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[Illustration: COOTS WAS DOWNED BY A FIERCE TACKLE ON THE PART OF
SHADDUCK.]
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON
OR
The Struggle for the Silver Cup
BY GRAHAM B. FORBES
AUTHOR OF "THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH," "THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH
ON THE DIAMOND," ETC.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. OUT FOR PRACTICE
II. ON THE ROAD TO TOWN
III. THE STRANGE HISTORY OF RALPH
IV. TREACHERY IN THE CAMP
V. THE SIGNAL PRACTICE
VI. AT THE SINGING SCHOOL
VII. THE ABDUCTION OF "BONES"
VIII. THE LINE-UP WITH CLIFFORD
IX. A HARD FOUGHT FIRST-HALF
X. A SCENE NOT DOWN ON THE BILLS
XI. CLIFFORD'S LAST HOPE
XII. DR. SHADDUCK FEARS AN EPIDEMIC
XIII. THE GREAT MARSH
XIV. THE DANGERS OF THE MUCK HOLE
XV. FRANK TURNS CHAUFFEUR
XVI. AN UNWILLING PILOT
XVII. A DESPERATE REMEDY
XVIII. MATCHING WITS
XIX. AT THE END OF THE CIRCUIT
XX. FRANK'S LUCK
XXI. THE LIFTING OF THE CLOUD
XXII. HOW BELLPORT BUCKED THE LINE
XXIII. WON BY FOUR INCHES
XXIV. THE MESSAGE FROM TOKIO--CONCLUSION
THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH ON THE GRIDIRON
CHAPTER I
OUT FOR PRACTICE
"Oh, what a splendid kick!"
The yellow pigskin football went whizzing through the air, turning
over and over in its erratic flight.
"Wow! Look at old Sorreltop run, will you?"
"He's bound to get under it, too. That's going some, fellows! Oh,
shucks!"
"Ha! ha! a fumble and a muff, after all! That's too bad, after
such a great gallop. Now Clack's got the ball, and a clear field
ahead for a run! Go it, you wild broncho! Say, look there, will
you, Tony; Ralph West thinks he can tackle that flying tornado!"
"Will he? Maybe, maybe not, fellows!" called out the ever-skeptical
Jack Eastwick, as he watched the rapidly nearing figures. Jack
was on the regular team, but not playing that afternoon.
"There, he's done it! Wasn't that tackle a screamer, though? That
man West belongs with the regulars. He's too good for the scrub
team. Mark my words, when we go up against Clifford he'll be doing
duty with Columbia's eleven!"
"Bah!" sneered Tony Gilpin. "He's still only a greeny; never saw a
football till he came here last year. Bones Shadduck taught him
all he knows about the game. Take him away from his teacher, and
the little boy would be hopelessly foundered, and you know it,
too, Herman Hooker."
Herman was Columbia's "cheer captain." His sonorous voice aroused
more enthusiasm among the struggling athletes when the prospects
seemed dark and forbidding, than all other elements combined. As
soon as it boomed out over a hotly-contested field, every Columbia
fellow seemed to take on fresh confidence, and in many instances
that meant a new determination to win the victory.
Herman looked at the last speaker, and smiled broadly. It was well
known among the students of Columbia High School that Tony Gilpin
still entertained great hopes of holding his place on the regular
team; but his play was not up to the standard of the preceding
year, and dark hints had gone abroad that in all probability he
would be dropped, for "a dark horse."
As this latter must of necessity be taken from the scrub team, it
can be easily understood why Tony showed so much concern over the
playing of the newcomer, Ralph West.
"Why ain't you practicing with your team this P. M., instead of
loafing around here watching the scrub eleven do things." remarked
Charlie Scott, one of the group. "It can't be possible that a
seasoned veteran of two years' experience can pick up points from
a come-on?"
"I strained my leg a bit yesterday, and the coach advised me to
give it a rest for a day. When I tackle I'm apt to go at a man
without regard to consequences; and sometimes the jar is fierce,"
explained Tony, sneeringly.
