THE CAMEL EXPLAINS
Wyndham returned about nine o’clock, wearied but rejoicing. Very few
voices had successfully stood the strain of that last moment triumph,
and it was two days before the school spoke normally again. Even Tom,
when he turned up at Loring’s room a few minutes subsequent to his
return, was decidedly hoarse. He had, he explained, talked most of the
way back, like every one else, and the effort to make himself heard
above the noise of the train had been too great. They made him talk
some more, nevertheless――Loring and Clif――while Wattles, inventing an
occupation in a corner of the room, remained to hear.
Tom wasn’t a bit peeved about that lost touchdown. “Oh, well,” he said,
“we didn’t need it, after all; and I had the fun of making the run. I
was a little sore at the time, you bet; but what was the use?”
“Who was off-side?” asked Clif.
Tom looked blank. “I couldn’t see,” he said.
“Well, you heard, didn’t you?”
“Oh, I didn’t pay much attention. Forget it, Clif. He felt worse than
the rest of us. Besides, it was just because he wanted to win. He was
too anxious.”
“Of course he didn’t mean to do it,” agreed Clif. “All right. What
about Carlson’s kick?”
Tom became animated. “Say, you missed the thrill of a lifetime,
fellows,” he croaked. “Mind you, we’d lost the game. We couldn’t make
two consecutive gains by that time. We’d pushed Horner back some in the
third quarter, but after that the field had got so slippery we couldn’t
keep our feet. All we could do was smash into the line a couple of
times and then punt. Horner couldn’t do much better herself. When she
hit us she made more, because she had the weight, but she couldn’t
make her ten yards, even then. ‘G. G.’ had sent three or four new men
in, Braley amongst ’em, and Braley had got his signals twisted. It was
getting darkish, too, and you weren’t quite sure of the ball when it
got into the air. Yes, sir, we were licked, and we knew it. We kept
on trying, though. You know how it is. You don’t think such an awful
lot about being beaten. There are too many other things to think of.
You just keep on trying. That’s what we did. Horner got the ball on
her thirty-eight after a punt and kicked back on second down. Some one
tipped the ball as it started off and it went pretty near straight up.
When it landed it fell through half a dozen fellows and hit the ground
and went whanging off and Lou Stiles made a leap for it. A couple of us
jumped ahead of him and he got to the thirty-five yards, pretty near.
We shoved into ’em for two or three and then ‘Swede’ got four right
over that big left guard of theirs. We needed about three more, but I
couldn’t get started and it was last down. Braley asked for time and we
talked it over. There was less than a minute left then; some one said
less than thirty seconds, but I don’t know. Billy Desmond was acting as
captain, and Billy wouldn’t consent to a forward pass. Well, we’d been
foozling ’em all the afternoon, what with the wet turf and a mighty
clever defense. Braley said let ‘Swede’ try a drop, and ‘Swede’ said
no, he couldn’t lift a wet ball that far. Then Jim Carlson pushed in
and said he thought he might get it over from placement if they’d hold
the line hard for him. So ‘Swede’ moved up to center and he and Billy
and Breeze locked legs. Horner couldn’t get what was coming and shifted
around at a great rate. Heck, I didn’t have any idea we’d score. I was
expecting the horn would toot before we got the play started, for that
matter. But it didn’t, and ‘Swede’ made a nice pass back to Braley and
Braley put the ball down just about six inches short of the forty,
and Carlson stepped forward and swung. It was all we could do to hold
the line, for Horner sure acted rough, but we did. I didn’t see the
kick, of course, having my hands full with a Horner tackle who leaked
through, but I heard it, and it sounded sweet. When I had a look there
was the old ball sailing square over the bar. As I say, it was getting
sort of dark by then, and at first I thought I was mistaken, and I
began to look around the field. But just then our gang bust loose and
I knew I’d seen it right. Noise? Honest, you never heard a small bunch
make such a riot as our crowd did! They were out on the field in a
second, and it took two or three minutes to get the place cleared off
again. Talk about your thrills! Some of us just couldn’t believe it
was a goal, and we stood around expecting the referee to call the ball
back or something. It took me two or three minutes to get it through my
bean that we’d won!”
