A TIP FROM MCGRATH
Leonard regretted that Slim hadn’t been at the field during scrimmage
that afternoon, for he wanted Slim to know that he had--well, done not
so badly. All he told the other, though, when they met before supper
was that Johnny had run out of guards and that he had played at right
for awhile.
“Guard?” said Slim in surprise. “You mean Johnny stood for it?” Slim
frowned. “Look here, General, let me give you a word of advice. You
never get anywhere by changing jobs. You stick to being a tackle. The
next time Johnny wants to shift you to some other position you put your
foot down.”
“It wasn’t Johnny did it, Slim. They yelled for a guard and I ran on.”
“More fool you, son. You’ve got to specialize, or you’ll just sit on
the bench forever and ever. The fellow that does a little of everything
never does much of anything, as some one once very wisely remarked. How
did you get along?”
“All right,” answered Leonard. “It was easier than tackle, Slim. I--I
was more at home there, I suppose.”
“Huh,” grumbled Slim, “don’t get to looking for the easy jobs, General.
You stay put, young feller. Why, only a couple of days ago Billy Wells
was telling me what a wonderful tackle you’d make!”
“Wells was?” exclaimed Leonard. “Get out, Slim!”
“He was, honest to goodness! Why, Billy’s a--a great admirer of yours,
General. He said more nice things about your playing than I ever heard
him say about any fellow’s--not excepting his own! And now you go and
let them make a goat of you. Too bad, son.”
“We-ell, I’ve half a notion that Johnny will let me play guard after
this,” said Leonard. It was more a hope than a notion, though. Slim
shook his head doubtfully.
“I wouldn’t bank on it,” he said. “You know, General, you aren’t quite
built for a guard.”
After supper--Slim had been eating at training table for a long while
now--Leonard was leaning over a Latin book in Number 12 when the door
opened violently and things began to happen to him. First he was
precipitated backward until his head touched the floor and his feet
gyrated in air. Then he was sat on while rude hands tweaked his nose
and the lately occupied chair entangled his feet. About that time
Leonard began to resent the treatment and got a firm hold on Slim’s
hair. But Slim wouldn’t have that.
“No, General,” he announced firmly. “Be quiet and take your medicine.
You are being disciplined, son. This isn’t a mere vulgar brawl. This is
for the good of your poor little shriveled soul.”
“Well, let up on my nose then, you crazy idiot! What am I being
disciplined for! And get off my tummy a minute so I can kick that
blamed chair out of the way!”
“Don’t vent your spleen on the poor inanimate chair,” remonstrated Slim
reproachfully. “It never did anything to you, you deceiving goof. Look
at me! In the eye--I mean eyes! Why didn’t you tell me what happened
this afternoon?”
“I did.”
“General!”
“Ouch! Quit, you--you crazy--”
“Why didn’t you tell me _all_? Look at me, consarn yer!”
“I am, Slim! Doggone it, will you quit?”
“Stop struggling! General, you’ve got to come clean. Did you or didn’t
you deceive me?”
“I did not.”
“General, you did. Since then I have learned the truth. You went and
made yourself one of these here football heroes, you did, General.
Broke through--no, crashed through the enemy line and fell on the
fumbled ball, thus bringing victory to your beloved Alma Mater! Not
once, but twice did you do this thing. I know all, and lying won’t help
you any longer. Confess, drat your pesky hide! Did you or isn’t they?”
“They is!” groaned Leonard. “For the love of Mike, Slim, get off my
supper!”
Slim removed himself, and Leonard struggled out of the clutches of the
chair and got to his feet. “For two cents,” he said, “I’d lay you over
that blamed chair and paddle you, Slim.”
“No, you wouldn’t, son. You know very well that you deserved all you
got, and a little bit more. You deceived me, me your friend! You--”
“Oh, dry up,” laughed Leonard. “What did you expect me to do? Tell you
how good I was? Those second team fellows that played against me were
dead easy, Slim. A child could have got through those chaps. Why, you
could yourself, Slim! Well, I won’t go that far, but--”
“I pay no heed to your insults, you gallery-player!”
“Shut up! There wasn’t any gallery to-day. It was too cold.”
“Gallery enough. Fellows at table spent about half the time talking
about you and your stunts. And I had to make believe I knew all about
it and keep nosing around for clews. Not for worlds would I have
confessed that I knew naught of which they spake. Fancy my position! Me
who raised you from a cradle! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“Awfully,” said Leonard. “Now will you dry up and let me get this
Latin?”
