BERT GOES THROUGH
The Flubdub did about what Chick wanted it to do. That is to say,
it didn’t haul Coach Cade over the coals, as Chick put it, but it
certainly expressed its disapproval in unmistakable terms in an
editorial article which ran all down the first column and turned the
next. It wasn’t rude, of course; the Flubdub was never that; but it let
the world know that it was disappointed in the outcome of the Banning
game, that in its judgment a blunder had been made and that Coach Cade
had made it. Then it intimated that possibly the coach had acted under
a misapprehension, and, in case he had, it proceeded to set him right.
“While it is true,” remarked the paper, “that the Kenly Hall game is
the important event on the schedule, and the one by which we measure
the Team’s success, yet there must be a limit to the sacrifices we
are willing to make to insure a triumph over the ancient rival. We
are not satisfied to witness a series of early season defeats even
if assured that a final victory awaits us. Nor do we consider that
the loss of early season contests can have sufficient bearing on the
ultimate success of the Team to warrant them. We are better pleased
with a policy which accepts each succeeding adversary as a worthy
foe and not merely as a stepping-stone to a distant goal. While the
danger of over-confidence is recognized, yet there is also an equal
peril in lack of confidence. A team which is frequently beaten may
easily develop an inferiority complex. A firm belief in its ability to
conquer is a valuable asset for any team, and to convince a team that
it possesses that ability it must be allowed to win an occasional game.
Another aspect also deserves consideration. A reputation for success
in athletics is a magnet which draws many students to a school, and
in this age of publicity such a reputation must be earned, not merely
claimed. While we of Alton may be satisfied to consider as successful
a football team which defeats Kenly Hall in November, irrespective of
how many games it has lost beforehand, others will judge that team by
its season’s record, and if that record includes several defeats by
minor adversaries our satisfaction will not prevent those others from
considering our Football Team a failure. And the Doubleay believes with
them that such a team is a failure, for there is no gainsaying that the
victor’s laurels must go to the team which wins often and decisively,
and not to the team which merely conquers once. All of which is
respectfully submitted for the consideration of those in authority.”
“That ought to hold Johnny awhile,” chuckled Chick after a perusal of
the editorial. “And Homer’s dead right about it, too.”
“Homer Johnson?” asked Bert. “Think he wrote it?”
“Of course he did. It sounds just like him. Homer waves a wicked quill!”
“Well,” said Bert slowly, “I’m not so sure that Johnny deserves that
lecture. Being a football coach can’t be exactly a bed of roses, Chick,
and it seems to me the least the School can do is refrain from butting
in and making his job harder than it is. They say Johnny’s going to
quit this fall, anyway, and you know blame well he isn’t going to pass
up any chances to make his last season a successful one. He will bring
off a win over Kenly if it’s humanly possible.”
“And that’s just the point,” replied Chick, slapping the paper for
emphasis. “He’s working for a win over Kenly and letting us get licked
all along the line! That’s what Homer’s kicking about; and what we’re
all kicking about. A Kenly victory is big stuff, and all that, and we
sure want it, but, hang it, Bert, we don’t want to be licked by every
two-bit school we take on. And high schools, too!”
“You mustn’t speak so disrespectfully of high schools, Charles. There
are plenty of them that could lick us to a standstill. Besides, you
exaggerate. Only one high school has beaten us so far.”
“Well, Southport isn’t much better,” grunted Chick. “And we play New
Falmouth High day after to-morrow, and there’s no knowing what Johnny
Cade has doped up for us!”
“I guess we won’t have much trouble with her.”
“We won’t if we’re allowed to trim her,” said Chick. “But if Johnny
tries another of his funny tricks, like starting with the subs, there’s
no telling. The first year I was here New Falmouth came mighty near
beating us. I forget the score, but I think it was 7 to 6. We kicked a
goal after touchdown and she didn’t.”
“I wish Johnny would let me in Saturday,” sighed Bert.
“Maybe he will. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left the first-string at
home and just took the subs along!”
“You seem to have it in for Johnny rather hard, Chick.”
“Oh, well, he made me mad last week. Yanked me out just when I was
learning how to handle that big Banning tackle. Johnny is all right
when he doesn’t get foolish. As for his quitting this fall, I don’t
believe there’s anything in that, Bert. Why would he? He gets a mighty
good salary here and I don’t believe any other school is after him.”
“As I understand it,” responded Bert, “he’s going to give up coaching.
