MONTY FINDS A SOFT PLACE
That 12 to 6 defeat dismayed the fellows, but appeared to worry Coach
Bonner not a bit. Possibly he thought that an upset of the sort would
prove a blessing in disguise. The team had gone through a fairly
successful season prior to the last contest, having met but one
defeat, been tied once and won four games. There had been evidences
of overconfidence and self-satisfaction, and those are things that no
coach cares to discern. Possibly Mr. Bonner believed that the drubbing
at the hands of Hollywood would convince his charges that they were not
the finished team they had supposed themselves to be.
They talked the game over in 14 Lothrop that evening. Hugh Ordway
dropped in soon after Monty’s arrival to lug Dud off somewhere, but
became interested in the subject under discussion and remained for
half an hour or longer. Hobo was a quiet-mannered, pleasant chap of
seventeen, a senior and a proctor. As he roomed with Captain Winslow,
he was credited with being “on the inside” in football matters. Whether
he was or not, he never divulged anything of interest. Still, his
opinions had the weight of authority, and, when he made them known,
which was seldom, they were listened to with interest. Tonight,
responding to a question from Jimmy, he said:
“How good Mount Morris has shown herself against other teams doesn’t
count much when it comes to reckoning her chances with us, Jimmy. I
was looking over the records the other day and I noticed that several
times when Mount Morris had won practically all her games and we had
had rather a poor season we won from her. And then, on the other hand,
we’ve lost to her more than once when things were just the other way
about. So the fact that our deadly rival has won every game but two
and tied those doesn’t trouble me any. You can’t tell a thing about a
Grafton――Mount Morris game until it’s all over.”
“Our team isn’t as good as it was last year,” said Jimmy.
“It never is,” replied Ordway, smiling.
“Well, it really isn’t. We don’t play together. I’m not a football
specialist, but I could see this afternoon that most of the time our
fellows were playing every man for himself, while those other chaps
worked together like machinery.”
“That’s so,” granted Ordway. “That’s our main trouble just now. That
and the fact that we haven’t been able to develop much of an offense
yet. The backfield especially is ragged on team-play. But we’ve got
another fortnight, Jimmy, and it’s the last two weeks that always count
most. I feel like the dickens about Will Brunswick, though. They say he
may not be in shape for the Mount Morris game. He’s got a brute of a
strain.”
“With Manson and Brunswick out,” observed Dud, “our backfield is sort
of shot to pieces.”
Ordway nodded. “It leaves us badly off for good kickers,” he said.
“That’s the worst of it. We’ve got fellows who can rush the ball, but
Manson is our best goal kicker and Brunswick is the next best. With
both of them out we’ll have to alter our plans a bit, I fancy. I dare
say Bonner will try to coach Nick on field-goals, but there isn’t much
time for it.”
“Can Caner kick?” asked Monty.
“He punts fairly, but he can’t drop. Too bad you aren’t a drop-kicker,
Crail. If you were you’d probably have the call over Caner. You’re
coming to the table, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t heard anything about it.”
“Oh,” said Ordway, vaguely. “I thought someone said―― Well, I must hop
it. Come on, Dud. Good-night, fellows.”
“That means you are going,” said Leon, when the others had gone. “I’m
awfully glad, Monty.”
“So am I, if it’s so,” replied Monty. “But no one’s said a word to me
about it.”
“I fail to see that it’s anything to cheer for,” said Jimmy. “Training
tables are horribly monotonous. Steak and baked potatoes, steak and
baked potatoes until you want to shriek. And no decent sweet stuff;
just rice pudding and soft custards. No pie or cake; nothing but
‘gulp.’ Much better stay where you are, Monty.”
But Monty didn’t, for Monday night saw him installed at the training
table in Lothrop, a regular member of the first squad at last. He
failed to get Jimmy’s point of view as to the menu, for although there
was undeniably a certain lack of variety to be observed, to him the
“steak and potatoes, steak and potatoes” tasted mighty well. Monty had
normally a good healthy appetite, and during the following ten days
that appetite was whetted by the hardest sort of hard work, and the
amount of steak and the number of eggs that he caused to disappear
would alarm any housekeeper in the land if I divulged them. Manson had
left the table, which was accepted as proof that he was of a truth
no longer a possibility. Brunswick kept his place, but went about on
crutches with his left foot bandaged until it was almost as large as a
football. The Saturday defeat caused one or two shifts in the line-up
on Monday, but the shifts proved only temporary, as the deposed players
fought hard for reinstatement and ultimately secured it. Monty worked
like a Trojan, urged on by Manson, who seemed to center all his hopes
of a Grafton victory on his pupil. One would have thought from the way
in which Manson dogged Monty’s footsteps that everything depended on
the latter. The morning practice had vastly improved his throwing, and
he was able to get off several good forward-passes during the week. But
that task was not often entrusted to him; never, in fact, when Winslow
was in. Monty himself couldn’t see that he had made any considerable
strides in his playing, but Manson gave him praise more than once, and
Coach Bonner proved his satisfaction by almost working Monty off his
feet. By the end of the week it was a toss-up between Monty and Caner
as regarded their playing and as regarded their chances. Practically
both were certain of getting into the two remaining games. The only
question was which would be given the preference.
