THE SECOND PUTS IT OVER
"What do you know about that?" demanded Tom the next day. "'Horace' gave
me a B on my comp! Of course, I'm not kicking, but I'll bet he made a
mistake. Maybe he got nervous and his pencil slipped!"
"Seems to me," returned Steve coldly, "he knows better than you do what
the thing is worth. He's not exactly an idiot, you know."
Tom stared in some surprise. "I didn't say he was an idiot, did I?
Considering the things you've said about 'Horace' I don't think you need
take that high-and-mighty tone!"
"Well, don't be a chump, then," replied Steve. "If Mr. Daley gave you a
B you deserved a B."
"Thanking you kindly," murmured Tom as he disappeared behind the pages
of the blue-book to digest the corrections and criticisms on the
margins. Steve's manner since the night he had remained up until morning
to write that composition had been puzzling. He had very little to say
to Tom, and when he did speak, spoke in a constrained manner quite
unlike him. And more than once Tom had caught Steve observing him with
an expression that he couldn't fathom. There was something up, that was
certain, but what it was Tom couldn't imagine. It wasn't that Steve was
cross or disagreeable. For that matter, his disposition seemed a good
deal improved. But he was decidedly stand-offish and extraordinarily
quiet. Tom wanted to ask outright what the trouble was, but, for some
reason, he held back. As the days passed, Steve's manner became more
natural and he ceased looking at Tom as though, to quote the latter's
unspoken simile, he was a new sort of an animal in a zoo! But some
constraint still remained, and, after awhile, Tom accepted the situation
and grew accustomed to it. By that time he had grown too proud to ask
for an explanation. The two chums spent less time together as a result,
Steve becoming more dependent on Roy for companionship and Tom on Harry.
When they were all four together, which was very frequently, it was not
so bad, but when Steve and Tom were alone conversation was apt to
languish.
Tom at first was inclined to blame Steve's "Daley Schedule" for the
change, for that schedule had quite altered Steve's existence. He lived
by a strict routine which he followed with a dogged determination quite
foreign to his ways as Tom knew them. He got up on time in the morning,
reached the dining-hall almost as soon as the doors were opened, spent a
scant twenty minutes there and then went directly back to his room to
browse over his recitations for the day. Once Tom found him there
hunched up in a corner of the window-seat while the chambermaid, viewing
his presence distastefully, draped the furniture with bedding and did
her best with broom and duster to discourage him from a repetition of
the outrage. Between ten and eleven on three days a week Steve put in an
hour of study in the room. On other days he managed to snatch two
half-hour periods in the library between recitations. At six he was
almost invariably awaiting the opening of the doors for dinner, and well
before seven he was at his table again. Usually he studied until nine,
although now and then he closed his books at half-past eight and
followed Tom to Number 17 Torrence. Roy called him the Prize Grind and
interestedly inquired what scholarship he was trying for. Steve accepted
the joking with a grim smile.
It wasn't easy. For the first few days he had to drive himself to his
work with bit and spur. His feet lagged and he groaned in
spirit--perhaps audibly, too--as he approached his books. But he did it,
and little by little it became easier, until, as Mr. Daley had
predicted, it had become a habit with him to do certain things at
certain hours and he was uncomfortable if his routine was disarranged. I
don't think Steve ever got where he loved to study, but he did
eventually reach a pride of attainment that answered quite as well. He
found as time went on that it was becoming easier to learn his lessons
and easier to remember them when learned, and by that time he had taught
himself to command over his thoughts, and when he was struggling through
a proposition in geometry he wasn't wondering whether he would beat out
Sherrard for the position of regular right end on the second before the
season was over. In other words, he had learned concentration.
But all this was not yet. That first week, in especial, was hard
sledding, and that French composition almost drove him to distraction
and gave him brain fever before it was done. But done it was and on
time, and, while the best that Mr. Daley would allow it was a C plus,
Steve was distinctly proud of it. And in that week he demonstrated to
the instructor's satisfaction that he was up with the class in French. I
think Mr. Daley was very willing to be convinced and that he met Steve
quite half-way. Latin was still a bugaboo to Steve, but it, too, was
getting easier. On the whole, that schedule, backed by a grim
determination, was making good.
