SYDNEY STUDIES STRATEGY
Neil was holding a levee. Livingston shared the couch with him. Foster
reclined in Paul's armchair. Sydney Burr sat in the protesting wicker
rocker, his crutches beside him, and South, his countenance much
disfigured by strips of surgeon's plaster, grinned steadily from the
table, where he sat and swung his feet. Paul was up-stairs in Cowan's
room, for while he and Neil had quite made up their difference, and
while Paul spent much of his leisure time with his chum, yet he still
cultivated the society of the big sophomore at intervals. Neil, however,
believed he could discern a gradual lessening of Paul's regard for
Cowan, and was encouraged. He had grown to look upon his injury and the
idleness it enforced with some degree of cheerfulness since it had
brought about reconciliation between him and his roommate, and, as he
believed, rescued the latter to some extent from the influence of Cowan.
"Doc says the shoulder is 'doing nicely,' whatever that may mean," Neil
was saying, "and that I will likely be able to get back to light work
next week." The announcement didn't sound very joyful, for it was now
only the evening of the fourth day since the accident, and "next week"
seemed a long way off to him.
"It was hard luck, old man," said South.
"Your sympathy's very dear to me," answered Neil, "but it would seem
more genuine if you'd stop grinning from ear to ear."
"Can't," replied South. "It's the plaster."
"He's been looking like the Cheshire cat for two days," said Livingston.
"You see, when they patched him up they asked if he was suffering much
agony, and he grinned that way just to show that he was a hero, and
before he could get his face straight they had the plaster on. He gets
credit for being much better natured than he really is."
"Credit!" said South. "I get worse than that. 'Sandy' saw me grinning at
him in class yesterday and got as mad as a March hare; said I was
'deesrespectful.'"
"But how did it happen?" asked Neil, struggling with his laughter.
"Lacrosse," replied South. "Murdoch was tending goal and I was trying to
get the ball by him. I tripped over his stick and banged my face against
a goal-iron. That's all."
"Seems to me it's enough," said Foster. "What did you do to Murdoch?"
South opened his eyes in innocent surprise.
"Nothing."
"Nothing be blowed, my boy. Murdoch's limping to beat the band."
"Oh!" grinned South. "That was afterward; he got mixed up with my stick,
and, I fear, hurt his shins."
"Well," said Neil, when the laughter was over, "football seems deadly
enough, but I begin to think it's a parlor game for rainy evenings
alongside of lacrosse."
"There won't be many fellows left for the Robinson game," said Sydney,
"if they keep on getting hurt."
"That's so," Livingston concurred. "Fletcher, White, Jewell, Brown,
Stowell--who else?"
"Well, I'm not feeling well myself," said Foster.
"We were referring to _players_, Teddy, my love," replied South sweetly.
"Insulted!" cried Foster, leaping wildly to his feet. "It serves me
right for associating with a lot of freshmen. Good-night, Fletcher, my
wounded gladiator. Get well and come back to us; all will be forgiven."
"I'd like the chance of forgiving the fellow that jumped on my
shoulder," said Neil. "I'd send him to join Murdoch."
"That's not nice," answered Foster gravely. "Forgive your enemies.
Good-night, you cubs."
"Hold on," said Livingston, "I'm going your way. Good-night, Fletcher.
Cheer up and get well. We need you and so does the team. Remember the
class is looking forward to seeing you win a few touch-downs in the
Robinson game."
"Oh, I'll be all right," answered Neil, "and if they'll let me into the
game I'll do my best. Only--I'm afraid I'll be a bit stale when I get
out again."
"Not you," declared Livingston heartily. "'Age can not wither nor custom
stale your infinite variety.'"
"That's a quotation from--somebody," said South accusingly. "'Fan' wants
us to think he made it up. Besides, I don't think it's correct; it
should be, 'Custom can not age nor wither stale your various interests.'