“I wish I could have seen it,” murmured Loring.
“So do I,” sighed Clif.
That hairbreadth victory worked a swift and amazing change at Wyndham.
The school had journeyed to Horner hoping, but fearing, and had
returned convinced of success. Carlson’s place kick was regarded as
something close to a miracle, and when miracles come to your aid you
can’t help believing in your destiny. But Wyndham wasn’t overconfident.
The narrow escape had left her a bit chastened, in spite of ultimate
triumph, and the general feeling was that while the prize was to be
won it must be worked for. “No Defeats!” was no longer a phrase to be
shouted glibly. It was no longer merely a slogan. It had become an
invocation. Clif would no longer have protested had some one likened it
to “_On ne passe pas!_” One heard it less often during the following
fortnight, but when it was heard it had a deeper significance, a more
earnest sound.
On Sunday the Triumvirate discussed the Camel after Tom had asked for
information. He said he was surprised that they hadn’t told Mr. Otis
before then and insisted that the coach ought to know at once. “We
thought we’d wait and see if he turned up again,” said Loring. “If he’s
learned anything he shouldn’t know it’s too late now, Tom, and ‘G. G.’
couldn’t do anything about it. But if he comes back we might――well, we
might teach him a lesson.”
“Sure, that’s all right. Teach him all you want,” responded Tom; “but
Mr. Otis ought to know about it, just the same. If some of the Wolcott
football crowd sent the Camel over here to spy it’s well to know it.
Maybe ‘G. G.’ would like to do something about it. I don’t know what,
but something.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Loring acknowledged. “You and Clif had better go
over to the inn and see him.”
They did. Coach Otis was interested, but not greatly concerned. “So
that’s what you were up to when you got that busted collar bone, eh?”
he asked Clif. “Next time you’d better come to me and let me handle it.
What that fellow learned from watching our practice can’t be much, and
certainly not nearly so serious as losing a good lineman just when he’s
most needed. If you or Deane see him around again let me know and I’ll
have a talk with him. I hardly think he’s been sent by the football
team or the coach over there. More likely he’s doing it on his own
hook, with some silly notion that he’s going to make some important
discovery. Can’t imagine what, though. He must know that we don’t
prepare for Wolcott until a couple of weeks beforehand, and that when
we do we keep practice secret. To-morrow will be about his last chance
of getting into the stand, so pass the word to Deane to keep his eyes
peeled, will you?”
Clif had thought that he wouldn’t mind being side-tracked so much
after he could go over to the field and watch the team, but on Monday
he found that it didn’t work out that way. Seeing the other fellows
at practice just seemed to make his own lot the harder. He sat with
Loring and Wattles and was rather a quiet companion for a while. Loring
paid more attention to the stand than to the gridiron, searching the
well-filled seats for the boy with the funny chin. He didn’t miss so
much, either, for practice to-day was participated in only by the
substitutes, and not all of those, and there was a rumor current along
the bench that there was to be no scrimmage. Yet one mild sensation
did materialize that afternoon. About ten minutes after the session
had begun Clif, his gaze wandering along the players’ bench, discerned
Lemuel John Parks. He passed the surprising news on to Loring and,
after a minute spent on conjectures, arose and sought the subject of
them. Lemuel John acknowledged that he had forsaken the second team.
“Mr. Babcock sent me over here,” he explained, “so I guess it’s all
right. I ain’t――haven’t spoken to any one about it, and maybe I’d ought
to.” He ended questioningly. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Lemuel
John looked frightened, for somehow you couldn’t associate fear with
him, but he certainly did look awed. Tom shook his head.
“Sit tight,” he advised. “‘G. G.’ knows you’re here and he will let you
know when he wants you. Going to play guard?”
“Well, I don’t know,” answered the big chap. “I guess so. Ain’t much
else I could do, is there?”
When Clif went back to Loring he found that youth in a state of mingled
excitement and delight. “He’s up there,” he announced in low tones,
as though feeling the distant Camel might overhear him. “Wattles just
discovered him. Almost straight back and about two-thirds way up. Sort
of up against the pillar. See him?”