“I will not. Say, General, I wish you’d set to work and get Renneker’s
job away from him.”
“That’s likely,” scoffed Leonard. “What you got against Renneker?”
“Nothing. Only--” Slim sobered, and after a moment’s pause continued:
“Only that yarn of Johnny McGrath’s makes me sort of wonder
whether--well, if Renneker wasn’t on the team, General, there wouldn’t
be anything to worry about!”
“I thought you’d decided that there wasn’t anything in that idea of
McGrath’s.”
“So I had. I’m still that way. Only--well, I wish some one would find
out the truth of it. Or you’d beat him out for the place!”
“I’ve got a fine chance, Slim! Look here, if you think there’s a chance
that McGrath isn’t mistaken why don’t you ask Renneker about it?”
Slim shrugged. “It isn’t my funeral. Besides, what’s to prevent him
from lying?”
Leonard shook his head. “I don’t believe he would, Slim. He doesn’t
seem that sort, you know.”
“No,” agreed Slim, grudgingly, “he doesn’t. Oh, well, I should worry.
Gee, I’ve got enough to attend to without turning reformer. There’s the
class dinner Saturday, and Cash tells me only about half the bunch have
paid up so far. By the way, have you heard anything?”
“Not a thing,” replied Leonard.
“Guess you haven’t tried very hard,” grumbled the other. “I’d like to
know what the freshies are up to. They’ve got something planned. You
can see that by the knowing look of ’em. Some fool stunt the juniors
have put ’em up to, I’ll wager. Well--”
Slim relapsed into thoughtful silence, and Leonard edged his chair back
to the table. After a minute he asked: “That all?”
“Huh?” inquired Slim absently.
“If you’re quite through I’ll have another go at this Latin,” said
Leonard politely. “But of course if there’s anything else on your
mind--”
“Go to the dickens,” growled Slim.
On Tuesday the first-string players returned to a full diet of work
and, excepting Smedley, now pronounced out of football for the season,
all the guard candidates were on hand when the scrimmage started.
Nevertheless Leonard displaced Renneker in the second period and
Raleigh went in at left guard, relieving Stimson. Billy Wells greeted
Leonard heartily with a playful poke in the ribs and, “Well, here’s
the General! See who’s with us, Jim!” Jim Newton turned and grinned.
“Hello, sonny,” he said. “You get behind me and they won’t hurt you.”
Leonard, almost painfully aware of the difference in size between him
and the big center, smiled apologetically. “Thanks,” he answered, “I
will if you happen to be on your feet.” Billy yelped gleefully, and
Jim’s grin broadened. “You win, young feller,” he said.
Leonard didn’t break through to-day and capture a fumbled ball, but he
did more than handle his opponent and very early in the second period
the scrubs discovered that the right of the first team line was a
particularly poor place at which to direct attack. Leonard and Wells
worked together very nicely. Just before the end, much to his disgust,
he was forced to yield his place to Falls, and he and Raleigh, also
relieved, made their way back to the gymnasium together. Raleigh was
an excellent example of the player who is able to progress just so far
and then stands still, in spite of all that coaches can do. He had been
a second-string guard last year and had, early in the present season,
been picked as a certainty. Renneker’s advent, however, had spoiled
his chance, and since then Raleigh seemed to have lost his grip. Just
now he was not so much standing still as he was sliding backward.
He confided something of this to Leonard on the way across to the
gymnasium.
“I don’t suppose I’ll even get a smell of the big game,” he said
sorrowfully. “Renneker’ll play at right and Stimson at left, and you
and Falls will be next choice. It was that big guy that queered my
chances.”
Leonard didn’t have to ask who was meant. Instead he said comfortingly:
“You can’t tell, Raleigh. You might beat Stimson yet. And you’ll surely
have it all over me for first substitute.”
But Raleigh shook his head. “Not a chance, Grant. I know a real player
when I see him, even if I’m getting to be a dub myself. You’re a
live-wire. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got Stimson’s job before the
Kenly game.”
“Me? Much obliged for the compliment, Raleigh, but I guess Stimson
isn’t frightened much! I haven’t got the weight, you know.”
“You don’t seem to need it,” replied Raleigh enviously. “You’ve got
speed to burn. Wish I had a little of it!”
