THE END OF THE GAME
"A touchdown for the Morr team!"
"That's the way to do it!"
"Now make it a goal!"
The leather had been carried over the line after hard work. Without
delay it was placed in position for the kick and went sailing directly
between the two posts.
"That's the talk!"
"Now go and make another!"
There were still eighteen minutes in which to play. The goal made
Roger, Dave, and the others enthusiastic, and they "sailed in" as never
before. On the other hand, the loss of Babcock, Henshaw, and Jasniff
cast a gloom over Gus Plum's eleven and the bully could do little to
rally them.
"It was a mistake to fire Babcock and Henshaw," said one of the
tackles. "They were our best players."
"That's right," added the center rush.
"Do you mean to say they can play better than I and Nat?" demanded Gus
Plum.
"They can play just as well," grumbled the tackle.
"Rot! Come on ahead and wax 'em!"
But the call to "wax" Roger's team was of small avail. With Babcock
and Henshaw gone the Arrows could do little or nothing, and soon Dave
kicked a goal from the field. Then came another touchdown, another
goal from the field, and two more touchdowns. Each of the touchdowns
resulted in goal kicks. The Arrows were in despair and could do
absolutely nothing.
"Pile it on!" cried Roger, enthusiastically. "Pile it on, boys!" And
they did pile it on, until the whistle blew and the game was over.
Final score--Plum's eleven 12, Roger Morr's eleven 45!
It was a terrible defeat for the bully of Oak Hall and he could
scarcely wait for the game to come to an end. He fairly ran for the
gymnasium when it was over and did his best to keep out of sight for
the rest of the day and all day Sunday, and Nat Poole went with him.
The cheering for Roger and his eleven was great, and all the players
came in for their full share of glory. Dave had done some remarkably
clever work, for which his friends shook his hand and congratulated him.
"Well, you gave Gus Plum's crowd all that was coming to them," said one
of the students to Dave. "I don't think he'll ever organize another
football eleven in this academy."
What this student said was practically true. During the following
week the Arrows held several stormy sessions and the upshot was that
the eleven disbanded. Nearly all the players were angry because Gus
Plum had put Henshaw and Babcock out of the game, for to this they
attributed their defeat. It leaked out that Plum had wanted the two
players to play some rough trick on Roger's eleven, and both Babcock
and Henshaw had declined, stating that it was against the rules and
unsportsmanlike. This had angered the bully, and hence the quarrel and
separation.
"I want to play fairly and squarely or not at all," said Babcock, and
Henshaw said practically the same thing. Gus Plum denied the report,
but nobody believed him.
During the following week Dave was taking a walk along the river bank
when he heard loud talking close at hand. Looking through the bushes he
saw Sam Day and Nick Jasniff.
"You had no business to jump on me as you did at the game," Sam was
saying. "It was outrageous."
"Oh, stop your yowling," grumbled Jasniff. "It wasn't done on purpose."
"It was done on purpose, Nick Jasniff, and I think you were a brute to
do it."
Sam had scarcely uttered the latter words when Nick Jasniff, who
carried a heavy stick in his hand, leaped forward and struck out. The
stick landed on Sam's head and he went down in a heap.
"Don't!" he groaned. "Don't hit me again!"
"Won't I, though!" cried Nick Jasniff, in a passion. "I'd like to know
what's to hinder me?" And he raised the stick again.
"Stop, Jasniff!" came from Dave, and leaping through the bushes he came
up behind the student and caught the stick in his hand. "What do you
mean by attacking Sam in this fashion?"
"Let go of that stick!" ejaculated Jasniff, and tried to pull it away.
Then a tussle ensued which came to an end as Dave twisted the stick
from the other youth's grasp and flung it into the river.
"What do you mean by throwing my cane away?" cried Jasniff.
"I want you to leave Sam alone."
"I've a good mind to give you a drubbing."
"Better not try it, Jasniff," answered Dave, as calmly as he could. He
stood on guard against any treachery.
"Think you're the king of the school, don't you?"
"No, but I am always ready to stand up for a friend."
By this time Sam was staggering to his feet. He rushed at Nick Jasniff
and sent him backward into the bushes.
"You will hit me with your stick!" he exclaimed. "Thank you, Dave, for
what you did, but I can take my own part." And he stood over Jasniff
with clenched fists.
"Two to one, eh?" sneered Jasniff, as he got up slowly. "That's
fighting fair, ain't it?"
"It is fairer than hitting a fellow with a stick," retorted Sam. "But I
can fight you alone, if you want to fight."
"I'll not soil my hands on you further," grumbled Nick Jasniff, and
backing away, he walked off towards the school at a rapid pace.
"The coward!" murmured Sam, as he and Dave watched the departure.
"Do you know, Sam, I don't like that fellow at all," said Dave. "I've
said so before. He's a bad egg if ever there was one."