"Well, if you can beat that work of Ralph West, you're going some,
now; take it from me, son," commented Herman, with fatherly
interest, and simply a desire to see the best man on the regular
team when the auspicious day dawned that lined Columbia's eleven
up against the warriors of Clifford.
Tony made no verbal reply, but his brow grew dark, as he once
again shot a look of hatred toward the player who had made that
brilliant flying tackle.
The big town of Columbia was situated on the Harrapin River, with
Clifford nearly four miles above, and the manufacturing town of
Bellport twice that distance down-stream.
Of course, as each of these bustling places boasted of a high
school, the consequent rivalries of the students had blossomed out
into a league. In various sports they were determined rivals, and
the summer just passed had witnessed a bitter fight between the
baseball clubs of the three towns, in which Columbia won out after
a fierce contest.
Among the Columbia students there were also strivings after
supremacy in many gymnastic feats, as well as between the several
classes, each of which was jealous of the others when it came to
giving spreads. Many of the deeply interesting happenings along
this line that marked the preceding Winter and Spring have been
chronicled in the first volume of this series, called: "The Boys
of Columbia High; or, The All-Around Rivals of the School."
With the coming of the season for outdoor sports, there was
baseball in the air from morning to night, in preparation for the
carnival of games mapped out for the schedule between the three
schools. What thrilling contests took place, and with what final
results, can be found in the second story of this series, bearing
the title, "The Boys of Columbia High on the Diamond; or, Winning
Out by Pluck."
When the Glorious Fourth came along, the river that flowed past
the three towns was the scene of a most remarkable gathering; for
the annual regatta between the boat clubs of the high schools had
been set down for observance. To enjoy the humor of the tub
races, and experience the thrills that accompanied the flight of
the rival four-oared and eight-oared shells over the scheduled
course, the reader must peruse the third volume, called: "The Boys
of Columbia High on the River; or, The Boat Race 'Plot That
Failed."
And now vacation having ended, and school being once more under
full swing, with the dropping of the highly-colored leaves from
the woods along the banks of the picturesque Harrapin, there was
heard little save football talk on the campus, and wherever the
sons of old Columbia High congregated.
A well-to-do widow, in memory of her boy, Wallace Todd, who had
died the preceding year while a student at the high school, had
offered a beautiful silver cup to the victor in the football
contests, the winning team to hold it for an entire season.
It was to be known as the Wallace Cup, and every day crowds stood
before the window of the silversmith's store in Columbia, admiring
its magnificent proportions.
Squads of boys even came by trolley from Bellport, and openly
boasted as to their intention to carry that same trophy home with
them after the struggles on the gridiron had been finished.
The group of lads watching the work of the scrub team consisted of
various types among the students and town fellows.
Presently, however, Tony Gilpin nudged another fellow and beckoned
him away. He knew full well that Asa Barnes, now a senior, and a
class ahead of him, had only bitter feelings for several in that
scrub team, and chief of all the captain, Bones Shadduck.
Lately both Tony and Asa had taken a notion that they would like
to join the Delta Pi fraternity. To their disgust, however, they
were blackballed, some among the members objecting to receiving
fellows with their known reputation for mischief and evil-doing.
In some way they conceived the idea that Bones Shadduck was
primarily responsible for their humiliation. They never accused
him of it, but nursed their fancied grievance, and planned to have
revenge in some fashion.
Tony was looking more than ordinarily ugly as he strolled away
with Asa Barnes.
The broad hint which one of his companions had advanced regarding
his rather poor chances of holding down his position as a Columbia
half-back against the aspirations of Ralph West, the boy from
Paulding, had fired his heart anew with a fierce desire to take
matters into his own hands, and remedy them.
"Well, what's your opinion, Asa?" demanded Tony, as they sauntered
along. "You said you'd be square with me. What d'ye think of that
dub's playing? Is he going to make it, and knock me off the
earth?"
Asa Barnes was nothing, if not a sneak. Throughout his entire
career at school he had been looked upon as a species of snake,
and had few friends. Even those who did go with him, on account of
his having unlimited spending money, always kept a cautious eye
out for treachery.
