“FIFTY-FIFTY!”
Leonard sat on the bench on the Alton side of the field and watched
the kickers at work. There had been a good ten minutes of signal drill
for both squads and now only the punters and drop-kickers remained on
the gridiron. The game was about to start. Across the field the Kenly
Hall sections were cheering loudly each member of their team in turn.
The officials were talking earnestly on the side-line. Something white
fluttered across Leonard’s shoulder from the stand above and behind
him and settled at his feet. He stooped and picked it up. It proved
to be the two middle pages of the official program. He looked around
to see if any one would claim it. But no one did and he settled back
and regarded the thing. On each page, where they had faced each other
before they had torn loose, were the line-ups of the teams, Alton to
the left, Kenly Hall to the right, each boxed in by advertisements
of local enterprises: “White Swan Laundry--Special Rates to Academy
Men--You Can’t Go Wrong, Fellows!” “Bell and Falk, Photographers to
All Classes Since 1912.” “Lakeville Pressing Club--Best and Quickest
Service in the City--” Leonard’s attention wandered to the column of
names in the center of the page. “Alton,” he read. “Staples, left
end; Butler, left tackle; Stimson, left guard; Newton, center; Grant,
right guard; Wells, right tackle; Emerson, Capt., right end; Appel,
quarterback; Menge, left halfback; Reilly, right halfback; Greenwood,
fullback.”
His gaze crossed to the opposite list: “Hanley, left end; Pope, left
tackle; Tinkner, left guard; Henderson, center--” Interest waned, and
he returned to the first row of names; especially to the fifth from
the top. This was the first time Leonard had ever seen his name in a
regular program, to say nothing of one with a colored cover and costing
fifteen cents, and he was pardonably thrilled. It was, he reflected,
something to have your name down in the line-up, even if you didn’t
play!
And Leonard wasn’t going to play; at least, not much. He felt pretty
confident of getting into the game long enough to secure his letter,
and, if luck was with him, he might even play for five minutes or ten,
supposing Renneker or Stimson failed to last. But, in spite of the
official program, Renneker was right guard to-day and not Grant.
Leonard didn’t know what had taken place in Room 17 just before
luncheon, what arguments Mr. Cade had used, but he did know that
Renneker had capitulated. He hadn’t spoken to Renneker since, for
they had sat at different tables at luncheon and afterwards all had
been hurry and bustle, with some of the fellows riding to the field
in jitneys and others walking. Leonard had walked, with Slim and
Perry Stimson and Red Reilly. The conversation had been mostly about
Renneker, for that youth had appeared a few moments before in a
football costume of borrowed togs and Manager Tenney had spread the
joyous news that the big fellow was to play. Stimson and Reilly did
most of the speculating, for Slim, although clearly puzzled, knew so
much that he was afraid to discuss the matter lest he say too much, and
Leonard kept discreetly silent and was supposed by the others to be too
disappointed to find words. Slim evidently suspected Leonard of being
in the know, but there was no chance to charge him with it. Stimson and
Reilly were much pleased by the reinstatement of Renneker, although
they charitably strove to disguise the fact out of sympathy for Leonard.
Only once had Leonard come face to face with Gordon Renneker, and
then it was in the crowded lobby of the hotel. Leonard’s look of
mingled defiance and apology had been answered by an eloquent shrug of
Renneker’s broad shoulders and a hopeless shake of the head. But the
big fellow wasn’t really angry, and Leonard was glad of that. Leonard
had had several qualms of conscience since that visit to Room 17, and
it had required much argument to convince himself that he had not,
after all, violated a confidence.
Across the sunlit field the Kenly Hall band of seven pieces broke into
sound again, and a drum boomed loudly and a cornet blared and the
cheering section was off on a ribald song that ended with:
“And the foe turned Gray when it came to pass
What looked like Gold was only brass!”