“Yes,” replied Clif after a moment’s search. “That’s he, all right.
Guess I’d better tell ‘G. G.’”
“Yes, but don’t let him see you point him out. He might get scared and
beat it.”
Clif had to wait several minutes before a chance to communicate with
the coach occurred. Then he gave his message and cautiously located the
Camel in the stand. But Mr. Otis was too far away to see him. Also, he
was much too busy to waste time in the effort.
“Hang the fellow!” he said impatiently. “I can’t talk to him now,
Bingham. Look here, you go up there and see what he’s up to. Take some
one with you.” Mr. Otis glanced along the bench. “Take that big fellow,
Parker.”
“Parks, sir?”
“All right. Take him. Make that sneak talk, Bingham. Find out who sent
him over here, and why. I wouldn’t――better not make any trouble, you
understand. Unless he won’t answer questions, that is.”
Clif beckoned to Lemuel John and passed around to the back of the
stand where two stairways arose. On the way he put his companion in
possession of the main facts of the case. “He will talk, I guess,
Parks; but if he doesn’t we’ll have to make him. Then it’s up to you,
for I couldn’t make a pig squeal tied up this way!”
“Sure,” said Lemuel John. “I’ll persuade him.”
The Camel sat next to a post. On the other side was a third classman
of Clif’s acquaintance. Followed by Lemuel John, Clif pushed his way
along the row which, while not closely occupied, was well sprinkled
with fellows. “Move over, will you, Jordan?” asked Clif. Jordan
obligingly moved and Clif seated himself by the Camel. Lemuel John
pushed past and squeezed down beyond the post. The Camel viewed
the operations with evident concern, if not suspicion. Clif opened
conversation casually.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello,” muttered the Camel.
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”
The Camel turned then and got a fair view of the questioner. Recognition
dawned and the puttylike chin trembled agitatedly. For a moment he
seemed to be contemplating flight, but his first glance to the left
revealed Lemuel John observing him calmly but interestedly past the
pillar, and the idea vanished. He returned his gaze to the field. “No,
I’m not,” he muttered.
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t take you long,” said Clif. “How’s Goddard?”
“All right.” The Camel moved restively. Then he broke out, weakly
defiant, with: “Say, what’s the idea? What do you want, anyway?”
Neighbors were observing them curiously now. There was something
up, that was plain, and they wanted to be in on it. Clif laughed
good-naturedly. “Why, all I want is a little information, Campbell.
Suppose we go down where we can talk without being overheard.”
“No!” The Camel was emphatic. “You talk right here.”
“I think it would be better if the others didn’t hear,” insisted
Clif gently. “They might――well, they might not like it; and if they
didn’t――” He left the rest to the Camel’s imagination. After a moment’s
consideration the Camel said: “All right, but you haven’t anything on
me, and if you get funny I’ll――I’ll――” Then he saw Lemuel John again
and stopped for good.
They went down to the back of the stand, the Camel sandwiched between
Clif and Lemuel John. Above, a line of faces stared down at them. Clif
led the way to the farther end of the structure. “Now,” he said, his
jesting manner gone, “let’s hear all about it. Who sent you over here,
Campbell?”
“No one sent me. I just came to――I wanted to see you fellows play
football.”
“We appreciate that, but why not stay at Wolcott and watch your own
team? If you’re not an absolute idiot, Campbell, you know that you’re
in wrong here. If we passed the word back to that crowd up there you’d
be in for a peck of trouble.” The Camel, already distinctly uneasy,
looked nervous. “Now we know that you haven’t been coming all the way
from Cotterville two and three times a week just for amusement. We
want to know who sent you, Campbell, and we mean to find out. So you’d
better come clean if you know what’s best for you.”
Evidently the Camel thought so, too. He took a furtive look at the
faces still watching over the edge of the stand and cleared his
throat. “It’s like I told you,” he said a trifle huskily. “No one sent
me. The fellow I room with, Charley Goddard, is on our team. He’s
quarter back.”
