BETWEEN THE HALVES
Neil trotted along at the tail-end of the procession of substitutes, so
deep in thought that he passed through the gate without knowing it, and
only came to himself when he stumbled up the locker-house steps. He
barked his shins and reached a conclusion at the same instant.
At the door of the dressing-room a strong odor of witch-hazel and
liniment met him. He squeezed his way past a group of coaches and looked
about him. Confusion reigned supreme. Rubbers and trainer were hard at
work. Simson's voice, commanding, threatening, was raised above all
others, a shrill, imperious note in a rising and falling babel of sound.
Veterans of the first half and substitutes chaffed each other
mercilessly. Browning, with an upper lip for all the world like a piece
of raw beef, mumbled good-natured retorts to the charges brought against
him by Reardon, the substitute quarter-back.
[Illustration: Erskine vs. Robinson--The First Half.]
"Yes, you really ought to be careful," the latter was saying with
apparent concern. "If you let those chaps throw you around like that
you may get bruised or broken. I'll speak to Price and ask him to be
more easy with you."
"Mmbuble blubble mummum," observed Browning.
"Oh, don't say that," Reardon entreated.
Neil was looking for Paul, and presently he discovered him. He was lying
on his back while a rubber was pommeling his neck and shoulders
violently and apparently trying to drown him in witch-hazel. He caught
sight of Neil and winked one highly discolored eye. Neil examined him
gravely; Paul grinned.
"There's a square inch just under your left ear, Paul, that doesn't
appear to have been hit. How does that happen?"
Paul grinned more generously, although the effort evidently pained him.
"It's very careless of them, I must say," Neil went on sternly. "See
that it is attended to in the next half."
"Don't worry," answered Paul, "it will be." Neil smiled.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Fine," Paul replied. "I'm just getting limbered up."
"You look it," said Neil dryly. "I suppose by the time your silly neck
is broken you'll be in pretty good shape to play ball, eh?" Simson
hurried up, closely followed by Mills.
"How's the neck?" he asked.
"It's all right now," answered Paul. "It felt as though it had been
driven into my body for about a yard."
"Do you think you can start the next half?" asked Mills anxiously.
"Sure; I can play it through; I'm all right now," replied Paul gaily.
Mills's face cleared.
"Good boy!" he muttered, and turned away. Neil sped after him.
"Mr. Mills," he called. The head coach turned, annoyed by the
interruption.
"Well, Fletcher; what is it?"
"Can't I get in for a while, sir?" asked Neil earnestly. "I'm feeling
fine. Gillam can't last the game, nor Paul. I wish you'd let--"
"See Devoe about it," answered Mills shortly. He hurried away, leaving
Neil with open mouth and reddening cheeks.
"Well, that's what I get for disappointing folks," he told himself.
"Only he needn't have been _quite_ so short. What's the good of asking
Devoe? He won't let me on. And--but I'll try, just the same. Paul's had
his chance and there's no harm now in looking after Neil Fletcher."
He found Devoe with Foster and one of the coaches. The latter was
lecturing them forcibly in lowered tones, and Neil hesitated to
interrupt; but while he stood by undecided Devoe glanced up, his face a
pucker of anxiety. Neil strode forward.
"Say, Bob, get me on this half, can't you? Mills told me to see you," he
begged. "Give me a chance, Bob!"
Devoe frowned impatiently and shook his head.
"Can't be done, Neil. Mills has no business sending you to me. He's
looking after the fellows himself. I've got troubles enough of my own."
"But if I tell him you're willing?" asked Neil eagerly.
"I'm not willing," said Devoe. "If he wants you he'll put you on. Don't
bother me, Neil, for heaven's sake. Talk to Mills."
Neil turned away in disappointment. It was no use. He knew he could play
the game of his life if only they'd take him on. But they didn't know;
they only knew that he had been tried and found wanting. There was no
time now to test doubtful men. Mills and Devoe and Simson were not to be
blamed; Neil recognized that fact, but it didn't make him happy. He
found a seat on a bench near the door and dismally looked on. Suddenly a
conversation near at hand engaged his attention.
Mills, Jones, Sydney Burr, and two other assistant coaches were gathered
together, and Mills was talking.
"The 'antidote's' all right," he was saying decidedly. "If we had a
team that equaled theirs in weight we could stop them short; but they're
ten pounds heavier in the line and seven pounds heavier behind it. What
can you expect? Without the 'antidote' they'd have had us snowed under
now; they'd have scored five or six times on us."
"Easy," said Jones. "The 'antidote's' all right, Burr. What we need are
men to make it go. That's why I say take Gillam out. He's played a star
game, but he's done up now. Let Pearse take his place, play Gale as long
as he'll last, and then put in Smith. How about Fletcher?"
"No good," answered Mills. "At least--" He stopped and narrowed his
eyes, as was his way when thinking hard.
"I think he'd be all right, Mr. Mills," said Sydney. "I--I know him
pretty well, and I know he's the sort of fellow that will fight hardest
when the game's going wrong."
"I thought so, too," answered Mills; "but--well, we'll see. Maybe we'll
give him a try. Time's up now.--O Devoe!"
"Yes, coming!"
"Here's your list. Better get your men out."
There was a hurried donning of clothing, a renewed uproar.
"All ready, fellows," shouted the captain. "Answer to your names:
Kendall, Tucker, Browning, Stowell, Witter, Jewell, Devoe, Gale, Pearse,
Mason, Foster."
"There's not much use in talk," said Mills, as the babel partly died
away. "I've got no fault to find with the work of any of you in the last
half; but we've got to do better in this half; you can see that for
yourselves. You were a little bit weak on team-play; see if you can't
get together. We're going to tie the score; maybe we're going to beat.
Anyhow, let's work like thunder, fellows, and, if we can't do any more,
tear that confounded tackle-tandem up and send it home in pieces. We've
got thirty-five minutes left in which to show that we're as good if not
better than Robinson. Any fellow that thinks he's not as good as the man
he's going to line up against had better stay out. I know that every one
of you is willing, but some of you appeared in the last half to be
laboring under the impression that you were up against better men. Get
rid of that idea. Those Robinson fellows are just the same as you--two
legs, two arms, two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Go at it right and you
can put them out of the play. Remember before you give up that the other
man's just as tuckered as you are, maybe more so. Your captain says we
can win out. I think he knows more about it than we fellows on the
side-line do. Now go ahead, get together, put all you've got into it,
and see whether your captain knows what he's talking about. Let's have
a cheer for Erskine!"
Neil stood up on the bench and got into that cheer in great shape. He
was feeling better. Mills had half promised to put him in, and while
that might mean much or nothing it was ground for hope. He trotted on to
the field and over to the benches almost happily.
The spectators were settling back in their seats, and the cheering had
begun once more. The north stand had regained its spirit. After all, the
game wasn't lost until the last whistle blew, and there was no telling
what might happen before that. So the student section cheered and sang,
the band heroically strove to make itself heard, and the purple flags
tossed and fluttered. The sun was almost behind the west corner of the
stand, and overcoat collars and fur neck-pieces were being snuggled into
place. From the west tiers of seats came the steady tramp-tramp of
chilled feet, hinting their owners' impatience.
The players took their places, silence fell, and the referee's whistle
blew. Robinson kicked off, and the last half of the battle began.