The gridiron emptied. From the further side-line a man in a white
sweater advanced with a khaki-clad youth whose stockings were ringed
with cherry-red and black. Captain Emerson walked out and met them. The
rival leaders shook hands. A silver coin caught the sunlight as it spun
aloft and dropped to the turf. Captain Growe, of Kenly, pointed toward
the west goal and the little group broke up. A minute later the teams
were in place and the cheering was stilled. The referee’s voice floated
across on the northerly breeze:
“Are you ready, Captain Emerson?... Ready, Captain Growe?”
A whistle piped and Kenly kicked off at two minutes past two.
Twenty-five minutes and some seconds later, when the first period
ended, several facts had become apparent to Leonard, watching
unblinkingly from the bench. One was that Alton and Kenly were about as
evenly matched in power and skill as any two teams could be. Another
was that, whichever won, the final score was going to be very small.
And the third was that Gordon Renneker was playing the kind of football
to-day that had won him a place on the All-Scholastic Team!
With the wind, scarcely more than a strong breeze, behind her in
that first quarter, Kenly played a kicking game. But with the rival
ends as closely matched as they were to-day her punts won her little
advantage. Cricket Menge and Bee Appel always ran them back for fair
distances before they were thrown, and Joe Greenwood, returning the
punts, got almost equal ground. Each team tried out the opposing line
systematically without discovering any especially weak places. Each
team found that running the ends was no certain way to gain. The ball
changed hands again and again, hovering over the middle of the field.
Twice Alton made her first down and twice Kenly did the same. Alton was
penalized once for holding and Kenly was set back twice for off-side.
Each team made two attempts at forward-passing and each failed to
gain a foot by that method. When the quarter ended honors were even.
The second period started out to be a duplicate of the first. There
was a heart-thrilling moment when Dill, of Kenly, made the first real
run of the day by leaking past Captain Emerson and eluding Reilly and
placing the pigskin eleven yards nearer the Alton goal. Yet, to counter
that, the Kenly attack was thrice spilled before it got well started
and the Cherry-and-Black was forced to punt again. Menge was hurt in
a tackle and Kendall took his place. Alton braced near her thirty-one
yards and carried the ball across the center line, concentrating on the
left of the enemy’s line and alternating with Kendall and Greenwood.
But just inside Kenly territory the advance petered out and a long
forward to Slim Staples grounded and Kendall punted over the goal-line.
A few minutes later Alton again got the pigskin on her forty-seven
and began a punting game. With the wind behind him, Kendall was good
for something more than five yards better than the Kenly punter, and
after four exchanges the wisdom of the switch was evident, for Alton
found herself in possession of the ball on Kenly’s thirty-eight yards,
following a four yard run-back by Appel. An attack on left tackle
netted a scant two yards, and on second down Kendall once more went
back to kicking position. The play, however, proved a short heave over
the line that Reilly couldn’t reach. From the same formation Kendall
tried to get around the left on a wide run but was forced out for
no gain. With the ball too far over on the side of the field for an
attempt at a goal, Greenwood took Kendall’s place and Kenly covered her
backfield for a punt. But Appel was crafty, the enemy had scattered
her secondary defense and the unexpected happened. The ball went to
Reilly, and Red dashed straight ahead through a comfortably wide hole
opened for him by Renneker and Wells and put the pigskin down on the
twenty-seven!
Pandemonium reigned on the south stands. Alton hoarsely demanded a
touchdown and Gray-and-Gold pennants waved and fluttered. On the
bench below, Leonard clenched his hands on his knees and watched with
straining gaze. There was time out for Kenly and a fresh player went
in at right half. Then Alton lined up again and Appel’s shrill voice
called the signal.
It was Kendall back once more, but Greenwood got the ball and dug
through for something less than two yards. On the same play he got one
more, placing the pigskin just over Kenly’s twenty-five-yard line.
Then a play designed for just such a situation, a play that had been
practiced until it went as smoothly as a lot of oiled cogs, was called
for. Kendall was still eight yards back, Appel knelt before him to
take the ball from Newton and Kenly was on her toes to break through.