Hold on, I'm not particular; I'll walk along with you two. But fortune
send we don't meet the Dean," he continued, as he slid to the floor. "I
called on him Monday; a little affair of too many cuts; 'Mr. South,'
said he sorrowfully, 'avoid two things while in college--idleness and
evil associations.' I promised, fellows, and here I am breaking that
promise. Farewell, Fletcher; bear up under your great load of
affliction. Good-night, Burr. Kindly see that he gets his medicine
regularly every seven minutes, and don't let him sleep in a draft;
pajamas are much warmer."
"Come on, you grinning idiot," said Foster.
When the door had closed upon the three, Sydney placed his crutches
under his arms and moved over to the chair beside the couch.
"Look here, Neil, you don't really think, do you, that you'll have any
trouble getting back into your place?"
"I hardly know. Of course two weeks of idleness makes a big difference.
And besides, I'm losing a lot of practise. This new close-formation that
Mills is teaching will be Greek to me."
"It's simple enough," said Sydney. "The backs are bunched right up to
the line, the halfs on each side of quarter, and the full just
behind him."
"Well, but I don't see--"
"Wait," interrupted Sydney, "I'll show you."
He drew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and passed it to the
other. Neil scowled over it a moment, and then looked up helplessly.
[Illustration]
"What is it?" he asked. "Something weird in geometry?"
"No," laughed Sydney, "it's a play from close-formation. I drew it this
morning."
"Oh," said Neil. "Let's see; what--Here, explain it; where do I come
in?"
"Why, your position is at the left of quarter, behind the center-guard,
and a little farther back. Full stands directly behind quarter. See?"
"Pshaw! if we get into a crowd like that," said Neil, "we'll get all
tied up."
"No you won't; not the way Mills and Devoe are teaching it. You see, the
idea is to knife the backs through; there isn't any plunging to speak of
and not much hurdling. The forwards open up a hole, and almost before
the ball's well in play one of the backs is squirming through. Quarter
gives you the ball at a hand-pass, always; there's no long passing done;
except, of course, for a kick. Being right up to the line when play
begins it only takes you a fraction of a second to hit it; and then, if
the hole's there you're through before the other side has opened their
eyes. Of course, it all depends on speed and the ability of the line-men
to make holes. You've got to be on your toes, and you've got to get off
them like a streak of lightning."
"Well, maybe it's all right," said Neil doubtfully, "but it looks like
a mix-up. Who gets the ball in this play here?"
"Right half. Left half plunges through between left-guard and center to
make a diversion. Full-back goes through between left tackle and end
ahead of right half, who carries the ball. Quarter follows. Of course
the play can be made around end instead. What do you think of it?"
"All right; but--I think I'd ought to have the ball."
"You would when the play went to the right," laughed Sydney. "The fact
is, I--this particular play hasn't been used. I sort of got it up
myself. I don't know whether it would be any good. I sometimes try my
hand at inventing plays, just for fun, you know."
"Really?" exclaimed Neil. "Well, you are smart. I could no more draw all
those nice little cakes and pies and things than I could fly. And it--it
looks plausible, I think. But I'm no authority on this sort of thing.
Are you going to show it to Devoe?"
"Oh, no; I dare say it's no use. It may be as old as the hills; I
suppose it is. It's hard to find anything new nowadays in
football plays."
"But you don't know," said Neil. "Maybe it's a good thing. I'll tell
you, Syd, you let me have this, and I'll show it to Mills."
"Oh, I'd rather not," protested Sydney, reddening. "Of course it
doesn't amount to anything; I dare say he's thought of it long ago."
"But maybe he hasn't," Neil persuaded. "Come, let me show it to him,
like a good chap."
"Well--But couldn't you let him think you did it?"
"No; I'd be up a tree if he asked me to explain it. But don't you be
afraid of Mills; he's a fine chap. Come and see me to-morrow night,
will you?"