Meanwhile football pursued its relentless course. Every day the first
and second fought it out for gradually increasing periods and every day
the season grew nearer its close and the Claflin game, the final goal,
loomed more distinct. Phillips School came and went and Brimfield marked
up her fifth victory. Phillips gave the Maroon-and-Grey a hard tussle,
and the score, 12 to 0, didn't indicate the closeness of the playing.
For Brimfield made her first touchdown by the veriest fluke and only
gained her second in the last few minutes of play, when Phillips,
outlasted, weakened on her six-yard line and let Norton through. On the
other hand, Phillips had the ball thrice inside Brimfield's twenty
yards, missed a field-goal by the narrowest of margins and, with the
slightest twist of the luck, might have proved the victor.
"Boots" had hammered the second into what Mr. Robey unhesitatingly
declared to be one of the best scrub teams he had ever seen, and there
was more than one contest between it and the 'varsity that yielded
nothing to an outside game for hard fighting and excitement. Steve and
his rival, Sherrard, were running about even for the right end position.
Steve's tackling had improved vastly under Marvin's tutoring, and it was
his ability in that department that possibly gave him a shade the better
of the argument with Sherrard. So far there had been no decided slump in
the playing of either team, and, since a slump is always looked for at
some time during the season, both Mr. Robey and Danny Moore were getting
anxious. Danny almost begged the fellows to go stale a little. "It ain't
natural," he declared. "It's got to come, so let it and have it over
with." Neither had there been any injuries of moment. On this score
Danny had no regrets, however. He was a good trainer and prided himself
on his ability to condition his charges so that they would escape
injuries.
Of course there had been plenty of bruises--one mild case of
charley-horse, several dislocated or sprained fingers, a wrenched ankle
or two and any number of cuts and scrapes, but none of the injuries had
interfered with work for more than three or four days and not once had
any first-string member of the 'varsity missed an outside game by reason
of them. Steve's share of the injuries was a bruised shoulder sustained
in a flying tackle that was more enthusiastic than scientific, and the
thing bothered him for several days but did not keep him off the field.
Tom, who played opposite Jay Fowler in scrimmage, was forever getting
his countenance disfigured. Not that Fowler meant to leave his mark, but
he was a big, powerful, hard-fighting chap and there were plenty of
times when both parties to the practice games quite forgot that they
were friends. Tom was seldom seen without a strip of court-plaster
pasted to some portion of his face.
It was four days after the Phillips game, to be exact, on the following
Wednesday, that the first and second got together for what turned out to
be the warmest struggle of the season in civil combat. It was a cold,
leaden day, with a stinging breeze out of the northeast, and every
fellow who wore a head-guard felt as full of ginger as a young colt. The
second trotted over from their gridiron at four and found the first on
its toes to get at them. Things started off with a whoop. The second
received the kick-off and Marvin ran the ball back forty yards through a
broken field before he was nailed. Encouraged by that excellent
beginning, the scrub team went at it hammer and tongs. There was a fine
old hole that day between Sawyer and Williams, and the second's backs
ploughed through for gain after gain before the opposing line was
cemented together again there. By that time the ball was down near the
'varsity's ten yards and Captain Miller was frothing at the mouth, while
the opposing coaches were hurling encouragement at their charges and the
pandemonium even extended to the side-lines, where the school at large,
in a frenzy of excitement, shouted and goaded on the teams.
Twice the first held, once forcing Harris back for a loss, and then
Marvin called for kick formation and himself held the ball for Brownell.
