THE SWORD FALLS!
Jim broke into the first team on Wednesday.
That night there was a celebration at Sunnywood. Jeffrey began it with
two bottles of ginger ale which he produced after study hour. They
drank Jim’s health in that enticing beverage and then Poke suggested
that some cake wouldn’t be half bad. So Hope was summoned and Mrs.
Hazard was appealed to and the party adjourned to the dining-room where
a spread worthy of the occasion was speedily forthcoming. Every one was
very merry save Jim. Jim was wondering when the sword would fall, for
he had flunked badly that morning in mathematics and had barely scraped
through in Latin. And that was why he protested when Poke had the merry
thought of inviting Mr. Hanks to the feast.
“Oh, no,” said Jim, “let him alone, Poke.”
“I think he ought to participate in our merry-making,” Poke persisted.
“You run up and invite him down, Hope.”
“Shall I?” asked Hope, her eyes dancing.
“No,” said Jim. But the others insisted and Hope hurried away on her
errand.
“Well, anyway, he won’t come,” predicted Jim. But he did. He didn’t
quite know what it was all about, but he and Hope were very good
friends by now and he came unquestioningly, smiling and blinking behind
his huge spectacles. It was explained to him that Jim had that day
attained to the utmost pinnacle of success by being taken onto the
Crofton Academy Football Team, and Mr. Hanks murmured “Dear, dear! I
want to know!” nibbled at a piece of cake and wondered how soon he
could in decency return to his interrupted labors upstairs. Finally
he did go back, shaking hands with Jim in an absent-minded way first,
with one of Mrs. Hazard’s serviettes dangling from his coat pocket. The
party proceeded quite as merrily without him, however. Poke rallied Jim
on his quietness.
“I fear the sudden honor is too much for you, Jim. You used to be
rather a merry youth. To-night you remind me of a graveyard gate post.
Why so sad?”
“I’m tired,” murmured Jim.
“Then, Jim dear,” said Mrs. Hazard, “I really think you had better not
eat any more cake. I’m sure that must be your fifth slice. And you ate
a great big supper.”
“You don’t mean to say you’ve been counting the slices!” ejaculated
Poke. “Why, that’s not like you, Lady.”
“She couldn’t count all you’ve eaten,” declared Hope. “You’re a――a
gridjon!”
“A what-on?” asked Poke anxiously.
“A gridjon. A gridjon is a person who eats too much.”
“Webster or Hazard?” laughed Jeffrey.
“It’s a perfectly good word of my own,” replied Hope with dignity.
But although Jim tumbled into bed in short time he didn’t go right to
sleep. Instead he lay awake for quite a while wondering how long, if
he didn’t make a much better showing in class, faculty would allow him
to enjoy his new honors. And when sleep did come to him finally it was
because he had comforted his conscience with the firm resolve to buckle
down to-morrow and study as never before.
But, alas, how many of our good resolutions survive the night? The next
day was filled with new experiences for Jim, and much hard, gruelling
work on the field, and a blackboard lecture in dining hall after
dinner. And so, when study time came, he was tired and nervous and his
thoughts absolutely refused to concern themselves with studies. And the
following day Mr. Groff, the mathematics instructor, lectured him in
front of the whole class, which didn’t improve Jim’s state of mind a
bit, and Mr. Hanks viewed him sadly but forebore to reprimand him. In
his other studies he was doing fairly well as yet.
There was no practice on Friday and Jim locked himself up in his room,
in spite of the fact that Johnny had instructed them to stay out of
doors and take mild exercise, and heroically studied. But the faculty
of assimilation seemed to have deserted him of late and it was the
hardest sort of work to make anything stick in his memory for more than
a minute. But he kept at it until supper time and then emerged tired
and fagged.
In the Merton contest the next day, the last before the “big game,”
Crofton showed flashes of first-rate football. Although he didn’t say
so, Johnny was well satisfied, for he knew that, barring accidents, his
team would play at least twenty per cent. better a week from that day.
