phin, “how Fairview learned about him.
Don’t you think some one here gave them a tip?”
“Yes,” was the reply. “And I think I know who.”
“Who was it?” asked Phin eagerly.
“Well, if you won’t let it get any farther, I’ll tell you. It was the
principal.”
“Dr. Lambert?” cried Phin. “Are you sure?”
“Quite. He told me. It was Dana’s doing. He went to see the doctor
about your absence from recitations, you know, and the doctor got him
talking about the football situation. I fancy Dana must have opened the
doctor’s eyes somehow. At any rate, he’s been taking a new attitude
ever since. Before this year he’s never seemed to care anything about
it. Now he’s studying up on it. He was at the game this afternoon. He
looked rather bewildered when I saw him, but he stuck it out.”
“Well--” Phin began. Then he stopped and listened. From behind
the closed portals came the sound of clapping hands. He looked
questioningly at Mr. Ames. The latter nodded and together they walked
toward the door. Then from within came a great cheer:
“_Beechcroft! Beechcroft! Beechcroft! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah!
Rah, rah, rah! Dana! Dana! Dana!_”
Mr. Ames held out his hand, smiling, and Phin clasped it.
“Success to you both,” said the instructor softly.
Then the doors flew open.
THE END
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Transcriber’s Notes:
--Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); text in
bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).
--Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to
follow the text that they illustrate.
--Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
--The author’s em-dash style has been retained.
--pp. 152, 154: two instances of “Ferry Hill,” which should be
“Beechcroft” school, were left unchanged. The author erroneously
identified the school with that in another book written by him
during the same time period.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Spirit of the School, by Ralph Henry Barbour