ON THE HOSPITAL LIST
Harvard's good showing thus far during the season convinced Erskine that
could she hold the crimson warriors down to five scores she would be
doing remarkably well, and that could she, by any miracle, cross
Harvard's goal-line she would be practically victorious. The team that
journeyed to Cambridge on October 23d was made up as follows:
Stone, l.e.; Tucker, l.t.; Carey, l.g.; Stowell, c.; Witter, r.g.;
White, r.t.; Devoe, r.e.; Foster, q.b.; Fletcher, l.h.b.; Gale, r.h.b.;
Mason, f.b.
Besides these, eight substitutes went along and some thirty patriotic
students followed. Among the latter was Sydney Burr and "Fan"
Livingston. Neil had brought the two together, and Livingston had
readily taken to the crippled youth. In Livingston's care Sydney had no
difficulty in making the trip to Soldiers Field and back comfortably
and safely.
There is no need to tell in detail here of the Harvard-Erskine contest.
Those who saw it will give Erskine credit for a plucky struggle against
a heavier, more advanced, and much superior team. In the first half
Harvard scored three times, and the figures were 17-0. In the second
half both teams put in several substitutes. For Erskine, Browning went
in for Carey, Graham for Stowell, Hurst for Witter, Pearse for Mason,
and Bailey for Foster. In this half Harvard crossed Erskine's goal-line
three more times without much difficulty, while Erskine made the most of
a stroke of rare good luck, and changed her goose-egg for the figure 5.
On the Purple's forty yards Harvard fumbled, not for the first time that
day, and Neil, more by accident than design, got the pigskin on the
bounce, and, skirting the opposing right end, went up the field for a
touch down without ever being in danger. The Erskine supporters went mad
with delight, and the Harvard stand was ruefully silent. Devoe missed a
difficult goal and a few minutes later the game ended with a final score
of 34-5. Mills, however, would gladly have yielded that five points, if
by so doing he could have taken ten from the larger score. He was
disappointed in the team's defense, and realized that a wonderful
improvement was necessary if Robinson was to be defeated.
And so the Erskine players were plainly given to understand the next day
that they had not acquired all the glory they thought they had. The
advance guard of the assistant coaches put in an appearance in the shape
of Jones and Preston, both old Erskine football men, and took hold with
a vim. Jones, a former guard, a big man with bristling black hair, took
the line men under his wing and made them jump. Neil, Paul, and several
others were taken in hand by Preston, and were daily put through a
vigorous course of punting and kicking. Neil was fast acquiring speed
and certainty in the art of kicking goals from drop and placement, while
Paul promised to turn out a fair second choice.
Jones, as every one soon learned, was far from satisfied with the line
of material at his disposal. He wanted more weight, especially in the
center trio, and was soon pleading with Mills to have Cowan reinstated.
The head coach ultimately relented, and Devoe was given to understand
that if Cowan expressed himself decently regretful and determined to do
good work he could go back into the second. The big sophomore, who, by
his frequent avowals, was in college for no other purpose than to play
football, had simply been lost since his dismissal, and, upon hearing
Devoe's message, eagerly came off his high horse and made a visit to
Mills. What he said and what Mills said is not known; but Cowan went
back into the second team at right-guard, and on Saturday was given a
try at that position in the game with Erstham. He did so well that Jones
was highly pleased, and Mills found it in his heart to forgive. The
results of the Erstham game were both unexpected and important.
Instead of the comparatively easy victory anticipated, Erskine barely
managed to save herself from being played to a standstill, and the final
figures were 6-0 in her favor. The score was made in the last eight
minutes of the second half by fierce line-bucking, but not before half
of the purple line had given place to substitutes, and one of the
back-field had been carried bodily off the gridiron.
With the ball on Erstham's twenty-six yards, where it had been
desperately carried by the relentless plunging and hurdling of Neil,
Smith, and Mason, Erstham twice successfully repelled the onslaught, and
it was Erskine's third down with two yards to gain. To lose the ball by
kicking was the last thing to be thought of, and so, despite the fact
that hitherto well-nigh every attempt at end running had met with
failure, Foster gave the ball to Neil for a try around the Erstham left
end. It was a forlorn hope, and unfortunately Erstham was looking for
it. Neil found his outlet blocked by his own interference, and was
forced to run far out into the field. The play was a failure from the
first. Erstham's big right half and an equally big line man tackled Neil
simultaneously for a loss and threw him heavily.
