But did any one ever read such a string of "hows"? Why, that sentence
was getting to be longer and more complicated than the game it was
pretending not to describe; so here's an end on't, with the plain
statement that the game (like that sentence) came finally to an end.
But the effects of the contest did not end with the dying out of the
cheers with which the victory of the scrub was greeted. And Tug's
elevation did not cease when he had been caught up on the shoulders of
the crowd and carried all over the field, amid the wild cheers of the
whole Academy. No more did Captain Clayton's chagrin end with
his awakening from the stupor into which he had been sent by the
surprisingly good form of the scrub.
Clayton felt bitter enough at the exposure of his bad captaincy, but
a still greater bitterness awaited him, and a still greater triumph
awaited Tug, for the Athletic Association put their heads together
and decided to have their little say. The result was published in
the Kingston weekly, and Tug, after the overwhelming honor of being
interviewed by a live reporter, read there the following screaming
head-lines:
SCRUB WIPES THE EARTH
WITH VARSITY!
* * * * *
Kingston Football Team Meets with a
Crushing Defeat at the Hands of
the Second Eleven.
* * * * *
SCORE, 28 to 4.
* * * * *
VARSITY OUTPLAYED AT
EVERY POINT.
* * * * *
Popular Opinion Forces Captain Clayton
to Resign in Favor of
"Tug" Robinson.
* * * * *
KINGSTON TEAM TO BE
COMPLETELY REORGANIZED.
* * * * *
Mr. Robinson Declares that Favoritism
will Have no Part in the Make-up of
the New Team, and Magnanimously
Offers Ex-Captain
Clayton a Position on
the New Eleven.
There is no need telling here the wild emotions in the hearts of
Clayton and his faction at the end of the game, and no need of even
hinting the wilder delight of the Lakerimmers at the vindication of
their cause. The whole eleven of them strolled home in one grand
embrace, and used their jaws more for talking than for eating when
they reached the long-delayed meal at the "Slaughter-house"; and
after supper they met again at the fence, and sang Lakerim songs of
rejoicing, and told and retold to each other the different features of
the game, which they all knew without the telling. So much praise was
heaped upon Tug by the rest of the Academy, and he was so fêted by the
Lakerimmers, that he finally slipped away and went to his room. And
little History also bade them good night, on his old excuse of having
to study.
It was very dark before the Lakerimmers had talked themselves tired.
Then they voted to go around and congratulate Tug once more upon his
victory, and give him three cheers for the sake of auld lang syne.
When they went to his room, they were amazed to see the door swinging
open and shut in the breeze; they noted that the lock was torn off.
They hurried in, and found one of the windows broken, and books and
chairs scattered about in confusion; the mantel and cloth and the
photographs on it were all awry. It was evident that a fierce struggle
had taken place in the room. The nine Lakerimmers stood aghast,
staring at each other in stupefaction. Reddy was the first to find
tongue, and he cried out:
"I know what's up, fellows: that blamed gang of hazers has got him!"
Now there was an excitement indeed. Punk suggested that perhaps he
might be in History's room, and Bobbles scaled the three flights,
three steps at a time, only to return with a wild look, and declare
that History's room was empty, his lock broken, and his student lamp
smoking. Plainly the hazing committee had lost no time in seizing
its first opportunity. Plainly the Lakerimmers must lose no time in
hurrying to the rescue.
"Up and after 'em, men!" cried B.J.; and, trying to remember what
was the proper thing for an old Indian scout to do under the
circumstances, he started off on a dead run. And the others followed
him into the night.
V
Tug had stood the praise and applause of his fellow-students, and
especially the wild flattery of the Dozen, who were almost insanely
joyful over his success in captaining the scrub football team and
wiping the earth up with the varsity, until he was as sick as a boy
that has overfed on candy. Finally he had slunk away, rather like a
guilty man than a hero, and started for his room. Once he had left the
crowd and was alone under the great trees, darkly beautiful with the
moonlight, he felt again the delicious pride of his victory against
the heavy odds, and the conspiracy of his deadly rival in football.
He planned, in his imagination, the various steps he would take to
reorganize the varsity eleven, to which it was evident that he would
be elected captain; and he smacked his lips over the prospects of
glorious battles and hard-won victories in the games in which he
and his team would represent the Kingston Academy against the other
academies of the Tri-State Interscholastic League.
