THE SIGNAL PRACTICE
The next day was Friday.
And with that battle of the gridiron gladiators looming up just
ahead, it can be readily understood that Mr. Amos Wellington, not
to mention Mr. Oswald, and the women teachers in Columbia High
School, found it a most difficult task to get any satisfaction out
of the many classes before them that day.
Football was in the air! The very tang of the frosty morning
seemed to suggest ideal weather conditions for the coming
struggle. Wherever boys congregated, on the campus before the
morning session, or down in the lunch room during intermission,
when they sampled the various types of sandwiches and pies
supplied by Mrs. Louden, nothing was talked of but the chances of
Columbia against the seasoned players of Clifford.
"They're heavier than our men," one would lament.
"But the day of weight in football is gone," cried another,
quickly.
"Yes, for the game as played to-day calls for agility and
pertinacity more than heft. And we've got the boys who can do
stunts, believe me, fellows!" remarked a third deeply-interested
student.
"They practice for the last time this afternoon, don't they?"
"Yes, but mostly on signals, I understand. Now the team has been
selected, they want to work in harmony," remarked the fellow who
seemed to know, because he had a big brother on the eleven, and
that was a great honor for the entire family.
"There's one weak spot," grumbled another prophet of evil.
"Name it, Sandy."
"Yes, tell us where it is. I've gone over the whole bunch ever so
many times, and with the new men I think it couldn't possibly be
improved."
"That's just it; you've put your finger on the sore the first
thing. Now, don't all jump on me at once, and say I'm knocking,
for I'm not. I think a heap both of Ralph West's playing and that
of Bones Shadduck. They're cracker jacks, and far superior to the
fellows they displaced."
"Then what are you kicking about, Sandy?" demanded Molly Manners,
the dudish student, who, while no athlete himself, always felt a
decided interest in the accomplishments of his more muscular
comrades.
"Lack of practice in common will bankrupt us. That's what worries
me. You see, Bones and Ralph haven't worked with the rest, to any
extent, at least. How can they fill their parts in the machine?
I'm dubious, that's all, even while hoping for the best," went on
the croaker.
"Well, now, don't let that keep you awake tonight. Coach
Willoughby has been training the scrub just as he did the regular
team. They know the same plays, and once the signals are decided
on the whole thing will move along like a well greased machine.
He's done wonders with the raw material. And if Columbia wins this
year, much of the credit belongs to the trainer, our old Princeton
grad."
"Hear! hear! Three cheers for Coach Willoughby!"
And they were given with a will.
Frank and Ralph came together at intermission. While they munched
a bit of lunch, they naturally fell into conversation, and, of
course, their talk must be in connection with the stirring events
of the preceding night.
"Have you met Tony?" asked Frank, with a chuckle of amusement.
"No. You see, he's a junior and I'm only a soph, so we run in
different grooves. What about him, Frank?" asked the other,
eagerly.
"I was sent into Miss Condit's room with a message from Mr.
Wellington, and, of course, I felt a little curious to know how
Tony looked. While I waited for an answer to the note I carried, I
glanced over to where he sat. Would you believe it, he had turned
deliberately around in his seat, so that his back was toward me."
"Then perhaps I did put my mark on him?" suggested Ralph, eagerly.
"Well, now, you certainly did. As I glanced further along I saw a
mirror at the side of the room, and just then discovered that he
was facing it. He turned fiery red when he caught my look, for I
really couldn't keep from grinning, because, as sure as you live,
my boy, our friend Tony is nursing a most beautiful black eye!"
"It serves him right. He had no business to bother me so. I only
struck in self-defense, and everyone is entitled to that
privilege," declared Ralph.
"Well, I should say so," remarked his friend, quickly, "and I hope
you did as well by that sneak of an Asa. But he was wise enough to
stay home to-day. When you get that fellow off his guard you can
catch a weasel asleep."
The ending of the recess brought their conversation to a close,
but after school, Ralph, possessed by a sort of fascination to
behold his work, haunted the campus until Tony appeared,
surrounded by several of his set.
The two rivals met face to face at the exit of the grounds. Tony
glared at the author of his woes, and his two chums made
threatening gestures; but, of course, they did not dare place a
finger on Ralph at such a time.