“Oh, no, he isn’t,” said Clif. “Your quarter back is Monroe.”
“Yes, but Goddard’s trying, too. He’s played two or three games.”
“Oh, a sub, eh? All right, go ahead.”
“He said it would help him if he knew something about――about――” The
Camel hesitated and glanced doubtfully at Lemuel John. Lemuel John
was in togs and loomed very large. “Well, if he knew the sort of game
Wyndham played. Because he’s pretty sure to play quarter back part of
the game, and if he handled the team well――”
The Camel sort of ran down then. Clif nodded. “I see. You were to come
over here and watch our fellows play and tell Goddard all you could
find out so that he’d know what he was up against if he got a chance in
the big game. Very pretty, Campbell. Your idea, you say?”
The Camel nodded, watching the faces of the others anxiously. Clif
looked at Lemuel John. “What do you think?” he asked.
“He’s lying,” said the other calmly. “This Goddard got him to do it.”
“He didn’t!” protested the Camel. “I offered to! Really, I did!”
“Why?” asked Clif.
“Because――” the Camel’s gaze fell.
“Because Goddard’s your chum and you wanted to see him do well against
our crowd and, maybe, make quarter back’s position next year?” The
Camel nodded again. “But you knew you were doing something that wasn’t
fair, didn’t you? You knew that that sort of thing wasn’t sporting?”
“I suppose I did,” muttered the boy.
“If Goddard didn’t put you up to it, at least he knows you’re doing it.
On the whole I think Goddard’s the more to blame. How about it, Parks?”
“Sure. Dirty rat, I’ll say.” The Camel looked resentful, but Lemuel
John hadn’t dwarfed any since last viewed and the Camel swallowed his
emotion.
“Well,” resumed Clif, after a moment’s consideration, “I guess you’d
better run along, Campbell. I’ll report this to our coach and he will
do whatever he thinks best. But I don’t want to ever see you around
here again. Get that? If you ever put your nose inside these grounds it
will be the worse for you. We’ll walk along with you and see that you
don’t lose your way going out.”
They waited until the Camel had disappeared around the corner of Oak
Street and then hurried back to the gridiron. “I guess,” said Clif on
the way, “he told the truth, don’t you?”
“Mostly. What really happened was this fellow Goddard thought up the
scheme, suggested it to Funny Face and let Funny Face think it was an
idea of his own. He don’t look to me like he had any too much brain!
Gosh, though, you can’t get really riled with the fellow, seeing he
did it just out of liking for this other fish. I suppose he thinks
Goddard’s pretty fine, eh?”
“I guess so, the poor chump,” agreed Clif.
Mr. Otis was on the point of sending out a search party for Lemuel
John when they got back to the bench, evidently having forgotten that
he had detailed him for Clif’s mission. “Where on earth have you been,
Parker――Parks?” he demanded. “You’re not supposed to leave the bench
in the middle of practice! Get in there and see what you can do. Left
guard. No, no, the other squad! You’d better show something if you want
to stick around here, son!”
Lemuel John went off as directed, offering no excuse, while Clif
reported to Loring. The latter was inclined to be sympathetic toward
the Camel. “It’s Goddard we ought to get after,” he said. “Trying to
swipe our secrets is bad enough, but getting that poor boob to do the
dirty work is worse. Have you told Mr. Otis?”
“Not yet. Just have a look at him. Does he strike you as a――as an
approachable sort of guy?”
He didn’t. He was tagging the squad of which Braley was quarter
and Lemuel John left guard, and his voice came across the field in
decidedly irascible tones! Clif shook his head gently.
“If you don’t mind,” he murmured, “I’ll wait until he has calmed down a
mite.”
Clif reported the result of the conversation with the Camel in the
gymnasium, after practice, by which time “G. G.” was once more fairly
placid. “Goddard, eh?” he said reflectively. “Yes, I think we have some
dope on Goddard. Well, let it lie, Bingham. Goddard’s not much of a
player and I don’t believe he will see action. If he does, what his
friend has slipped him about us won’t do him a mite of good. I’m going
to be too busy during the next fortnight to make trouble for any one
outside our own crowd. Thanks, just the same, Bingham.”