What happened then was one of those unforeseen incidents that make
football the hair-raising game it is. There was a weak spot in the
second's line and, with the passing of the ball to Marvin, the 'varsity
forwards came rampaging through. Brownell swung his leg desperately,
trusting to fortune to get the pigskin over the upstretched hands of the
charging enemy, but it swung against empty air. Marvin, seeing what was
bound to happen, fearing the result of a blocked kick, snatched the ball
aside just as Captain Brownell swung at it, rolled over a couple of
times out of the path of the oncoming opponents, scrambled to his feet
and, somehow, scuttled past a half-dozen defenders of the goal and fell
over the line for a touchdown.
The 'varsity afterwards called it "bull-luck" and "fluke" and several
other belittling names, but "Boots" said it was "quick thinking and
football, by jiminy!" At all events the second scored and then leaped
and shouted like a band of Comanche Indians--or any other kind of Indian
if there's a noisier sort!--and generally "rubbed it in."
After that you may believe that the 'varsity played football! But
nevertheless the first ten-minute period ended with the second still six
points to the good and her goal-line intact. The teams were to play
three periods that day and "Boots" ran four substitutes on the field
when the next one began. One of them was Steve.
It is no light task to play opposite the 'varsity captain and not come
off second best, but the consensus of opinion that evening was to the
effect that Steve had done that very thing. The wintery nip had got into
Steve's blood, I think, for he played like a tiger-cat on the defence,
ran like a streak of wind and tackled so hard that Coach Robey had to
caution him. Twice in that period the first came storming down to the
second's twenty yards and twice they were held there. Once Milton was
nailed on a round-the-end run and once Still fumbled a pass and Freer
fell on it.
Steve carried out his part of a forward-pass play with excellent
precision later and seemingly had a clear field and a touchdown in sight
for a moment. But Milton managed to upset him on the thirty yards, and
the gain--Steve had negotiated four white lines before the 'varsity
quarter got him--eventually went for naught, since Marvin fumbled a
minute later and Sawyer squirmed through and captured the ball.
Neither side scored nor came very near it in that period. Steve, who was
having the time of his life, beamed joyously when the whistle, starting
the third period, found him still in the line-up. He had feared that
"Boots" would put Sherrard back. But Steve didn't realise the kind of a
game he had been putting up. If he had he would have credited "Boots"
with more sense. Tom, with two brand-new facial contusions to his
credit, was relegated to the bench for the last round. Perhaps "Boots"
thought it only fair to allow Gafferty some of the decorations that
Fowler and others were handing out!
The first tried a kicking game in order to reach striking distance and,
since she always had the better of the argument there, forced the
second slowly and very surely back past the middle of the field. Then
Marvin, realising the futility of pitting Freer and himself against
Norton and Williams and Milton, either one of whom could outpunt the
second from five to ten yards, started a rushing game on his thirty-five
yards, swinging Harris and Freer around the ends for small gains and
himself taking the pigskin for a delayed plunge through centre that put
the scrubs on their forty-five-yard line and gave them their first down
of the period.
But the next three tries pulled in only six yards, and Freer punted. For
once he had plenty of time and the oval travelled far down into the
enemy's territory and was caught by Kendall, who took it back a scant
five yards before Turner, the second's left end, got past the
hastily-formed interference and upset him. The 'varsity made four
through the left side of the line and got her first down on a fake kick
that caught the second napping. She again secured her distance on three
tries, and the lines faced each other near the middle of the field.
What happened then was never definitely explained. Whether Milton
fumbled the pass from centre or whether Still missed the toss from
Milton, history doesn't record. Not that it matters, however. The fact
is that the ball was suddenly seen to go rolling back up the field as
though animated by a desperate desire to score a touchdown on its own
hook. The 'varsity backs hit the line hard and went tumbling through, to
the frenzied shouts of "Ball! Ball!" from Milton and the opponents. The
latter, trying to get past the 'varsity and gain the bobbing pigskin,
got so inextricably mixed up with the enemy that the ball went on
rolling around, under the pranks of the helpful wind, for a
heart-breaking length of time. Then, as it seemed, every fellow on the
field started for it at once!