When they got off him Neil tried to arise, but, with a groan, subsided
again on the turf. The whistle blew and Simson ran on. Neil was
evidently suffering a good deal of pain, for his face was ashen and he
rolled his head from side to side with eyes half closed. His right arm
lay outstretched and without movement, and in an instant the trouble was
found. Simson examined the injury quickly and called for the doctor, who
probed Neil's shoulder with knowing fingers, while the latter's white
face was being sopped with the dripping sponge.
"Right shoulder's dislocated, Jim," said Dr. Prentiss quietly to the
trainer. "Take hold here; put your hands here, and pull toward you
steadily. Now!"
Then Neil fainted.
When he regained consciousness he was being borne from the field between
four of his fellows. At the locker-house the injured shoulder was laid
bare, and the doctor went to work.
The pain had subsided, and only a queer soreness remained. Neil watched
operations with interest, his face fast regaining its color.
"Nothing much, is it?" he asked.
"Not a great deal. You've smashed your shoulder-blade a bit, and maybe
torn a ligament. I'll fix you up in a minute."
"Will it keep me from playing?"
"Yes, for a while, my boy."
Bandage after bandage was swathed about the shoulder, and the arm was
fixed in what Neil conceived to be the most unnatural and awkward
position possible.
"How long is this going to lay me up?" he asked anxiously. But the
doctor shook his head.
"Can't tell yet. We'll see how you get along."
"Well, a week?"
"Maybe."
"Two?"
"Possibly."
"But--but it can't! It mustn't!" he cried. The door opened and Simson
entered. "Simson," he called, "he says this may keep me laid up for two
weeks. It won't, will it?"
"I hope not, Fletcher. But you must get it well healed, or else it may
go back on you again. Don't worry about--"
"Don't worry! But, great Scott, the Robinson game's only a month off!"
The trainer patted his arm soothingly.
"I know, but we must make the best of it. It's hard lines, but the only
thing to do is to take care of yourself and get well as soon as
possible. The doc will get you out again as soon as it can be done, but
you'll have to be doing your part, Fletcher, and keeping quiet and
cheerful--"
"Cheerful!" groaned Neil.
"And getting strong. Now you're fixed and I'll go over to your room with
you. How do you feel?"
"All right, I suppose," replied Neil hopelessly.
Simson walked beside him back to college and across the campus and the
common to his room, and saw him installed in an easy-chair with a pillow
behind the injured shoulder.
"There you are," said the trainer. "Prentiss will look in this evening
and I'll see you in the morning. You'd better keep indoors for a few
days, you know. I'll have your meals sent over. Don't worry about this,
but keep yourself cheerful and--"
Neil leaned his head against the pillow and closed his eyes.
"Oh, go 'way," he muttered miserably.
When Paul came in half an hour later he found Neil staring motionless
out of the window, settled melancholy on his face.
"How bad is it, chum?" asked Paul. He hadn't called Neil "chum" for over
a week--not since their quarrel.
"Bad enough to spoil my chances for the Robinson game," answered Neil
bitterly. Paul gave vent to a low whistle.
"By Jove! I am sorry, old chap. That's beastly, isn't it? What does
Prentiss say?"
Neil told him and gained some degree of animation in fervid protestation
against his fate. For want of another, he held the doctor to account for
everything, only admitting Simson to an occasional share in the blame.
Paul looked genuinely distressed, joining him in denunciation of
Prentiss and uttering such bits of consolation as occurred to him. These
generally consisted of such original remarks as "Perhaps it won't be as
bad as they think." "I don't believe doctors know everything, after
all." "Mills will make them get you around before two weeks, I'll bet."
After dinner Paul returned to report a state of general gloom at
training-table.
"Every one's awfully sorry and cut up about it, chum. Mills says he'll
come and look you up in the morning, and told me to tell you to keep
your courage up." After his information had given out, Paul walked
restlessly about the study, taking up book after book only to lay it
down again, and behaving generally like a fish out of water. Neil,
grateful for the other's sympathy, and secretly delighted at the healing
of the breach, could afford to be generous.
"I say, Paul, I'll be all right. Just give me the immortal Livy, will
you? Thanks. And you might put that tray out of the way somewhere and
shove the drop-light a bit nearer. That's better. I'll be all right now;
you run along."
"Run along where?" asked Paul.
"Well, I thought maybe you were going out or--somewhere."
Paul's face expressed astonishment. He took up a book and settled
himself firmly in the wicker rocking-chair.
"No," he said, "I'm not going anywhere."
Neil studied in silence a while, and Paul turned several pages of his
book. Then footsteps sounded on the stairs and Cowan's voice hailed Paul
from beyond the closed door.
"O Paul, are you coming along?"
Paul glanced irresolutely from the door to Neil's face, which was bent
calmly over his book. Then--"No," he called gruffly, "not to-night!"