POKE USES TACT
Jim kept his promise; in fact, he was given no choice in the matter,
for Poke was waiting for him on the steps of Academy Hall when he
emerged from his algebra recitation the next afternoon. Jeffrey had
agreed to accompany them to the field, but as he didn’t show up they
started along without him. It was Jim’s first visit to the field,
although he had often viewed it from afar. Their way took them past
the front of Memorial Hall, a small building of Grecian architecture
presented to the school by graduates in honor of four Croftonians who
had lost their lives in the war with Spain. Crofton was proud of those
men and the bronze tablet beside the doorway was one of the first
objects exhibited to visitors. The building held the dining-hall and
kitchen, and if some humorists alluded to it as Prunorial Hall no
disrespect was intended.
The river, a few rods away, was alive with craft this afternoon, for
this early October day was warm and still, with just enough hint of
autumn in the air to make the blood course quickly and put the joy of
adventure in the heart. Half way between Memorial and the gymnasium the
two boys turned at the sound of a hail from the river. In a canoe sat
Jeffrey and Gil, the latter snuggled comfortably in the bow and the
former dexterously dipping the paddle in the stern. Gil waved his hand
nonchalantly.
“Where are you going?” cried Poke enviously. “Do you know what time it
is?”
“I am the Queen of Sheba,” replied Gil, “and this is my royal barge. We
are on the way to the gym.”
“Well, of all the lazy Its!” exclaimed Poke. “Say, Senator, take me
back after practice?”
Gil howled derisively. “Get out! I’ve engaged Jeff for the rest of the
day. Proceed, slave!”
Jeffrey, smiling broadly, dipped his paddle again and the canoe went on
along the stream to the swimming float. The others walked down to meet
them.
“We’ve had a dandy ride,” said Gil as he stretched the kinks out of
his legs. “Jeff took me all the way up to Birch Island and back. He’s
a fine little canoedler.” Jeff, once more with his crutches under his
arms, fell in beside Jim.
“I think I’ll get a canoe of my own,” he said. “They say there’s a
fellow up the river a couple of miles who makes dandy ones. And I’m
sort of daffy about being on the water.”
“Is it hard to learn to paddle one of those things?” Jim asked. “I
tried it once and the silly thing just went around in a circle and made
me dizzy.”
“It’s the easiest thing there is,” laughed Jeffrey. “You come out with
me some day and I’ll show you the trick in a minute.”
Gil and Poke disappeared in the gym to don their football clothes and
the others sauntered slowly toward the field. Already the big expanse
of yellowing turf was scattered with players. Beyond the gridiron with
its new white lines a baseball game had begun. Nearer at hand the
tennis courts were all occupied. And on the grand-stand and along the
sides of the field on the warm grass fellows less inclined to bodily
exertion sat or sprawled in groups and waited to be entertained. Half
a dozen pigskins were arching back and forth across the gridiron or
bounding erratically into the spectators. Jim and Jeff found a place
near the twenty-five-yard line and settled themselves, Jeff laying his
crutches down with a sigh of relief.
“This is fine,” he murmured as he lay back with his hands beneath his
head and blinked at the sunlight. “I read somewhere once, Jim, that
every one has the――the characteristics of some animal. I guess I’m like
a cat, I’m so fond of sunlight and warmth. I could almost purr this
minute.”
“Go ahead,” Jim laughed. “I don’t mind as long as you don’t scratch.
There comes What’s-his-name, the coach.”
“Connell,” murmured Jeffrey. “They say he’s a dandy.”
“He isn’t very big,” replied Jim doubtfully. “He doesn’t look much
taller than I. Guess he’s the sort to make you stand around, though;
don’t believe he’d take much nonsense. There’s Gil and Duncan Sargent.
And there’s that chap Gary, the fellow who wanted your room. He’s
pretty hefty, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Jeffrey rolled over and observed the scene, supported on one
elbow. “I heard a fellow say Gary had a grouch against Connell and
isn’t half playing.”
“Johnny” shouted to the candidates and they came from all quarters of
the field and flocked about him. There seemed to be some fifty or sixty
of them altogether.