“Oh, that’s all right, sir. But doesn’t it seem as though Goddard ought
to get called down, at least? I mean, it was sort of a dirty trick, and
he oughtn’t to get off so easy.”
“Bingham,” replied Mr. Otis, “you’ll learn by the time you’re a little
older that those things sort of look after themselves. You think that
if we let Goddard get away with this he will escape the penalty. But
he won’t, my boy. Fellows who do that sort of thing provide their own
punishment. I’ve seen it over and over. Bingham, the punishment the
law inflicts on us is mighty trivial alongside what we inflict on
ourselves!”
Clif departed not wholly satisfied. What Mr. Otis had said might be
quite true, but so far, he reflected, the only punishment sustained by
any of the actors in the recent little drama had fallen to the lot of
the innocent. He couldn’t quite discern why he should have a busted
shoulder blade and Goddard and the Camel should get off scot-free!
Followed a hectic week at Wyndham, or, at least, a hectic five days.
The football squad worked hard and long every afternoon and then put in
most of an hour in the gymnasium in the evening. Two graduates arrived
on the scene Wednesday and helped Mr. Otis and Mr. Hilliard during the
rest of the season. At least, they were supposed to help. Sometimes
it seemed that they were just in the way. Mass meetings became almost
nightly events, and the enthusiasm and the determination to beat
Wolcott grew hourly.
Lemuel John Parks must have satisfied Mr. Otis as to his right to
remain with the first team, for he stayed on the squad, received
a flattering amount of attention from the coaches and seriously
threatened Breeze’s title of first substitute left guard. Lemuel John
was all that could be desired of size, strength and willingness. If he
had had a year of football experience behind him he would have ousted
Smythe beyond a doubt. But Lemuel John, although he listened with
almost painful intentness to the coaches and tried very, very hard, was
undeniably lacking in technic. Effort, no matter how intense, will fail
of its objective if wrongly applied. Yet Lemuel John made progress,
and Mr. Otis recognized promising material for another year and said
so to Loring one afternoon. Loring, although not officially connected
with the team, was a privileged person and as such admitted past the
dead-line of patroling Juniors whose proud duty it was to keep the
public out of the stand and at a respectable distance from the gridiron.
“Deane,” said “G. G.” “you’ve really got a good eye for talent. That
big fellow is quite as promising as you said and you did us a real
service when you discovered him. I only wish we had gotten hold of him
earlier!”
“Well, I didn’t really discover him, Mr. Otis,” answered Loring. “All
I did――that is, the three of us――was to persuade him to report to Mr.
Babcock. I’m glad you think he will make good, sir, for I think so,
too. Next year he ought to be a corking good lineman, oughtn’t he?”
“Yes, I think so, Deane. He’s not so bad right now. If only he knew a
little more, I’d――” Mr. Otis pursed his lips, frowned and strode off
quickly. “Cotter! _Cotter!_ Do that just once more if you want to quit
the team! That wasn’t your man! You knew it wasn’t! Jackson, let’s have
that again. Now let me see you do that right, Cotter!”
The game on the fifteenth, that with Toll’s Academy, was looked on
as no more than a practice contest and proved such. Wyndham, using
a second-string line-up through most of the second half, ran up
twenty-eight points and held Toll’s scoreless. The adversary was light
and not too well trained, and the home team might have made that score
larger by two more touchdowns had Coach Otis seen fit. For the first
time that season the Dark Blue’s left side was as firm as its right.
Lemuel John and Weldon worked together well and hardly a dent was made
between left end and center. Tom, too, came in for glory, for he scored
two of the four touchdowns while he was in the line-up. It really
seemed that the Wyndham football team had found itself at last, and
on Sunday the school awoke in a hopeful frame of mind and turned its
eyes on the sporting pages of the morning papers. Among other things,
it read that Wolcott had yesterday entertained Minster High School
and, with her team liberally peppered with second- and third-string
players, had swamped the enemy to the tune of 47 to 0! As Wyndham’s
score against Minster had been 24 to 3, the papers that Sunday morning
provided food for thought.