His waking dreams came true, in good season, too; for, under his
inspiring leadership, the Kingston men took up the game with a new
zest, gave up the idea that individual grand-stand plays won games,
and learned to sink their ambitions for themselves into a stronger
ambition for the success of the whole team. And they played so
brilliantly and so faithfully that academy after academy went down
before them, and they were not even scored against until they met the
most formidable rivals of all, the Greenville Academy. Greenville was
an old athletic enemy of the Lakerim Club, and Tug looked forward to
meeting it with particular delight, especially as the championship of
the League football series lay between Greenville and Kingston. I have
only time and room enough to tell you that when the final contest
came, Tug sent his men round the ends so scientifically, and led them
into the scrimmages so furiously, that they won a glorious victory of
18 to 6.
But this is getting a long way into the future, and away from Tug on
his walk to his room that beautiful evening, when all these triumphs
were still in the clouds, and he had only one victory to look back
upon.
Tug's responsibility had been great that afternoon, and the strain of
coaxing and commanding his scrub players to assault and defeat the
heavier eleven opposed to them had worn hard on his muscles and
nerves. When he got to his room he was too tired to remember that he
had forgotten to take the usual precautions of locking his door and
windows, or even of drawing the curtains. He did not stop to think
that hazing had been flourishing about the Academy grounds for some
time, and that threats had been made against any of the Lakerim Dozen
if they were ever caught alone. He could just keep awake long enough
to light his student lamp; then he dropped on his divan, and buried
his head in a red-white-and-blue cushion his best Lakerim girl had
embroidered for him in a fearful and wonderful manner, and was soon
dozing away into a dreamland where the whole world was one great
football, and he was kicking it along the Milky Way, scoring a
touch-down every fifty years.
A little later History poked his head in at the door. He also had left
the crowd seated on the fence, and had started for his room to study.
He saw Tug fast asleep, and let him lie undisturbed, though he was
tempted to wake him up and say that Tug reminded him of the Sleeping
Beauty before taking the magic kiss; but he thought it might not be
safe, and went on up to his room whistling, very much off the key.
Tug slept on as soundly as the mummy of Rameses. But suddenly he
woke with a start. He had a confused idea that he had heard some one
fumbling at his window. His sleepy eyes seemed to make out a face just
disappearing from sight outside. He dismissed his suspicions as
the manufactures of sleep, and was about to fall back again on the
comfortable divan when he heard footsteps outside, and the creak of
his door-knob. He rose quickly to his feet.
A masked face was thrust in at the door, and the lips smiled
maliciously under the black mask, and a pair of blacker eyes gleamed
through it.
Tug made a leap for the door to shut the intruder out, realizing in a
flash that the hazers had truly caught him napping.
But he was too late. The masked face was followed swiftly into the
room by the body that belonged to it, and by other faces and other
bodies--all the faces masked, and all the bodies hidden in long black
robes.
Tug fell back a step, and said, with all the calmness he could muster:
"I guess you fellows are in the wrong room."
"Nope; we've come for you," was the answer of the first masker, who
spoke in a disguised voice.
Tug looked as resolutely as he could into the eyes behind the mask,
and asked rather nervously a question whose answer he could have as
easily given himself:
"Well, now that you're here, what do you want?"
Again the disguised voice came deeply from the somber-robed leader:
"Oh, we just want to have a little fun with you."
"Well, I don't want to have any fun with you," parleyed Tug, trying to
gain time.
"Oh, it doesn't make any difference whether you want to come or not;
this isn't your picnic--it's ours," was the cheery response of the
first ghost; and the other black Crows fairly cawed with delight.
Still Tug argued: "What right have you men got to come into my room
without being invited?"
"It's just a little surprise-party we've planned."
"Well, I'm not feeling like entertaining any surprise-party to-night."
"Oh, that doesn't make any difference to us." Again the black flock
flapped its wings and cawed.
And now Tug, as usual, lost his temper when he saw they were making a
guy of him, and he blurted fiercely:
"Get out of here, all of you!"
Then the crowd laughed uproariously at him.
And this made him still more furious, and though they were ten to one,
Tug flung himself at them without fear or hesitation. When five of
them fell on him at once, he dragged them round the room as if they
were football-players trying to down him; but the odds were too great,
and before long they overpowered him and tied his wrists behind him;
not without difficulty, for Tug had the slipperiness of an eel, along
with the strength of a young shark. When they had him well bound, and
his legs tethered so that he could take only very short steps, they
lifted him to his feet.
"I think we'd better gag him," said the leader of the Crows; and he,
produced a stout handkerchief. But Tug gave him one contemptuous look,
and remarked:
"Do you suppose I'm a cry-baby? I'm not going to call for help."
There was something in his tone that convinced the captain of the
Crows.