But, at any rate, Frank had certainly not understated the facts,
for Tony was the possessor of a fine black eye. Of course, it was
easy for him to invent a plausible excuse for this mishap; he had
run slap against a door when getting up in the dark. And, of
course, nobody believed him, though only a select few understood
the true origin of his damaged optic.
Ralph said never a word; but he could not keep from smiling a bit
as he turned away; and this must have been gall and wormwood to
the other fellow.
An hour later and the chosen eleven, together with the
substitutes, gathered on the field for their last instructions,
and the trial of the signal code. Frank and the coach were
frequently in secret confab, and the others regarded this as
having more or less significance.
"What did your investigation result in, Mr. Willoughby?" Frank was
asking.
"Just what we expected. I have learned beyond a shadow of a doubt
that the secret signals of Clifford were given to Bellport by some
traitor. A dozen people I interviewed were positive in that
belief. For while there is as yet no proof, they declare that on
no other grounds could the Bellports know just what play was
coming every time the other captain called out his numbers,"
replied the coach, in a firm voice.
"Well, it is what may happen to us, unless we change backward at
the last minute. That would confuse Clifford, and set them on the
wrong track," remarked Frank.
"Just so, and the advantage would be with us. If they can down you
boys squarely and fairly, I'll be the last one to knock, but this
thing of trickery makes me angry. Because they feel that they were
fooled by Bellport is no reason they should want to pass it along,
and defeat you unfairly. I'm surprised that there is no clean-minded
fellow on their team who will positively refuse to take advantage
of such a mean game."
"If Cuthbert Lee was still on the Bellport team," said Frank, "I'm
sure he'd never have listened to such a thing. It would be just
like him to go to the other side and tell them to change their
signals, as they had been betrayed. He was a lover of clean
sport."
"Then I only wish there were more like him, Frank. The trouble is,
too many boys, yes, and young men, too, believe that anything is
fair that promises to bring the advantages to their side. Love of
school is all very good, but it should never step in the way of
honest dealing," observed the Princeton man, soberly.
"Then we'll go on with the signals as they have been used?" asked
the other.
"To-day, yes, but in the morning we'll get the boys together
early, and change the whole order, so that things mean just the
opposite of what they are now. You get my meaning, don't you,
Frank?"
"Yes, and think it a capital idea. I've always been told that the
truly wise man is he who grapples with adversities, and makes them
work to his advantage. And that is what you propose to do now.
Watch Lanky; he's up to some mischief or other. I can tell it in
his actions. There he goes after the ball that he purposely kicked
into those bushes, I believe."
"Well, he's got it all right, and is calling to Substitute Buster
that it's up to him to try for a field goal," commented the coach,
smiling. "Yes; notice, however, that Lanky makes no effort to
hold the ball for the kick, but has set it there on the ground,"
continued Frank, who knew the joking propensities of his chum so
well that he could quickly guess when the other had any lark
coming.
"I suppose Lanky doesn't want to take chances of a bad kick, and,
considering how near the game is, you can hardly blame him.
Perhaps he's had some experience with Buster's kicking before.
There he goes now!"
"Look at Lanky, sir, with his fingers in his ears!"
Hardly had Frank spoken when Buster, swooping down, with all sail
set, on the inoffensive oval, brought his right foot against the
ball with a tremendous effort. The result was certainly
astonishing, for there was a sudden heavy detonation, and the
football arose about ten feet, in a sadly flattened condition,
while the kicker sat down heavily on the ground, looking dazed.
Lanky had substituted some cleverly constructed gas balloon,
placed in an old cover, for the genuine article, having previously
hidden the fraudulent contraption in those bushes until the chance
came to utilize the same.
There was a brief silence, and then a shout went up from the husky
band of players, who caught on to the joke. All but the dazed
Buster, who, still sitting there and gaping at the seeming remains
of a once fine oval football, shook his head and turned
appealingly toward the coach, called out:
"Say, that wasn't my fault, Mr. Willoughby. Now, who pays for that
ball, anyhow?" which remark brought out renewed shrieks from the
others, some of whom fairly fell over with the violence of their
merriment.
When the joke was explained to the fat boy, of course he laughed
heartily, for his nature could not take offense at anything.
Then the work began in earnest. The efficient coach drilled the
players in all the various plays that were apt to come up during
the course of the game. He expressed his pleasure at the masterly
way these were carried out.