The school was football mad by now, and mass meetings to practice
cheers and songs were held thrice a week. Monty attended just one
of them and sat far back in the hall with Leon. He didn’t go again
because, as he explained, he felt like a fool sitting there and hearing
himself cheered. For by that time they were cheering, not only the
school and the team as a whole, but the individual players and the
coach and the trainer and about everything they could think of. One
heard the football songs everywhere and at all times. Fellows whistled
them in the dormitories, sang them on the campus and banged them out on
the pianos. Study suffered just as it always did at that time of year,
but faculty was lenient. To Monty the week passed in whirlwind fashion
and almost before he knew it. If it hadn’t been that he was thoroughly
tired out by ten o’clock every night he would have been too excited to
sleep. To him the one important thing in life now was to satisfy Manson
by his playing. After that, he wanted to get into the Mount Morris game
and he wanted Grafton to win. He wanted that hard, so hard that he
convinced himself that Grafton _would_ win, that there was no chance of
her not winning. As to that events proved him wrong, but he was happy
in his ignorance.
Those were joyous days for him. He no longer wondered whether he would
have liked Mount Morris better. He knew he would not have. He was by
now absolutely convinced that Grafton was the finest school in the
length and breadth of the land and wouldn’t have changed places with
anyone, not even with the King of England. Being King of England, he
would probably have told you, was a dull job compared with playing
fullback on the Grafton school football team! If there was one tiny
thing to mar his happiness it was the realization that he was not
making much headway in studies and that he would have to buckle down
and do a giant’s work after the seventeenth of November in order to
get that advance to the upper middle class. But he tried not to think
of that.
He saw less than ever of Alvin Standart now that he ate his meals in
Lothrop, which was probably well for his peace of mind, since Alvin
still gloomed and glowered and enacted the rôle of the villain in a
melodrama. It would have been a positive relief to Monty if Alvin had
gritted his teeth and hissed, in true melodramatic style: “A time will
come, Harold Montague!” But Alvin made no threats; he only stared
sullenly, gloatingly as it seemed to Monty, and looked all the time
like a silent threat, to use Monty’s description. Monty sometimes
likened himself to a person seated on a keg of gunpowder with the fuse
sputtering. He wasn’t sure that the fuse wouldn’t go out before the
spark reached the keg; but, on the other hand, he had the feeling that
that spark was going to keep right on smouldering and that some fine
day there would be a spectacular explosion. The best he could hope for
was that the explosion would come after the Mount Morris game!
The next to the last contest was with the Lawrence Textile School at
Lawrence, and just about every fellow at Grafton accompanied the team
that Saturday morning. Last year Lawrence had won from Grafton, 17
to 7, and only the more optimistic expected anything better than a
close score, with Lawrence on the long end, or, at best, a tie. Monty
started the game at fullback and lasted until the end of the half, by
which time Grafton had pounded out one touchdown with unexpected ease,
and the opponent had tried a field-goal and missed it. The Grafton
score came as a result of straight, old-style football, most of the
gains being made on the left of the Lawrence center from a simple
three-man-abreast formation that was quick enough to frequently get
the jump on the heavier and slower Lawrence forwards. Monty did his
full share in that long, steady advance from Grafton’s twenty-eight to
Lawrence’s seven, showing a dependability that pleased the coaches and
surprised himself. Considering his weight, he was remarkably quick,
and, once going, that weight, combined with a lot of strength, made him
hard to stop. He had less success at running plays than with plunges,
for he had not learned to dodge and change his pace well enough yet
to elude the tacklers. However, there was one creditable twelve-yard
romp in the second period that brought the total of ground gained to
respectable figures. From the Lawrence seven yards Captain Winslow
advanced six on a skin-tackle play, and Hobo Ordway dived through right
guard for the rest of the distance. Winslow kicked an easy goal after
the punt-out.
That was in the last few minutes of the first quarter, and during the
remainder of the half Lawrence played a far more stubborn game. Her
forwards awoke from their lethargy and her backs diagnosed the plays
better. Grafton never threatened her goal again in that period. The
best Lawrence could do on offensive was to reach the Scarlet-and-Gray’s
twenty-two yards, and from there, after being thrice held for almost no
gain, she essayed a placement kick and saw the pigskin go under the bar
instead of over.