“A lot of show I’d have,” said Jim, “in that bunch. Some of those chaps
must be nineteen years old.”
“I dare say,” Jeffrey replied. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean much.
You are going to try, aren’t you?”
Jim shrugged his shoulders. “I’d sort of like to,” he acknowledged,
“but I’d just make a show of myself, I guess.”
The coach had finished his instructions and now the candidates were
forming in groups about the field. For the beginners football was still
drudgery; passing, falling on the ball, starting and tackling. But the
veterans were learning signals and getting ready for the first game
now only three days distant. The first and second squads were soon
scampering up and down the field in short rushes under the directions
of shrill-voiced quarter-backs. In Squad A a substitute had Duncan
Sargent’s place at left guard and the captain, draped in a faded red
blanket that trailed behind him and tried to trip him up in moments of
excitement, followed the play. Now and then Jim could hear him calling
a halt and laying down the law.
“Hold on! Let’s try that again. And don’t go to sleep, Smith, this
time. They’d have got you about three yards behind your line then. Take
your time from quarter. This is a delayed pass, but not a misplaced
one. And now try again. Same signals, Arnold.”
On this first squad Gil was at left end, Poke at right half-back and
Gary at right guard. To Jim’s surprise the fellows were not very
heavy in weight, while as to age the squad would have averaged about
seventeen. The quarter, Harry Arnold, was a mere youngster, and with
the exception of Captain Sargent himself there was no member over
eighteen. LaGrange, a big good-natured youth who played center, was but
sixteen, in spite of his size.
Jim and Jeffrey looked on with interest. Jeffrey, who had made other
trips to the field, knew many of the more prominent players by name
and pointed them out to his companion. At the end of half an hour the
signal work ceased, the linemen were taken to the upper end of the
field for special instruction and the backs and ends were put to work
getting down under kicks. As it happened Poke took up his position at
a little distance from Jim and Jeffrey, and, turning to run back for a
long catch, caught sight of them.
“Hello!” he shouted. “Seen Sargent, Jim?”
Jim shook his head. Poke curled the ball against his arm and hurled it
back across the field.
“Well, he’s looking for you. I told him you wanted to come out for the
team. Told him you were a wonderful footballist, Jim, and he’s hot on
your trail.”
“You told him that?” cried Jim in dismay. “Why, you――you――”
“Say it,” said Poke, keeping a watchful eye across the field at where
a substitute center was poising the ball between his legs. Jim grinned
ruefully and threw a pebble at him.
“But you didn’t tell him any such yarn as that, did you, Poke?” he
asked.
“I told him you were thinking of coming out, Jim, and that you’d played
the game some. Said you looked good to me. When he asks you just keep
your mouth shut tight and it will be all right.”
With that Poke sprinted for the arching pigskin, caught it deftly
without slackening his speed and dodged the opposing end.
“Do you suppose he did tell Sargent all that?” Jim said.
“I dare say,” replied Jeffrey with a smile. “Poke is likely to say most
anything he thinks of. I guess you’ll soon know, though, for there’s
Sargent now.”
The captain, having discarded his blanket, was striding across the
field toward Poke. They exchanged a few words and Poke nodded his head
toward Jim and Jeffrey. In a moment Duncan Sargent had reached them.
“How are you, Hazard?” he began. “Endicott tells me you’ve decided to
help us out, and I’m mighty glad to hear it. We really want fellows who
know something about the game and are willing to buckle down to it.
Wish you might have come out to-day. To-morrow sure, though, eh?”
Jim, who had climbed to his feet, looked somewhat embarrassed.
“Why――er――I only told Endicott that I might like to try――”
“Of course! That’s the spirit! You’ve played a good bit, haven’t you?”
“No, not much,” answered Jim modestly. “I really don’t――”
“In the line, I suppose?”
“Well, yes, when I played, but I never――”
“Fine! We need linemen, Hazard. You report to me to-morrow and I’ll put
you to work. There’s going to be a cut in a day or two and then we’ll
have some of these dubs out of the way. Don’t forget! Three-thirty!”
And away hurried Sargent, leaving Jim flushed and uncomfortable and
Jeffrey visibly amused.