Sydney agreed, and, arising, swung himself across the study to where his
coat and cap lay.
"By the way," he asked, "where's Paul to-night?"
"He's calling on Cowan," answered Neil.
Sydney looked as though he wanted to say something and didn't dare.
Finally he found courage.
"I should think he'd stay in his room now that you're laid up," he said.
"Oh, he does," answered Neil. "Paul's all right, only he's a
bit--careless. I guess I've humored him too much. Good-night. Don't
forget to-morrow night."
Mills called the following forenoon. Ever since Neil's accident he had
made it his duty to inquire daily after him, and the two were getting
very well acquainted. Neil likened Mills to a crab--rather crusty on the
outside, he told himself, but all right when you got under the shell.
Neil was getting under the shell.
To-day, after Neil had reported on his state of health and spirits, he
brought out Sydney's diagram. Mills examined it carefully, silently, for
some time. Then he nodded his head.
"Not bad; rather clever. Who did it; you?"
"No, I couldn't if I was to be killed. Sydney Burr did it. Maybe you've
seen him. A cripple; goes around on a tricycle."
"Yes, I've seen the boy. But does he--has he played?"
"Never; he's been a crip all his life." Mills opened his eyes in
astonishment.
"Well, if that's so this is rather wonderful. It's a good play,
Fletcher, but it's not original; that is, not altogether. But as far as
Burr's concerned it is, of course. Look here, the fellow ought to be
encouraged. I'll see him and tell him to try his hand again."
"He's coming here this evening," said Neil. "Perhaps you could look in
for a moment?"
"I will. Let me take this; I want Jones to see it. He thinks he's a
wonder at diagrams," laughed Mills, "and I want to tell him this was got
up by a crippled freshman who has never kicked a ball!"
And so that evening Mills and Neil and Sydney gathered about the big
study-table and talked long about gridiron tactics and strategy and the
art of inventing plays. Mills praised Sydney's production and encouraged
him to try again.
"But let me tell you first how we're situated," said the head coach, "so
that you will see just what we're after. Our material is good but light.
Robinson will come into the field on the twenty-third weighing about
eight pounds more to a man in the line and ten pounds more behind it.
That's bad enough, but she's going to play tackle-back about the way
we've taught the second eleven to play it. Her tackles will weigh about
one hundred and eighty-five pounds each. She will take one of those men,
range him up in front of our center-guard hole, and put two backs with
him, tandem fashion. When that trio, joined by the other half and the
quarter, hits our line it's going right through it--that is, unless we
can find some means of stopping it. So far we haven't found that means.
We've tried several things; we're still trying; but we haven't found the
play we want.
"If we're to win that game we've got to play on the defensive; we've got
to stop tackle-back and rely on an end run now and then and lots of
punting to get us within goal distance. Then our play is to score by a
quick run or a field-goal. The offense we're working up--we'll call it
close-formation for want of a better name--is, we think, the best we can
find. The idea is to open holes quickly and jab a runner through before
our heavier and necessarily slower opponents can concentrate their
weight at the point of attack. For the close-formation we have, I think,
plays covering every phase. And so, while a good offensive strategy
will be welcome, yet what we stand in greatest need of is a play to stop
Robinson's tackle-tandem. Now you apparently have ability in this line,
Mr. Burr; and, what's more, you have the time to study the thing up.
Supposing you try your hand and see what you can do. If you can find
what we want--something that the rest of us can't find, by the
way--you'll be doing as much, if not more, than any of us toward
securing a victory over Robinson. And don't hesitate to come and see me
if you find yourself in a quandary or whenever you've got anything
to show."
And Sydney trundled himself back to his room and sat up until after
midnight puzzling his brains over the tackle-tandem play, finally
deciding that a better understanding of the play was necessary before he
could hope to discover its remedy. When he crawled into bed and closed
his tired eyes it was to see a confused jumble of orange-hued lines and
circles running riot in the darkness.