Crofton was still coming, and a team that is coming is better than
one that has reached the zenith of its development. Merton went down
in defeat, 17 to 8, after a hard-fought battle. Best of all, Crofton
emerged from the fray with scarcely a scratch, at all events with no
real injuries to any of her players. Jim played well in that game. For
four twelve-minute periods he forgot all about Latin and mathematics
and thought and lived football. And Johnny, who hadn’t liked the
haggard look in Jim’s eyes, concluded that his fears were groundless,
and confided to Captain Sargent after the game that “That fellow Hazard
is the best find of the season.”
And then, on Monday, the sword fell!
He was summoned to the office at noon. What Mr. Gordon said and what
excuses Jim offered are of small consequences. We are interested in
results. The result in this case was that Jim emerged from Academy Hall
feeling that life was indeed a very tragic thing. That afternoon Parker
played at left guard on the eleven and all the school knew that Hazard
was “in wrong with the Office.”
Johnny was a philosopher. Such things had happened to him before. He
wasted no breath in regrets nor recriminations. He picked the next
best man for Jim’s place and went ahead. Perhaps he was a little
grimmer in the face that afternoon and a little more silent, but that
was all. Duncan Sargent, his nerves already jangling as a captain’s
nerves are likely to jangle when the last week of the season arrives,
was in despair.
“First it’s Gary,” he groaned, “and then it’s Marshall and now it’s
Hazard. Well, I’d like to know what’s going to happen next! We might as
well hand the game to Hawthorne and save the trouble of playing!”
Poke, to whom these remarks were addressed just before the beginning of
practice, was as gloomy as his captain. He had known nothing of Jim’s
misfortune until a few minutes before, for Jim had not shown up at
dinner hour and Poke had not glimpsed him since morning.
“Gee,” he muttered, “it’s all a surprise to me. I never suspected that
Jim wasn’t getting on all right in class. You don’t suppose J. G. will
let him back in a day or two?”
“I don’t know,” answered Sargent despondently. “What if he does? A
fellow can’t drop training for two or three days on the eve of the big
game and then play decently.”
“Jim could,” said Poke thoughtfully. “I wonder where the chump is. I
suppose he isn’t here, eh?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Sargent shrugged his broad shoulders. “What’s
more, I don’t want to. If a fellow doesn’t think enough of the success
of his school to study a few silly lessons we’re better without him.”
“Oh, be good,” Poke chided. “It was only two years ago that you were
off for a whole week for the same reason, Dun.”
“And I learned my lesson,” said the other gloomily.
“Well, I suppose Jim Hazard’s learning his,” replied Poke. “Only I wish
he’d chosen some other time. How’s Parker going to fit?”
Sargent kicked viciously at a football that had rolled up to them.
“Rotten!” he said.
Practice went badly that day, just as it’s likely to on the Monday
after a hard game, and there was a general air of discouragement about
coach and players alike. The second team, grumbling over the loss of
another lineman, smashed vengefully at their opponents and tied the
score in the second half of the scrimmage. And so it stayed and the
second credited themselves with what was virtually a victory. Gil,
Poke and Jeffrey walked home together after practice and talked over
Jim’s predicament.
“Success,” said Gil, “was too much for him.”
“That’s not fair,” remonstrated Poke. “Jim got onto the team late and
has had to learn a whole lot in a short time. Hang it, Gil, I haven’t
been doing any too well at studies, myself, and I’ve been playing
football long enough to know the ropes. I don’t wonder that Jim fell
behind. The question now is can he catch up and square himself with the
Office before Saturday?”
“Is it all studies or one or two?” asked Jeffrey.
Poke shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Why didn’t he say something
to some of us? I noticed that he seemed rather down in the mouth, but I
didn’t suspect this. I thought he was just worried for fear he wouldn’t
make good at playing.”
“Who do you suppose started the trouble?” asked Gil. “Who do you and
Jim have, Jeff?”
“Hanks in Latin and history, Groff in math, Arroway in English,
Lewellyn in French and Thurston in physics.”
“Well, it might be ‘Gruff,’” said Gil, “or it might be ‘Boots.’