"I believe you. Cadfield told me that there was a report in the town
Jasniff came from that he had once set fire to a farmer's barn because
the farmer caught him stealing peaches, but the whole matter was hushed
up."
"He doesn't appear to be any too good to set fire to a barn. We'll have
to keep our eyes open for him after this."
"I certainly shall. I don't want to be struck down with a stick again,"
answered Sam.
With the brisk autumn winds blowing, kite-flying was in favor with many
of the students of Oak Hall and numerous were the big and little kites
that were sent up. Some were curiously painted, some were of the box
variety, while others were in the shape of eagles and other big birds.
Most of the kites were raised from a meadow near the river, and every
afternoon a crowd of students would go down to watch the sport.
Roger made for himself an immense eagle kite, while Phil tried his hand
at a plain affair, shaped like a diamond and eight feet high and five
feet across.
"That ought to be strong enough to pull a wagon," was Dave's comment,
as he surveyed Phil's creation. "You'll have to get a pretty strong
cord to hold it, otherwise it may drag you into the river--if the wind
happens to be blowing that way."
One afternoon a number of the boys brought out their flat kites and
started to see who could make his fly the highest. Among the crowd was
Nat Poole, who had a gorgeous affair painted yellow and red.
"Wait till you see this soar upward," he said, boastfully. "I'll bet it
will go up a hundred feet higher than any other."
Half a dozen kites were already in the air and soon more were raised.
Then Poole ran his new kite up. It arose a distance of a hundred feet
and then began to dart from side to side.
"You want more tail, Nat!" cried a friend.
"That kite isn't balanced right," said Ben.
"Oh, it's all right, only it isn't high enough," answered Nat Poole. He
was not one to take advice, and so he did his best to get the kite to
ascend without altering it.
Among those in the meadow at the time was Job Haskers. He was going on
a visit to some ladies who lived not far from the Hall and was taking
a short cut instead of journeying around by the regular road. He did
not care for sports of any kind and so paid small attention to what was
taking place. He was arrayed in his best, and on his head rested a new
high hat, the silk nap polished to the best degree.
Dave was aiding Phil to manage his big kite and so did not notice the
assistant teacher until Job Haskers passed close by.
"My! but he is dressed up!" Dave remarked to his chum.
"Must be going to see his best lady friend," was Phil's comment. "Oh,
look at Nat Poole's kite!" he added, suddenly.
Dave looked and saw the kite in question far up in the sky and swooping
wildly from side to side. Then the kite made a downward plunge,
skimming over the meadow like a wild bird.
"Look out, or somebody will get hit!" cried Dave, and fell down as the
kite passed within a foot of his head. Then the kite went up again,
only to take another plunge.
As this was occurring, Job Haskers was starting to leap over a small
brook that flowed across the meadow into the river. Another wild
plunge, and down came Poole's kite on the teacher's head, smashing the
silk hat flat and sending Job Haskers face first into the stream of
muddy water!
The score of boys who witnessed the mishap could not help but laugh,
and a roar went up. The teacher floundered around wildly and it was
several seconds before he could pull himself from the brook. His face
and the front of his clothing were covered with mud, and he was more
angry than words can describe.
"You--you----Who did that?" he spluttered, after ejecting some of the
dirty water from his mouth. "I demand to know who did it!" And he shook
his fist at the students.
"The kite did it," answered one boy, who stood behind some others.
"Whose kite was it?"
At this there was a silence, no one caring to tell upon Nat Poole, who
stood with the kite string still in his hand and his mouth wide open in
amazement and terror.
"I say, whose kite was it?" bawled the irate teacher, and then, as he
rubbed the water from his eyes, he caught sight of the kite and the
string. "Ha! so it was yours, Master Poole!"
"I--er--I didn't mean to do it," stammered Nat Poole. "The--the kite
came down all of a sudden."
"Infamous! Look at me! Look at my hat!" Job Haskers caught up the
battered tile. "This is an outrage!"
"Really, I didn't mean to do it, Mr. Haskers," pleaded Poole. He was
fairly shaking in his shoes. "The--the kite got the best of me!"
"A likely story! You boys are forever trying to play your tricks on me!
I know you! You'll pay for this silk hat!"
"Yes, sir, I'll do that," answered Nat, eagerly.
"And you'll pay for having this suit of clothes cleaned."
"Yes, sir."
"And you'll pay all other damages, too."
"Yes, sir."
"And you'll go to your classroom and stay there until supper time,"
went on Job Haskers, in high anger. "Stay there every day this week,
too. Do you hear?"
"Yes, sir, but----"
"I will not listen to a word, young man. Go,--go at once! If I had my
way I'd dismiss you from the school!" roared the assistant teacher.
And then and there he made Nat Poole take up his kite and march off to
the academy, there to stay in after school every day for a full week.
More than this, he brought in a bill for fifteen dollars' worth of
damage, to the silk hat and the suit of clothing, and this bill Aaron
Poole had to pay, even though the miserly money-lender did his best to
evade it.