The next day Leonard was called to the training table, where he took
his place between Lawrence and Wilde and where, after his second or
third repast, he was no longer Grant but “General.” On Wednesday he
discovered with something of a thrill that Coach Cade was taking him
seriously as a candidate for a guard position, for he was given a hard
thirty-minute drill in blocking and breaking through in company with
Renneker and Stimson and Raleigh and Falls. Soon after that, just when
Leonard didn’t know, Squibbs disappeared from the football squad. It
will be remembered, perhaps, that not long before Coach Cade had erased
a name from a page of his little book.
It was on Thursday evening that Johnny McGrath appeared at Number 12
Haylow in response to Leonard’s invitation. Both Leonard and Slim
were at home, and Johnny had no cause to doubt that he was welcome.
The conversation was not particularly interesting. Or, at least, it
wouldn’t sound so if set down here. There was one subject not included
in the many that were discussed, and that was the resemblance of Gordon
Renneker to George Ralston. Just before he left Johnny said, a trifle
hesitantly: “By the way, Slim, heard anything about Saturday?”
“About the dinner, do you mean?” Slim’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes. I wondered if you’d heard any--er--any rumors.” Johnny looked
very innocent just then. Slim shook his head slowly.
“Nothing much, Johnny. Have you?”
“Why, I don’t know.” Johnny appeared undecided. “You see, I’m a junior,
Slim, and maybe I oughtn’t to give away any freshman secrets.”
“Huh,” Slim grumbled, “if it wasn’t for you fellows putting ’em up to
the mischief--”
“Sure, I had nothing to do with it,” laughed Johnny. “And what I heard
didn’t come from my crowd. ’Tis just something I accidentally came on.”
“Well, out with it. What are the pesky kids up to?”
“I’m not knowing that, Slim.”
“Well, what the dickens do you know, you Sinn Feiner?”
“All I know,” replied Johnny evasively, as he opened the door, “is that
if I was President of the Sophomore Class I’d be watching out mighty
sharp come Saturday evening.” Johnny grinned, winked meaningly and
vanished.
“Humph,” said Slim. “He does know something, the silly ass.” He started
up as if to go after Johnny, but then sat down again and shrugged his
shoulders. “He wouldn’t tell, I suppose.”
“What do you think he was hinting at?” asked Leonard.
Slim shrugged again. “How the dickens do I know? I dare say the
freshies have cooked up some plot to make me look silly. Maybe they
think they can keep me away from the dinner. All right, let them try
it!” And Slim looked grim as he began to disrobe.
On Saturday Leonard made his first trip away from Alton with the
football team, being one of twenty-six fellows who journeyed to New
Falmouth. Last fall Alton had just managed to defeat the clever High
School team by one point, and to-day the visitors weren’t looking for
any easy victory. It was well they weren’t, as events proved. New
Falmouth was too powerful for the Gray-and-Gold. With only one more
game on her schedule, and that against a rival high school of smaller
calibre, New Falmouth was in position to use everything she had in
to-day’s contest. And she certainly held nothing back. Last season’s
game, lost to her through her inability to convert two touchdowns into
goals, had been a disappointment, and she fully intended to take her
revenge.
Coach Cade started with several substitutes in his line-up, but this
was not because he held the enemy in contempt. His real reason was that
he hoped to hold New Falmouth scoreless in the first half of the game
and use his best talent to tuck the victory away in the last. But that
wasn’t to be. Before the second quarter was half-way through Johnny
Cade was hurling his best troops onto the field in a desperate attempt
to turn the tide of battle. For by that time New Falmouth had scored
twice and had 10 points to her credit on the score-board while the
visitors had yet to show themselves dangerous.
Leonard didn’t see service until the third period. Then he went in at
left guard in place of the deposed Stimson. The score was still 10 to
0, and Alton looked very much like a beaten team. New Falmouth had a
powerful attack, one that was fast and shifty and hit hard. No place
in the Gray-and-Gold line had proved invulnerable in the first two
periods, while the home team had run the ends with alarming frequency.
Only Alton’s ability to pull herself together and stand firm under her
goal had prevented the enemy’s score from being doubled.
Leonard had Jim Newton on one side of him and Sam Butler on the other
when the second half began. He had not played beside Butler before and
didn’t know the tall youth’s style of game as well as he knew Billy
Wells’, and for awhile the two didn’t work together any too smoothly.
In fact, the left of the Alton line was no more difficult to penetrate
than the right until Leonard discovered from experience that Butler
went about his business in a different fashion from that used by Billy
and began to govern his own play accordingly. Butler couldn’t be
depended on, for one thing, to back up attacks between left guard and
center. Such plays always pulled him in and left him fairly useless.