"I'm satisfied that the changes I made have vastly strengthened
the whole team," he said, as he and Frank came together during a
period of rest, after a fierce foray, in which every player worked
systematically, and really clever passes and runs were made around
imaginary hostile forces.
In other days they had rubbed up against the scrub team, and
practiced all their arts against real foes, but this last practice
was to be in secret. Signal work and the drilling of Ralph and
Bones in their respective positions, must occupy much of the
afternoon.
To keep spectators away from the field, several dozen boys had
volunteered to patrol the neighborhood, completely surrounding the
open. Thus it would seem that there could be no one close enough
to overhear when the signal numbers were deliberately called by
the captain.
"Still, I'm under the impression that there may be someone hidden
in those bushes, or in a hollow tree, watching our work, and
drinking in all we say. When fellows descend to such low practices
as betraying their schoolmates to the enemy, they become very
crafty. On the whole, it will be better to change the code just
before the game to-morrow," remarked the coach, later on, during
another rest.
Frank said no more. Secretly, however, he was planning to find
out, if it could be possible, that this idea of Mr. Willoughby had
reason back of it. In other words, he had made up his mind that
when the crowd of players went back to town, he would find some
opportunity to drop behind, and keep watch over that field.
For the third and last time, play was resumed. Again did the coach
follow the carefully arranged maneuvers. Up to the present he had
found it necessary to stop them in the midst of the play to start
afresh, because of some inaccuracy. Not once did this occur now.
"Well, sir, how was that?" asked Frank, as, with disheveled hair
and soiled clothes, he came out of the fracas and sought the side
of the man who knew.
There was hardly any need to ask. Coach Willoughby's bronzed face
was all smiles.
"Fine! I never saw the thing executed better, even by the leading
colleges. Depend on it, my boy, if you and your men do as well as
that to-morrow, and there's no treachery shown, you're going to
mow Clifford down far worse than she suffered at the hands of
Bellport. I congratulate you, every one, for the fine form you
show. It does my heart good to see it. And now, home, lads, and
see to it that you don't overeat to-night, and go to bed at a
reasonable hour. That's all from me, and I feel that my work is
well done!"
The afternoon had worn away while they strained and labored,
trying for the last time some of the plays by means of which they
hoped to carry the ball into Clifford territory during the coming
game.
Each member of the team felt more or less weary when the coach
declared that they had done enough, and dismissed them for the
day.
"Don't forget the secret directions given for an early morning
meet in the place selected, to go over the changed signals," was
spoken in the ear of every fellow before they started back to
town.
Frank held out behind the rest, pretending to be busy with a
number of things that fell to his lot as captain of the eleven. He
had whispered his intentions to Lanky, and the latter, while
laughing at his fears, promised to keep any of the others from
returning to look for the leader, should they notice his absence.
Watching his chance, Frank dropped behind some bushes. Then,
without wasting any time, he started to crawl back to where he
might have a view of the wooded side of the athletic field.
Perhaps, after all, the fears of the coach had been groundless. He
would spend a short time watching, and then, if nothing developed,
he could hasten home.
At the same time, the thought of how Clifford had been deceived
and beaten by the too free handling of their secret code, gave
Frank an uneasy feeling.
When he had gained a position that would allow him to observe the
ground he deemed most suspicious, he waited for developments.
"What was that?" he asked himself in another minute; for it seemed
to him that he had heard a sharp crack, as of a rotten branch
giving way.
Then his attention was attracted toward a certain spot, where
something had undoubtedly fallen to the ground. Eagerly he riveted
his eyes on the place, and in this way became aware of the fact
that something was certainly moving up among the branches of the
pine tree.
Then an object came heavily to the ground, rolled over once or
twice, and scrambled half erect. Though some little distance away,
Frank could see that this was no animal, but a human being, a boy
at that, who was rubbing his elbow furiously, as though it had
been smartly tapped in his fall.
No need to put a label on this fellow to signify what his presence
meant. Frank knew that he was looking on a spy, who had been
perched among the thick branches of that pine tree during the
better part of the afternoon, making notes of the signal play of
the Columbia eleven!
And he was now moving off, possessed of information that was of
tremendous value to the Clifford team!