"Oh, you're going to get it where the chicken did--in the neck!"
he replied cheerfully, with a grin that told of secret pleasure,
for he liked to see others suffer.
"No kidding now, but tell me the truth for once. Is Ralph West the
wonder they make out? Can he play half-back better than I do? I'm
not from Missouri, but, all the same, I want to know; for it's
going to settle a question I've had in my mind a long time. Cut
in, now!" exclaimed Tony, wrathfully.
"He's all to the good," replied the other, grimly, "and when I say
that, disliking the fellow as I do, you can understand it means
something. I never saw a quicker half-back in my life; and when it
comes to making a tackle, the fellow doesn't really know what fear
is! If they put him on the regulars, there's going to be something
doing among those long-legged chaps from Clifford."
Tony growled like a bear with a sore head; he also cast a side
look at his companion, as though questioning his sincerity. Asa
liked to see anyone squirm, and often did and said things just for
that privilege. His companions had long ago declared that he was
cut out for a surgeon--or a butcher, like his father.
"Once for all, do you mean that?" hissed the enraged boy, laying a
quivering hand on his comrade's arm.
"I certainly do. He's got the Indian sign on you, Tony, for fair.
Mark my words, when I predict that, _unless something unusual
happens_ between now and next Saturday, when we play Clifford,
Ralph West is going to take your place at left half-back!"
The other fairly glared at him.
"Well, you're awful plain about it, Asa," he muttered.
"You told me to be, and I'm giving you my honest opinion. But, all
the same now, I don't think this disaster will happen," Asa added,
with a grin at the other.
"Oh, you don't, eh? What's going to prevent it?" demanded Tony.
"You are, unless I'm mighty much mistaken in your make-up," said
the other boy, promptly. "Remember what we agreed to do about that
Bones Shadduck, for getting us knocked down with that measly old
Delta Pi business? Well, there's a pair of 'em now!"
"Do you mean it. Will you stick with me if I try to knock West
out, so he won't be able to play football again for weeks? Are you
game, or do you mean to egg me on to the last ditch, and then
sidestep, leaving me to shoulder all the blame?"
Tony's face was eager, and the light in his eyes told of a fierce
desire to do something mean that would accomplish the desire of
his heart.
His companion laughed as though it might be a joke. Asa was so
used to others suspecting his honesty of purpose that he never
seemed to get offended when they doubted his word. Another boy
might have shown temper, but Asa never did this. He might grit his
teeth behind a fellow's back, and vow to get even for an insult;
but to his face he was either smiling or sneering, as the humor
seized him.
"Yes, I'll help you out. Remember, it isn't because I feel for
you," he said, quickly, as though he feared lest he should
actually be considered as possessing any consideration for a
comrade. "I've got my own little axe to grind, you see. The fellow
happens to be sweet on Helen Allen, and once on a time she used to
go with me to parties and the like. You understand, don't you,
Tony?"
"Sure. And there's nothing that burns so deep as that. Then it's
settled that we're going to lay for both Ralph and Bones at the
very first chance, with some fellows we can depend on, and do
them up? That's the programme, Asa?"
"I leave the particulars to you. Meanwhile I'll drum up a few
recruits to make the crowd. Just now I know of three bully fellows
who happen to have it in for either Ralph or Bones. You get as
many, and then there's going to be some fun doing," and Asa
laughed in the cold-blooded fashion that made so many dislike him.
"Well, when a fellow is bruised to beat the band, not to speak of
possibly a broken rib or two, he ain't going to play football in a
hurry," grunted Tony.
The other cast a quick look at his companion.
"You don't want to go too far, old chap. If he happened to be
seriously hurt, we might be called on to explain before Professor
Parke," he observed.
So talking, they sauntered along the road again, having paused to
exchange the significant remarks as to their intentions.
Hardly had they gone twenty feet away, than a head was cautiously
raised above an old log that lay just within the edge of the
woods, and a white face looked rather fearfully after the pair of
plotters.