Grafton, fully a hundred and seventy strong, cheered and sang joyfully
during the intermission, and the Lawrence supporters answered from
across the field. It was a fine thing to end the first half against a
team as strong as Lawrence Textile with the score 7 to 0, and Grafton
proved that she was aware of the fact by whooping things up loudly
until the teams came back.
Caner went in at fullback in the second half and Weston took Blake’s
place at quarter, but those were the only substitutions made, and
neither was a reflection on the playing of the deposed players.
Lawrence started off in whirlwind fashion after Grafton had kicked off,
and showed that she was capable of far better work than she had shown
in either of the first quarters. She worked Derry’s end for short gains
with discouraging frequency, until Derry was taken dejectedly out and
Bellows sent in. Bellows did better, but it was rather the fact that
Lawrence chose to change her game that prevented more gains around the
Grafton left than any excellence of defense shown by him. Two forward
passes in the middle of the field paved the way for the final drive
that gave Lawrence her touchdown after twelve minutes of play. That
advance was twice halted, but it ended at last in success, when the
Lawrence left half was hurled through Hanrihan for the final scant yard
after Grafton had doggedly retreated from her five-yard line during
three downs. Grafton waited anxiously the result of Lawrence’s try at
goal. If she missed it the game was almost certainly Grafton’s, they
argued, while if she made it, a tie was the best they could expect.
There were many groans when it was seen that the ball had passed over
the bar.
Grafton kicked off again to her adversary and Lawrence again started
on her long journey, but now it was evident that her former drive
had taken the steam out of her, for she lost the ball soon after
crossing the half-way mark. Grafton went heroically at work to break
that tie and was punching holes in the Lawrence breastworks when the
quarter ended. When play was resumed she got as far as her opponent’s
thirty-two and was then forced to punt. Lawrence came back six yards
and returned the kick, Weston catching on his own thirty-eight. Winslow
punted on third down and Lawrence caught near her twenty and ran back
nearly to mid-field behind good interference. Kinley was hurt in a
tackle and Hersum went in. Again Winslow punted on third down, and
this time Tray downed the catcher on the spot. A forward pass gained
twelve for Lawrence, and a second one grounded. Then a wide end-run
netted three yards and a skin-tackle plunge two more. A fake-kick sent
the fullback around Bellows for more than the required distance. After
that the game see-sawed until Lawrence was penalized fifteen yards for
illegal aid to the runner, and the subsequent kick rolled over the line
at the Grafton forty-two yards.
Then the visitors started a rally. Winslow heaved a remarkable forward
to Tray, and Tray romped ten yards before he was pulled down and placed
the pigskin on the Lawrence thirty-three yards. Caner got four through
the left side, Ordway squirmed through the same hole for three more and
Caner added another two. Winslow, running from kick formation, barely
got the distance. Another forward-pass was tried, but Bellows was
unable to get under it. Caner tried the right end and was stopped for a
four-yard loss. Ordway got three off right tackle and Winslow punted.
Lawrence started back from her five-yard line, but was forced to punt
after two tries at the end. Weston caught near mid-field and ran back
five. Caner went around the Lawrence left wing for eight, but dropped
the ball when tackled, Spalding recovering it for no gain. Ordway made
four through center and was hurt. Hanser took his place. The timer
announced six minutes left to play. Winslow smashed out three yards
and Weston made it first down by squirming through center. The ball
went to the thirty on three plunges between the guards, and Lawrence
sent in two subs to strengthen her center. Weston was called out and
Blake replaced. Caner was stopped for no gain and Winslow made a scant
two. Hanser, on a criss-cross, got through left tackle for seven.
Winslow faked a kick and Blake carried the pigskin around the enemy’s
right end for eight yards, putting it down on her thirteen. Caner was
again stopped for no gain and Winslow’s forward toss to Tray went wrong
and was brought back.
It was at that juncture that Coach Bonner summoned Monty from the
bench. “Go in for Caner,” he said. “Tell Blake to use you up and smash
their left guard and tackle. There’s a soft place there, Crail, and you
can find it. Go ahead!”
And Monty did find it. Twice he hurled himself at the guard tackle hole
on the right and twice he went plunging, staggering through for good
gains. The Grafton supporters were crowding the ropes now and cheering
wildly. Coach Bonner sent in Gordon for Hanrihan, James for Spalding
and Boynton for Winslow, the latter having played himself just about
out. Monty’s second plunge landed the ball on the two-yard line for
first down. Boynton tried the other side for no gain, and then Monty
once more snuggled the ball against his stomach and lunged into the
line. He got a yard. Hanser went back as though to kick, but once more
the ball was Monty’s and once more he slammed into the enemy, and this
time he had the satisfaction of knowing, when he went down at the
bottom of the writhing, grunting mass, that he was well over the line.