And then something happened. One of the cogs slipped, perhaps. At all
events, the ball never arose from Kendall’s toe, and when the whistle
blew the Alton quarterback was found at the bottom of the pile with the
pigskin desperately clutched in his arms. The perfect play had gone
agley, and instead of a deceptive end run by quarter, with fullback
swinging at empty air, it was fourth down for a six yard loss!
[Illustration: On the same play he got one more]
And then, while the Alton stands were blankly confronting the sudden
change in affairs, while Leonard was heaving a sigh that had seemed to
come from the very cleats of his shoes, Appel was piping his signal
again, undismayed, as it seemed by the misfortune. Now it was Captain
Emerson back, with Kenly somehow suspecting a forward-pass instead of
the threatened drop-kick. Well, a drop-kick from somewhere around the
thirty-seven yards, even with a breeze behind the kicker, did look
fishy. And yet that is just what followed. If Jim Newton had been at
fault before--and he may not have been, for all I know--he was perfect
now. The ball went back breast-high, was dropped leisurely and sped off
and up and over! And Alton had scored at last and some four hundred
wearers of the Gray-and-Gold became hysterically joyful!
The half ended almost directly after that, with the score-board bearing
a single numeral still, a “3” following the word “Alton.”
Leonard went back to the dressing room with the others and sat around
and listened and talked and was very excited and jubilant. Slim had a
beautiful swelled lip and couldn’t say much because he had to laugh
every time he heard himself speak. Renneker waved a hand across the
room at Leonard, but didn’t come over. He had a nice broad ribbon of
plaster under his right eye. Plaster, indeed, seemed quite a popular
ornament. Mr. Cade talked for a minute while Tod Tenney stood at the
door watching the hands on his watch. Leonard didn’t hear what he said
very well, but he cheered as loudly as any at the end. Then they piled
out and started back.
Going along the bench, Leonard heard his name called and looked up
the slanting stand to where a youth with a Gray-and-Gold flag draping
his shoulders waved wildly. It was Johnny McGrath, Johnny very hoarse
from much shouting, who was greeting him. Leonard grinned and waved
back to him. Then, suddenly, the battle was on again, Kenly took
the ball on the kick-off and ran it back to her twenty-eight before
Billy Wells placed the runner on his head. Kenly smashed at the
Alton right, stopped and formed again. Once more the teams crashed
together. Kenly had made a yard. The whistle blew. Some one was still
down. “Greenwood!” exclaimed Leonard’s left-hand neighbor. Then: “No,
Renneker, by gum!” Jake, the trainer, was bending over the injured
player. A minute passed. Jake signaled to the bench. Mr. Cade jumped
up and looked down the line until his eye met Leonard’s. His head went
back and Leonard disentangled himself from his blanket and obeyed the
motion. On the field, Gordon Renneker, his head wobbling from side to
side, was coming off between Jake and Rus Emerson.
“All right, Grant,” said the coach. “You know what to do without my
telling you. Go to it!”
There were cheers from the stand behind him as he sped on, cheers for
Renneker and for Grant, short, snappy cheers that made a fellow tingle.
Leonard eyed Renneker anxiously as he drew near the little group. The
big fellow seemed to be just about all in, he thought. He didn’t like
the way his head lolled over on his shoulder, or those closed eyes of
his. He hoped that-- Then he stared. Renneker’s eyes had opened as
Leonard had come abreast, and then one of them had closed again in a
most amazing wink! Leonard asked himself if he had imagined it. He
turned his head to look back. Some one had taken Emerson’s place, but
Renneker’s head still lolled and wobbled. He must have imagined that
wink, and yet-- No, by jiminy, he hadn’t! He understood all at once.
Renneker was faking! He had pretended an injury so that Leonard might
have his place!
“Hey! Report to the referee, General!”
Appel’s voice brought him out of his amazed thoughts. He looked for
the white sweater, found it and slipped into the line. A whistle blew
again and--well, after that he was very busy. The game went on, hard,
gruelling. Alton advanced and retreated, Kenly won ground and lost it.
The ball hurtled through the air, feet pounded the turf, bodies rasped
together, tired lungs fought for breath and aching legs for strength.