Steve had made a wild attempt to get through inside of Andy Miller, but
Miller had sent him sprawling, and when he got to his feet again he was
one of the last in the mad rush. How it happened that Eric Sawyer, not
overly fast on his feet, reached the pigskin first, or, at least,
finally, is a mystery. But it was Eric who at length plunged out of the
confusion, ball in arm, shook off three or four tacklers and started
hot-footed toward the distant goal. By some unusual burst of speed he
not only got a clear start of the rest, but shot past Steve before that
youth could intercept him. Marvin had followed the others toward the
'varsity's goal and now between Eric and the final white lines, some
forty-five yards distant, lay a clear field. And Eric, spurred on by the
knowledge that here was perhaps the one chance of his lifetime to make a
spectacular run for half the length of the gridiron and score a
touchdown, worked his sturdy legs as they had probably never been worked
before!
But he was not to go unchallenged. The enemy was hot on his track, Steve
in the lead. And with the enemy, doing their best to upset or divert the
pursuit, came a half-dozen of the 'varsity. It was a wildly confused
race for a minute. Then the slow-footed ones dropped behind and the
procession consisted of Eric, running desperately some five yards ahead
of Steve, Steve pounding along at his heels, Williams striving to edge
Freer toward the side of the field, Marvin leading Captain Miller by a
scant yard, and one or two others dropping gradually away as the race
progressed. Near the twenty-five-yard line Williams managed to upset
Freer and went down with him in the effort, Andy Miller drew even with
Marvin, and Eric glanced behind him for the first time, at the same
moment heading a bit further toward the centre of the gridiron.
That move lost him a stride of his lead, and Steve made a final spurt
that took just about all the breath left in his body. On the fifteen
yards his hand went out gropingly, touched Eric's back and fell away.
Near the ten-yard line Steve launched himself forward and his arms
settled about Eric's thighs, slid down to his knees and tightened. Eric
went down, dragged forward another yard and then, panting and weak, gave
it up. Then Marvin settled ungently on his back, to make assurances
doubly sure, Andy Miller threw him off very promptly and Steve rolled
over on his back and fought for breath.
The rest of the teams came panting up, the audience along the side-line
howled and cheered gloriously, if a trifle breathlessly, having itself
raced down the field in an effort to keep abreast of the drama, and
delighted members of the second team lifted Steve to his tottering feet,
thumped him on the back and shrieked praise into his singing ears.
After that, with the ball on the second's eight yards, the 'varsity
should have scored easily. And yet, so gallantly did the scrubs dig
their toes into the trampled turf that thrice the 'varsity was held for
a scant gain and, finally, with one down remaining, Williams dropped
back to the twenty-yard line and dropped a field-goal.
"Boots" was almost moved to tears and looked as though he wanted to
embrace each and every member of his team. For what was a puny three
points when the second had six to its credit? The things that Miller
said were extremely derogatory, while Coach Robey walked back to the
middle of the field with a disapproving air. In the four minutes that
remained, there was football played that _was_ football! The 'varsity,
smarting under impending defeat, went at it with a desperation that
promised everything. That it failed of what it promised was only because
the second, buoyed up by the knowledge of victory in its grasp, fought
like veterans. There was some fierce playing during those two hundred
and forty brief seconds, and the fellow who finally trudged off the
field without a scar felt himself dishonoured. Substitutes were thrown
into the fray by both sides, although "Boots," having fewer men to call
on, was handicapped. Steve went out in favour of Sherrard soon after the
kick-off, and Tom relieved Gafferty. The coaches raged and urged, the
rival captains scolded and implored and the quarters danced around and
acted like wild-men. And then, suddenly, the ball was seized, a whistle
blew and it was all over. And the panting players, tense of face,
dripping with perspiration, drew apart to view each other at first
scowlingly and then with slowly spreading grins, taking toll of their
own injuries and the enemy's.
"Good work, second," said Mr. Robey. "That's all for to-day. Get your
blankets and run all the way in."