(‘Boots’ was the popular name for Mr. Thurston.) It isn’t likely that
Hanks had anything to do with it; nor Lewellyn. As for English, why, no
fellow has trouble in that course.”
“I’m not so sure about Nancy, though,” said Jeffrey. “Ever since we
turned him into a tyrant he’s been pretty fussy about us having our
lessons. But I think it was probably Groff that started the trouble. He
gave Jim a calling-down in class last week.”
“Gruff always was a tartar,” grumbled Poke. “I never knew a mathematics
instructor who wasn’t.”
“Well, the question is,” observed Gil, “is there anything we can do
to pull Jim out of his hole? There’s five days yet before the game.
Something might be done.”
“I don’t believe Johnny would let him play after being laid off,” said
Poke gloomily. “Dun’s got a grouch against him, too.”
“Well, the first thing to do is to find him,” said Jeffrey. “I haven’t
seen him since physics.”
“I suppose he’s feeling so mean he’s hiding out somewhere,” Poke
suggested. “I don’t blame him for being cut up about it.”
Jim, however, wasn’t very far off when the trio entered the gate. He
was sitting at the table in his room with his books spread before him
looking disconsolately out of the window. “No more athletics, Hazard,
until your marks are considerably better in all studies, Latin and
mathematics especially,” had been Mr. Gordon’s ultimatum. Jim had
spent the dinner hour sitting on a spile near the bridge, gazing into
the water and wondering on the lack of gratitude displayed by Mr.
Hanks. For Mr. Gordon had distinctly said that it had been the Latin
instructor who had made complaint. Jim was through with the team and
wouldn’t have shown up at training table for anything. Nor did he want
to go home and face his chums at Sunnywood just then. Besides, he was
much too disappointed and miserable to want anything to eat. Of course,
he had reflected, it was all his own fault, but that knowledge didn’t
seem to make the situation any easier. He found a little satisfaction
in calling Mr. Hanks names. It seemed to him that after the way they
had come to Nancy’s assistance with advice the least he could have done
was to have been a little more lenient with Jim Hazard. He wished he
had never gone in for football; wished he had never come to Crofton.
Then the bell rang and he dragged himself back along the river to
Academy Hall and a French recitation. After that there had been
physics, and then, when most of the fellows were setting their faces
toward the field, he had hurried home and shut himself in his room. His
mother had sought entrance and he had put her off with the plea that he
was busy studying, but as a matter of fact there had been very little
studying done that afternoon. His thoughts simply refused to stay on
his books. It was almost dark now in the room, and through the window
the western sky was paling from orange to gray. He heard the gate click
and then came the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Some one knocked
imperatively at his door.
“Hello?” he growled.
“We want to come in, Jim.” It was Poke’s voice. And the tone told Jim
that Poke had heard.
“I’m working,” replied Jim, more gruffly.
“It’s time to quit. Open up, like a good fellow.”
“Too busy,” replied Jim. There was a whispered conference beyond the
door and then footsteps died out along the hall. Jim felt more lonely
than ever then and wished he had let them in. But pride kept him there
behind the locked door until the supper bell rang, and then until Hope
came up to find why he wasn’t down. Hope had to beg her hardest before
she was admitted. Then Jim said he wasn’t hungry and wanted no supper.
All he wanted was to be let alone. So Hope went out quietly, closing
the door after her, and, being a rather wise young lady, prepared a
tray. After she had taken her departure for the second time Jim sat and
looked at the tray for a long time; to be exact, just as long as his
courage lasted. Then he gave in and ate everything in sight. After that
life didn’t look quite so dark, and when, presently, Poke came knocking
at the door again, Jim bade him enter.
They talked it all over then, Gil and Jeffrey sort of happening in, and
Poke was highly incensed at Mr. Hanks’ conduct.
“After what we did to help him!” he said disgustedly.
“He has only followed the advice we gave him,” observed Gil dryly.
“What goes for one goes for all, Poke.”
“He hasn’t a grain of――of gratitude,” spluttered Poke. “And what’s
more, I’d like to tell him so, too.”