The third period came to an end, the score unchanged.
Leonard was playing better than he had ever played, better than he
had thought himself capable of playing. His victories were not easily
won, for his opponent was a big, hard-fighting fellow, but won they
were. The right side of the Alton line was still holding firmly, and it
continued to hold right up to those last few minutes of the game when
the Cherry-and-Black, desperate, reinforced with fresh players, ground
her way inexorably to the twenty-yard-line and, with Kenly throats
imploring a touchdown, thrice threw her attack at the enemy line and
was thrice repulsed almost under the shadow of the Alton goal.
The end was close then, the time-keeper had his eyes on his watch
more often than on the game and all hope of a touchdown by rushing
tactics was abandoned by the home team. Either a pass over the line or
a field-goal must serve. Thus far Kenly’s forward-passes had almost
invariably failed, and this fact doubtless brought the decision to try
for a tied score rather than a victory. At all events, Kenly placed her
drop-kicker back, arranged her defenses and set the stage for the final
act. The kicker was on the twenty-seven yards, no great distance now
that the breeze had died away. The signal came, the ball shot back, the
lines met.
Then it was that Leonard had his great moment. He went through, the
first of his line to start when the ball was passed, the only one to
penetrate that desperate wall in front of the kicker. Quite alone he
charged, almost in the path of the ball. An enemy was met and evaded
with a quick swing to the left. Hands clutched him, but too late.
He was off his feet now, arms upstretched, leaping high in the air.
Something swam toward him against the sunset light, brown and big,
turning lazily in its flight. An arm swept into its path. Leonard was
down in a writhing mass, had found his feet, was tossed aside. The
battle was up the field now, back near the thirty-five-yard line.
Leonard scrambled breathlessly up and staggered in the wake of the
swarming players. A whistle blew and a voice, the referee’s, was
shouting:
“_Alton’s ball! First down!_”
They were back in the hotel, the cheering and the tumult left behind
for the while. The dressing room was crowded, full of confusion and
excitement. Every one was talking, laughing, shouting at once. A
wonderful sense of complete happiness held Leonard as he tugged at
his laces. Just then it seemed as though nothing could ever possibly
happen that would matter one bit. They had beaten Kenly Hall! And he
had helped! Fellows were bumping into him, fairly walking over him, but
he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind even when some one placed a big hand at
the back of his head and bore down until it hurt. He looked up when
he could, though. It was Gordon Renneker. Leonard sought for words,
beautiful, big, round, insulting words, but the best he could do was
only:
“You--you blamed old faker!”
Renneker rumpled Leonard’s damp hair rudely, grinning down.
“Fifty-fifty,” he said.
THE END
_This Isn’t All!_
Would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in
this book?
Would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and
experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author?
On the _reverse side_ of the wrapper which comes with this book, you
will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same
store where you got this book.
_Don’t throw away the Wrapper_
_Use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have.
But in case you do mislay it, write to the Publishers for a complete
catalog._
Football and Baseball Stories
=Durably Bound. Illustrated. Colored Wrappers.=
=Every Volume Complete in Itself.=
The Ralph Henry Barbour Books for Boys
In these up-to-the-minute, spirited genuine stories of boy life there
is something which will appeal to every boy with the love of manliness,
cleanness and sportsmanship in his heart.
LEFT END EDWARDS
LEFT TACKLE THAYER
LEFT GUARD GILBERT
CENTER RUSH ROWLAND
FULLBACK FOSTER
LEFT HALF HARMON
RIGHT END EMERSON
RIGHT GUARD GRANT
QUARTERBACK BATES
RIGHT TACKLE TODD
RIGHT HALF HOLLINS
The Christy Mathewson Books for Boys
Every boy wants to know how to play ball in the fairest and squarest
way. These books about boys and baseball are full of wholesome and
manly interest and information.
PITCHER POLLOCK
CATCHER CRAIG
FIRST BASE FAULKNER
SECOND BASE SLOAN
PITCHING IN A PINCH
THIRD BASE THATCHER, By Everett Scott
GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
THE TOM SLADE BOOKS
By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
Author of “Roy Blakeley,” “Pee-wee Harris,” “Westy Martin,” Etc.
=Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Colors.=
=Every Volume Complete in Itself.=
“Let your boy grow up with Tom Slade,” is a suggestion which thousands
of parents have followed during the past, with the result that the TOM
SLADE BOOKS are the most popular boys’ books published today. They
take Tom Slade through a series of typical boy adventures through his
tenderfoot days as a scout, through his gallant days as an American
doughboy in France, back to his old patrol and the old camp ground at
Black Lake, and so on.
TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT
TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP
TOM SLADE ON THE RIVER
TOM SLADE WITH THE COLORS
TOM SLADE ON A TRANSPORT
TOM SLADE WITH THE BOYS OVER THERE
TOM SLADE, MOTORCYCLE DISPATCH BEARER
TOM SLADE WITH THE FLYING CORPS
TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE
TOM SLADE ON MYSTERY TRAIL
TOM SLADE’S DOUBLE DARE
TOM SLADE ON OVERLOOK MOUNTAIN
TOM SLADE PICKS A WINNER
TOM SLADE AT BEAR MOUNTAIN
TOM SLADE: FOREST RANGER
TOM SLADE IN THE NORTH WOODS
GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
THE ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS
By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
Author of “Tom Slade,” “Pee-wee Harris,” “Westy Martin,” Etc.
=Illustrated. Picture Wrappers in Color.=
=Every Volume Complete in Itself.=
In the character and adventures of Roy Blakeley are typified the very
essence of Boy life. He is a real boy, as real as Huck Finn and Tom
Sawyer. He is the moving spirit of the troop of Scouts of which he is
a member, and the average boy has to go only a little way in the first
book before Roy is the best friend he ever had, and he is willing to
part with his best treasure to get the next book in the series.
ROY BLAKELEY
ROY BLAKELEY’S ADVENTURES IN CAMP
ROY BLAKELEY, PATHFINDER
ROY BLAKELEY’S CAMP ON WHEELS
ROY BLAKELEY’S SILVER FOX PATROL
ROY BLAKELEY’S MOTOR CARAVAN
ROY BLAKELEY, LOST, STRAYED OR STOLEN
ROY BLAKELEY’S BEE-LINE HIKE
ROY BLAKELEY AT THE HAUNTED CAMP
ROY BLAKELEY’S FUNNY BONE HIKE
ROY BLAKELEY’S TANGLED TRAIL
ROY BLAKELEY ON THE MOHAWK TRAIL
ROY BLAKELEY’S ELASTIC HIKE
ROY BLAKELEY’S ROUNDABOUT HIKE
GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
THE PEE-WEE HARRIS BOOKS
By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
Author of “Tom Slade,” “Roy Blakeley,” “Westy Martin,” Etc.
=Illustrated. Individual Picture Wrappers in Color.=
=Every Volume Complete in Itself.=
All readers of the Tom Slade and the Roy Blakeley books are acquainted
with Pee-wee Harris. These stories record the true facts concerning his
size (what there is of it) and his heroism (such as it is), his voice,
his clothes, his appetite, his friends, his enemies, his victims.
Together with the thrilling narrative of how he foiled, baffled,
circumvented and triumphed over everything and everybody (except where
he failed) and how even when he failed he succeeded. The whole recorded
in a series of screams and told with neither muffler nor cut-out.
PEE-WEE HARRIS
PEE-WEE HARRIS ON THE TRAIL
PEE-WEE HARRIS IN CAMP
PEE-WEE HARRIS IN LUCK
PEE-WEE HARRIS ADRIFT
PEE-WEE HARRIS F. O. B. BRIDGEBORO
PEE-WEE HARRIS FIXER
PEE-WEE HARRIS: AS GOOD AS HIS WORD
PEE-WEE HARRIS: MAYOR FOR A DAY
PEE-WEE HARRIS AND THE SUNKEN TREASURE
GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
THE WESTY MARTIN BOOKS
By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH
Author of the “Tom Slade” and “Roy Blakeley” Books, Etc.