Also, he played too high much of the time, a fact that invited more
attacks at his position than Leonard approved of. Yet, when once
these facts had been learned, Leonard was able to discount them to an
appreciable extent and before the third period was more than half over
New Falmouth was less attentive to that side of the adversary’s line.
Leonard knew that he was playing football, and extremely hard football,
before the third play had been made. New Falmouth got the ball on the
kick-off and started a battering-ram attack that bore the enemy back
time and again. Leonard went through some punishment then, for the
first three plays were aimed at the Alton left guard and tackle. He
acquired a bleeding nose in the second of them and a bruised knee in
the third. About that time he got interested and began to really fight.
Captain Emerson went off with a bad limp and Kerrison took his place.
Not much later Bee Appel, after having been aimed at since the game
began, was finally downed for good and Carpenter took over the running
of the team. The third period ended without further scoring, although
the ball had stayed in Alton territory most of the time and was still
there.
A penalty for off-side set Alton back another five yards nearer her
goal just after play was resumed, and, when she had been held for
two downs on the twenty-two yards, New Falmouth tried a goal from
placement. For once, however, the line failed to hold and half the
Alton team piled through on the kicker and the ball bounded off up the
field and was captured by Reilly, of Alton, on the thirty-six yards.
Alton made first down on two plunges and a six-yard run by Menge. Then,
however, after three more attempts, Greenwood punted to the home team’s
twenty-five, where the ball went outside. New Falmouth made two through
Renneker and tore off five more around Kerrison. A third down was
wasted on a plunge at center that was repulsed. Then New Falmouth tried
her third forward-pass of the game, and the ball landed nicely in the
hands of Slim Staples close to the forty-yard line, and Slim dodged to
the thirty-two before he was stopped.
Here, it seemed, was Alton’s chance to score at last, but after
Carpenter had attempted a run following a delayed pass and had centered
the ball at the sacrifice of a yard, the chance didn’t look so bright.
Greenwood made a scant two at the New Falmouth left, and then, with
nine to go on third down, and Greenwood in kicking position, Carpenter
called for an end-around play with Slim Staples carrying. Just what
happened Leonard didn’t know, but somewhere between Jim Newton and
Slim the ball got away. Leonard heard Carpenter’s frantic grunt of
“_Ball!_” and swung into the enemy. Then he felt the ball trickle
against his foot, thrust aside for a moment and dropped to a knee.
When he got his hands on the pigskin the battle was all about him, and
cries and confusion filled the air. Yet he was able to thrust himself
up again through the mêlée, and plunge forward, and, having taken that
first plunge, to go on. He met a back squarely and caromed off him
into the arms of another, broke loose somehow and went forward again.
The goal-line was startlingly near, and he made for it desperately,
slanting first to the left and then doubling back from a frenzied
quarter. He and the quarter met and, spinning on a heel, he staggered
over the line, a New Falmouth man astride him as he fell.
Unfortunately there was no one left on the Alton team who could kick a
goal once in five times, and Joe Greenwood, who tried to add another
point to the six, failed dismally. The fault wasn’t entirely his,
though, for New Falmouth broke through and hurried the kick. But even
to have scored was something, and Leonard, still wondering just how it
had happened, was appraised of the fact in most emphatic language and
actions. Over on one side of the field a half-hundred or so of Alton
sympathizers who had accompanied the eleven were shouting ecstatically
and wildly. Denied victory, they made much of that touchdown.
The ball went to New Falmouth for the kick-off, and Leonard sprang
away to repel the invaders. Behind him, Carpenter got the pigskin,
juggled it and tried to run it back, but two New Falmouth ends downed
him fiercely. On the second play Greenwood got clean away around the
left end and made it first down on the thirty-yard line. Just as he was
jubilating hoarsely over that Leo Falls came romping on, hailed the
referee and joyfully slapped Leonard on the back.
“You’re off,” he announced. “Let’s have your head-guard.”
Leonard looked unbelievingly at him. “Off?” he gasped. “Me?” But the
referee was waving impatiently, and Leonard pulled off his helmet
and turned sadly toward the bench. The world seemed just then filled
with ingratitude and injustice, and the cheer that hailed him fell
on unresponsive ears. Jake hurried out to enfold him in a blanket,
mumbling fine phrases, and Mr. Cade said something as Leonard passed
to the bench, but the day’s hero was not to be salved so easily. From
the bench he sadly watched the game to its end and witnessed, in the
closing moments, the addition of another 3 to New Falmouth’s 10. Life
was very dark!