“If you talk so loud you won’t have to,” said Jeffrey. “He will hear
you now.”
“Let him! He’s the limit!”
“Stop calling names and let’s see what’s to be done,” Gil counseled.
“Think you can catch up by Friday, Jim?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t seem to get down to studying. I’ve been
trying to all the afternoon.”
“Well, I can’t promise that Johnny will take you on again even if you
get square with the Office,” said Gil, “but seems to me it’s worth
trying. You get your books and go over to Jeff’s room. After awhile
we’ll go over to-morrow’s stuff with you. Maybe between us we can coach
you up, Jim. I’m not much of a Latin student myself, but Poke gets on
pretty well in that; so does Jeff. As for math, why, I’ll do what I can
for you there. What do you say?”
Jim thought a moment. He was still inclined to feel hurt and imposed
on. But the offer was too good to be refused, and so,
“All right,” he muttered. “I’ll try it.”
[Illustration: Hope, being a rather wise young lady, prepared a tray.]
Jim’s showing in class the next day was not much better, but on
Wednesday there was a marked improvement. Every night Gil, Poke and
Jeffrey took him in hand and put him through his paces in mathematics
and Latin. Jim was not stupid, and now that he had more time and
constant encouragement he went ahead in good shape. If Mr. Hanks
suspected the sudden coolness exhibited toward him by Jim and Poke he
made no sign. Personally I don’t believe that he gave it a thought.
He had done what his duty required of him in Jim’s case and that was
all. That his action had cost Jim his position on the football team and
deprived the team of a good player he did not know. He went his way
serenely unconscious of the trouble he had caused.
Meanwhile the team worked like Trojans every afternoon, the football
enthusiasm and excitement grew to fever heat and Thursday dawned.
Thursday was the last day of practice. The whole school marched to
the field at four o’clock, cheering and singing. Even Jim allowed the
others to persuade him to attend the final practice, and he and the
rest of the Sunnywood, saving Mrs. Hazard, who had lost her interest in
football, now that Jim no longer played, followed the procession, Hope
wildly enthusiastic and attracting many admiring glances on the way.
There was nothing spectacular about practice that afternoon. After the
preliminary work the rest of the time was spent in a hard signal drill
and one fifteen-minute period of scrimmaging, the latter being halted
for minutes at a time while one or other of the coaches, who had grown
quite numerous by now, criticized and lectured, begged and threatened.
Around the field, outside the ropes which were already in place for
Saturday’s game, all Crofton cheered and sang. Then the final whistle
sounded, the second team gathered together and cheered the first,
the first tiredly returned the compliment and players, coaches and
onlookers trailed back to the gymnasium.
Poke, a faded blanket hanging about him, found Jim on the way out.
“I spoke to Sargent about you, Jim,” he panted, “and he says if you
can get square with the Office by Saturday he’s willing to give you
a chance in the game if he can. That is, of course, if Johnny says
so. I haven’t talked with him yet, but I will. Of course, Jim, you
won’t get in at the beginning. You see, Parker’s doing pretty well and
it wouldn’t be fair to throw him out at the last moment, would it?
Besides, you might be a bit stale, you know.”
Jim nodded gloomily. “I know. Much obliged to you, Poke, but I guess
it’s no use. I don’t even know that J. G. will give me leave to play
yet. I’m pretty square with Groff, but Nancy doesn’t love me much, I
guess. Don’t bother about speaking to Johnny. It’s all right.”
“Oh, I’ll see Johnny,” responded Poke heartily. “You do the best you
can and go and have a talk with J. G. to-morrow. Why, supposing you
don’t get in for the whole game, Jim, even a couple of periods is
better than nothing at all. And you’ll get your C if you only play two
minutes. Buck up and never say die, old chap!”
Jim nodded again and Poke, clapping him on the shoulder, hurried into
the gymnasium. They were cheering again now, cheering each member of
the team in turn, from Sargent down to the latest member, Parker. There
was no cheer for Hazard, though. Jim had got parted from Hope and
Jeffrey, and presently he edged his way out of the gathering and strode
home alone and forlorn through the twilight.