=Individual Colored Wrappers. Illustrated.=
=Every Volume Complete in Itself.=
Westy Martin, known to every friend of Roy Blakeley, appears as the
hero of adventures quite different from those in which we have seen him
participate as a Scout of Bridgeboro and of Temple Camp. On his way to
the Yellowstone the bigness of the vast West and the thoughts of the
wild preserve that he is going to visit make him conscious of his own
smallness and of the futility of “boy scouting” and woods lore in this
great region. Yet he was to learn that if it had not been for his scout
training he would never have been able to survive the experiences he
had in these stories.
WESTY MARTIN
WESTY MARTIN IN THE YELLOWSTONE
WESTY MARTIN IN THE ROCKIES
WESTY MARTIN ON THE SANTA FE TRAIL
WESTY MARTIN ON THE OLD INDIAN TRAILS
GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
THE LITTLE WASHINGTONS SERIES
By LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY
=Handsomely Bound. Colored Wrappers. Illustrated.=
=For Children 6 to 12 Years=
This series presents early American history in a manner that impresses
the young readers. Because of George and Martha Washington Parke, two
young descendants of the famous General Washington, these stories
follow exactly the life of the great American, by means of playing they
act the life of the Washingtons, both in battles and in society.
THE LITTLE WASHINGTONS
Their thrilling battles and expeditions generally end in “punishment”
lessons read by Mrs. Parke from the “Life of Washington.” The culprits
listen intently, for this reading generally gives them new ideas for
further games of Indian warfare and Colonists’ battles.
THE LITTLE WASHINGTONS’ RELATIVES
The Davis children visit the Parke home and join zealously in the games
of playing General Washington. So zealously, in fact, that little Jim
almost loses his scalp.
THE LITTLE WASHINGTONS’ TRAVELS
The children wage a fierce battle upon the roof of a hotel in New York
City. Then, visiting the Davis home in Philadelphia, the patriotic
Washingtons vanquish the Hessians on a battle-field in the empty lot
back of the Davis property.
THE LITTLE WASHINGTONS AT SCHOOL
After the school-house battle the Washingtons discover a band of
gypsies camping near the back road to their homes and incidentally they
secure the stolen horse which the gypsies had taken from the “butter
and egg farmer” of the Parkes.
THE LITTLE WASHINGTONS’ HOLIDAYS
They spend a pleasant summer on two adjoining farms in Vermont. During
the voyage they try to capture a “frigate” but little Jim is caught and
about to be punished by the Captain when his confederates hasten in and
save him.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK
Jerry Todd and Poppy Ott Series
BY LEO EDWARDS
=Durably Bound. Illustrated. Individual Colored Wrappers.=
=Every Volume Complete in Itself.=
Hundreds of thousands of boys who laughed until their sides ached over
the weird and wonderful adventures of Jerry Todd and his gang demanded
that Leo Edwards, the author, give them more books like the Jerry Todd
stories with their belt-bursting laughs and creepy shivers. So he took
Poppy Ott, Jerry Todd’s bosom chum and created the Poppy Ott Series,
and if such a thing could be possible--they are even more full of fun
and excitement than the Jerry Todds.
THE POPPY OTT SERIES
POPPY OTT AND THE STUTTERING PARROT
POPPY OTT AND THE SEVEN LEAGUE STILTS
POPPY OTT AND THE GALLOPING SNAIL
POPPY OTT’S PEDIGREED PICKLES
THE JERRY TODD BOOKS
JERRY TODD AND THE WHISPERING MUMMY
JERRY TODD AND THE ROSE-COLORED CAT
JERRY TODD AND THE OAK ISLAND TREASURE
JERRY TODD AND THE WALTZING HEN
JERRY TODD AND THE TALKING FROG
JERRY TODD AND THE PURRING EGG
JERRY TODD IN THE WHISPERING CAVE
GROSSET & DUNLAP, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
--Printer's, 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.
--Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to
follow the text that they illustrate.