He has a law practice somewhere, I think, and he wants to get busy with
it. I suppose football coaching doesn’t lead to anything. How much
salary does he draw, Chick?”
“Five, or so I’ve heard. I guess no one knows but he and the Faculty.”
“Five thousand! Great Peter! Why, that’s real money!”
“I’ll say so; for only three months in the year! Still, I guess it
keeps a fellow from doing much of anything else. Take a law business.
What good’s a lawyer if he isn’t around when you want him, eh? Of
course, if a coach gets big money, like some of them, they don’t have
to worry about any other business, I suppose. Some of the college
coaches draw down ten thousand.”
“Gosh!” breathed Bert. “Guess I’ll be a football coach when I get
through eddicatin’ myself.”
“You’ll have to learn to play first,” chuckled the other.
“I suppose so, but I don’t see how I’m to do that if Johnny doesn’t use
me once in a while. I’m not so certain that I wouldn’t rather be on the
Scrub, Chick. You do get to play there, even if it’s only against you
dubs!”
“You’ll get your chance all right,” Chick answered. “Next year will be
your big year, old scout. Just hold your horses and do the best you
know how. You oughtn’t to kick, anyhow, Bert. You’ve made the Team and
won your letter already, and that’s more than some fellows do before
their senior year.”
“I know, but what’s it get me? I’ll trade that old letter any time for
a half-hour in a real game! I’m getting sort of tired of adorning that
unsympathetic bench and only getting into a scrimmage when every one
else has been used up.”
“‘He also serves,’ quoted Chick, ‘who only--’”
“Serve be blowed,” interrupted Bert shortly. “I want to play football!
Sitting and waiting isn’t so good. I’d like a little fun and a little
glory, Chick.”
“You’d have had it if I’d been elected,” said Chick.
“Whether I deserved it or not, eh?” laughed the other.
“That’s all right,” answered Chick, with dignity. “I’d have looked
after you. Where’s my French Comp?”
“You’ve got your elbow on it, unless my eyes deceive me. Speaking of
that obnoxious language, Chick, have you heard the new one Tommy Parish
got off the other day?”
“What’s that little fat shrimp kicking about now?” asked Chick,
opening his book under the light.
“Oh, this was just some of his French that he’s always springing. He
was over at practice; Monday, I guess; and when Pete Ness made that
nice run Tommy gets up and yells ‘_Garcon, allez vous en!_’”
“_Allez vous_-- What did he mean?”
“Well,” laughed Bert, “‘Attaboy’ was the way he translated it!”
“He’s a blamed fool,” growled Chick. “They ought to keep him away from
practice. He’s always making a nuisance of himself with his smart-aleck
stuff. Next time he razzes me I’ll climb into the stand and cuff his
ears!”
“Oh, he’s harmless,” said Bert. “Trying sometimes, I’ll admit, but a
distinct addition to the joy of nations. Shut up and let me work out
this plaguy problem.
“‘I like readin’ an’ jographee,
Writin’, too, but, hully gee,
Stuff they calls arithmatic
’S enough to make a feller sick!’”
“Wish you had this French to do,” moaned the other.
Presumably Mr. Cade saw that editorial in the school paper, but if he
did he didn’t allow it to affect his policy in the least. On Saturday
he began sprinkling his first and second substitutes through the team
soon after the third period started. The score was then 14 to 10 in
Alton’s favor, New Falmouth having proved rather better than expected.
To be sure, the latter’s first score came as the result of a fumble
by Ness, but the youth who had recovered the ball on the home team’s
forty-three yards deserved his touchdown, for he skillfully eluded
three of the enemy and fairly snatched himself from the grasp of Hop
Meecham, who had made a gallant chase and who tackled just short of
the five-yard line. New Falmouth added a point to that touchdown and
subsequently dropped a goal from Alton’s twenty-eight yards.
Alton’s own scores came as the result of a considerably better offense
than she had shown heretofore. The backs worked well together and
the line was charged hard and fast. Galvin shot through for Alton’s
first score some six minutes after the kick-off and Nip Storer ran the
visitor’s left wing for the second just before the half ended. Nip
also kicked both goals. A third score almost resulted when, in the
second quarter, the New Falmouth quarter fumbled a punt and Chick fell
on it near the fifteen-yard line. Two attacks at the line, however,
gained but four yards and Ted Ball’s heave to Chick grounded. On a
kick formation Nip Storer threw straight across center, but Joe Tate
was not in position and the ball went to the enemy. Alton impressed
the spectators as at least thirty per cent better than New Falmouth,
even if results didn’t prove it. There was still something lacking
in Alton’s attack; perhaps several things; but the power appeared
to be there. The left of the line was weak and New Falmouth romped
through Meecham and Dozier several times. The latter, at tackle, was a
comparatively easy problem for the opposing backs. The balance of the
line showed well on defense, Lum Patten, at center, being an especially
bright spot. Joe Tate and Chick Burton were both fast under punts and
were generally on hand when the ball was caught. Chick, however, still
showed uncertainty in the matter of tackling, and more than once an
enemy wriggled away and made yardage after Chick reached him.