“Now what shall I do?” asked Jim ruefully. “He evidently thinks I’m a
regular Hogan of a lineman. I wonder what Poke _did_ tell him! Why,
hang it, Jeff, I don’t even know this year’s rules!”
“Oh, they aren’t much different from last year,” replied Jeffrey
consolingly.
“Yes, they are; they’re different every season. Every time any one
thinks of a new wrinkle he writes to the Rules Committee about it and
they stick it in. Well, you won’t see me around here to-morrow! It’s me
for the tall timber!”
“Oh, shucks, Jim, see it through. You can tell Sargent you aren’t a
star――”
“Tell him! Why, didn’t I try to tell him?” exclaimed Jim irritably. “He
wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise.”
“He was afraid you would try to beg off,” laughed Jeffrey.
“He didn’t give me a chance,” replied Jim ruefully. “Guess I’ll just
have to hike out to the woods or he will get me sure.”
“I don’t think I’d do that. See it through. You’ll like it after you
get started. Why, the first game’s on Saturday. Maybe Sargent will put
you in in his place, Jim!”
“Dry up. They’re going to scrimmage. Let’s get nearer the middle of the
field.”
The scrimmage wasn’t very encouraging that day. There was a good deal
more fumbling than there should have been and it was plain to be seen
that neither first nor second team had thoroughly learned its signals.
When it was over Jim and Jeff cut across the field and took the road
back to Sunnywood.
“I wonder,” mused Jim as they passed the little white house where Plato
Society held its meetings, “if being on the football team would help a
fellow to make a society.”
“Well,” answered Jeffrey, “I suppose a fellow who is well known and
has done something for the school like playing football or baseball or
rowing in the boat naturally stands a better show than some chap who is
unknown.”
He shot a glance at Jim’s thoughtful face and smiled to himself. A
hundred yards further on Jim spoke again.
“I wonder,” he said, “if Gil or Poke has a book of rules.”
When Poke came back he sought Jim and found him in the cellar swinging
the ax.
“Hello,” he said, “what are you doing?”
“Kindlings,” replied Jim as he dodged a piece of wood. Then he buried
the ax in the block and faced Poke.
“Look here,” he demanded, “what did you tell Duncan Sargent about me?”
Poke laughed. “Why?” he asked.
“Because he evidently thinks I’m a football player and he wouldn’t give
me a chance to say anything at all; just rattled on and on and fixed it
all up that I’m to report for practice to-morrow.”
“Did he? Well, I told you you’d be a gone coon if you once got out on
the field.”
[Illustration: “Look here,” he demanded, “what did you tell Duncan
Sargent about me?”]
“What did you tell him?” Jim insisted sternly.
“Oh, just that you’d played the game and that I had an idea you’d be
a big addition to the team. It wasn’t what I really said so much as
the――the impression I managed to convey, Jim. One thing I rather dwelt
on,” he continued with a chuckle, “was that you were terribly modest
and that you were almost certain to refuse to come out for the team if
he gave you a chance.”
“I see. Well”――Jim shrugged his shoulders――“he will be considerably
surprised to-morrow.”
“Pshaw, that will be all right. You’ll pick it up quick enough, and
before the season’s over you’ll be thanking me on your knees for
my――er――diplomacy.”
“Your fibs, you mean! Look here, Poke, I don’t even know what the rules
are this year.”
“No more does any one――except Johnny; and I sometimes think he’s just
bluffing. You come up to the room after supper and Gil and I will
tell you all you need to know. Between us I dare say we’ve got a fair
inkling of the rules.”
“All right,” Jim agreed. “But I’m going to see Sargent to-morrow before
practice and tell him the facts. I’m not going to start out under false
colors.”
“Hm.” Poke considered that a moment. “Oh, all right. The main thing is
to come out. Got any togs?”
“Yes, some old ones. I guess they’ll do. Guess they’ll have to. I can’t
afford to buy new ones.”
“Good stuff! Get ’em out and we’ll look ’em over. Here, I’ll take that
up for you. You bring the coal. You know we all agreed to help out with
the chores if you went in for the team.”