Mr. Cade started his substitutes in almost with the kick-off of the
second half, and before the third period was well along only four
regulars remained in the line-up. There was, of course, a murmur of
disapproval from the stand, but the game was so evidently Alton’s for
the taking that censure was light. For a period of perhaps five minutes
New Falmouth caused uneasiness in the home camp, for she took the ball
on steady rushing from her own forty-yard line to Alton’s thirty-two
before she was halted. There Gus Thomas, playing left tackle, nailed
a New Falmouth back behind his line for a six-yard loss, and the
misfortune broke the enemy’s stride. An attempt at a forward heave went
bad, a wide run was smeared for no gain and when, on fourth down, a
courageous youth tried to lift the ball over the bar by the place-kick
route from the forty-six yards the attempt was foredoomed. The pigskin
fell many yards short and into Fitz Savell’s eager arms, and Fitz
dodged and wormed his way to his own twenty-two before he was downed.
That advance was New Falmouth’s final bolt, and never again did she
make a first down.
Alton scored a third touchdown after some twelve minutes of play, Couch
going through the enemy’s center from her six yards. Bus Lovell missed
the try-for-point. Again, in the last quarter, Fitz Savell brought
the crowd to its feet with a long run from mid-field that put the
pigskin on New Falmouth’s seven yards. Bert was in then, having just
taken Keys’ place at right half, and it was to Bert that Bus Lovell
shot the ball on the first down. The play was from balanced line and
Bert carried between the enemy right tackle and right end. As those
men were double teamed, and as Fitz went ahead as interference, Bert
shot through cleanly and kept his feet to the one yard. There he was
simultaneously tackled by the opposing full-back and quarter, but he
managed to get the ball over the line before he was borne back. Again
Bus failed to kick the goal.
The game ended some two minutes later, the score 26 to 10, and Bert
went off the field with the rest of the squad, after a somewhat
breathless cheer for the adversary, striving hard not to show the
elation he felt. Since that was the first touchdown he had ever scored
against an outside team, disguising his pleasure wasn’t easy. He
found himself grinning several times on the way to the gymnasium and
straightened his mouth hastily, hoping none of the others had seen.
Chick, again rather disgruntled because he hadn’t been allowed to play
more than slightly over two periods, smote Bert on the back as they
entered the building.
“Good stuff, old scout!” he declared. “That was a nice little scamper
of yours. You’re a credit to my training.”
Bert smiled in as off-handed a manner as he could manage. “No one could
have failed on that play,” he answered. “That hole was as wide as a
barn door, Chick. Gus Thomas and Bus put out the tackle, and Couch--”
“Save your breath. I saw the play. I didn’t say you worked a miracle,
did I? Just the same, you delivered the goods. And you got off so fast
you blame near overran your interference, too! If that tackle hadn’t
been playing too far in he could have smeared it easy. You want to
watch out for that, Bert. Keep behind your interference, even if it
slows you up. If you don’t you’ll mess the play.”
Later there was another word of commendation, this time from Mr. Cade.
And, as before, it contained a warning. “You got through very prettily,
Hollins, on that off-tackle play,” he said, “but you must be careful
another time to let your interference reach the line well ahead of
you. You were much too close on Savell. A good deal depends on timing
yourself right, Hollins.” Mr. Cade smiled and turned away and Bert went
on to the showers, not quite so pleased with himself.
“Some one,” he reflected as he squirmed under the spray, “is always
taking the joy out of life! Still, I guess he’s right. I did hustle
Savell a bit. Pshaw, there’s nothing to get high-hat about. It just
happened to be the right sort of a play for me. I’m too light to do
anything unless I have three or four other fellows helping me! I wish I
weighed thirty pounds more, gosh ding it! Besides, what made that play
easy was that New Falmouth expected Fitz would get the ball and were
watching him to hit the other side. Trouble with me is I have to have a
skirmish party go ahead of me and clean out the woods before I can get
through!”