Produced by Al Haines
[Transcriber's note: Extensive research found no evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
INTERFERENCE
AND OTHER FOOTBALL STORIES
BY
HAROLD M. SHERMAN
THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT 1932 by
HAROLD M. SHERMAN
Made in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
Interference
A Case of Nerves
The Bright Token
"Butter Fingers"
For the Glory of the Coach
INTERFERENCE
"Can I see you a minute, Coach?"
"Yes, Mack. Come in."
Mack Carver, substitute back on Grinnell University's varsity squad,
stepped across the threshold of Coach Edward's office. He carried his
one hundred and eighty-seven pounds easily and with an athletic
swagger. But he scowled as he entered, indicating that his call was
about an unpleasant matter.
"Well, boy--what's on your mind?" smiled the Coach, straightening up
from a mass of papers which contained diagrams of the plays Grinnell
was to use in her season's big game against Pomeroy, now less than a
week away.
"Plenty!" was Mack's bluntly grim answer. He stood now, facing his
coach, across the desk.
Coach Edward's smile faded as he met Mack's challenging glance.
"I want to know why I've been kept so much of the time on the bench?"
the substitute back fired, point blank.
"Because," answered Coach Edward, evenly, "there were eleven better men
on the field. That's ordinarily the only reason any man's kept on the
bench."
"I don't believe it," retorted Mack, feelingly. "You've had it in for
me because my brother is coach at Pomeroy. That's the reason! And
you'd like to be coach at Pomeroy yourself!"
Coach Edward drew in his breath, sharply. "Perhaps I would!" he said.
"But that's a strict matter of business--nothing personal!"
"No?" flashed Mack. "You and brother Carl have been rivals for the
last two years. You've been out to beat each other on the gridiron and
now that you've turned out some cracking good teams with the smallest
college in the State, you think you've got my brother on the run!"
"I'm tickled, naturally," admitted the coach. "Wouldn't _you_ be?
Don't you suppose your brother enjoys his triumphs over _me_? ... It's
all in a spirit of good sportsmanship!"
"That part of it may be all right," conceded Mack, "but you feel strong
enough against my brother, just the same, to not want to give _me_ a
break!"
"That's bunk!" branded Coach Edward. "But there's one thing I've
always wanted to know ... why is it you quit Pomeroy after two years
and came to Grinnell?"
"That's an easy one to answer. I discovered I could never hope to make
the team that my brother was coaching. He was bending over backward to
keep from showing me any favors. When I found that out, I figured I'd
better save him from any further embarrassment and give myself a fair
chance by changing schools. That's why I came to Grinnell!"
"But why Grinnell--Pomeroy's bitterest rival? Of all the schools you
might have picked...!"
Mack grinned, sardonically. "My brother didn't think I'd ever make a
good football player. I'd hoped to be able to show him."
"That's just your greatest fault," spoke the coach, frankly. "You want
the limelight every move you make. You're wondering all the time if
everyone's looking at you ... and it's hurting your game. No good
player can be thinking of starring and playing at the same time."
Mack stared hard for a moment.
"You've got me wrong," he said, slowly. "I naturally want to do the
best I know how. And maybe I've looked to you like I wanted to attract
attention. If I have, it's only because I hoped _you'd_ take a shine
to what I was doing. The spectators didn't matter."
"You didn't need to worry about me," the coach replied. "It's my
business to keep tab on each man on the squad. I'm sorry if you feel
I've legislated against you but you force me to say that, up to the
present, I'm inclined to agree with your brother."
"You will excuse me a minute?" requested the Coach, on observing that
Mack had no comment to make for the moment, "I've an air mail letter I
must post at once."
"Okay," Mack assented,, and sank disconsolately in a chair beside the
desk as Coach Edward strode from the room, envelope in hand.
"This is a swell fix I'm in," Mack bemoaned, with the Coach having
gone. "Talk about being hoodooed! How should _I_ know that Coach
Edward would ever be out after my brother's coaching job? I'll bet you
every time Coach sees me he thinks of my brother and that kills my
chances. But I was good enough so he had to make me a sub anyhow."
Mack's gaze suddenly fell upon Coach Edward's pile of papers. Diagrams
of football plays caught his eye. He leaned forward that he might see
them better, then gave a glance toward the door and arose from his
chair. "Hello! Pretty nice!... Maybe my brother wouldn't give a lot
to have a copy of all these plays!... He's probably had his scouts
covering Grinnell games ... but here's some plays we haven't used all
season. Boy--that lateral pass opening out into a forward is a pip!...
Coach Edward's been saving the fireworks to shoot on Pomeroy all
right!... Guess he'd give his left ear to beat my brother's team this
year. Huh! I'd give my right ear to get in the game!"
Impelled by curiosity, Mack lifted some of the papers and studied other
diagrammed plays. He became more engrossed than he had intended when
he was seized with the uncomfortable feeling that someone else was in
the room.
"Well?" spoke Coach Edward, standing quietly just inside the door.
"Oh! I ... er ... a ...!" stammered Mack, badly fussed. "Pardon
me!... I saw these plays here and I...!"
"... and you thought you'd get them _memorized_," said the Coach,
bitingly.
"No, sir!" flashed Mack, stung at the insinuation. "I was just
interested. I...!"
There was nothing further that he could say. It dawned on him in that
moment that his relationship to the coach of Pomeroy's eleven was apt
to cause many actions of his to be misconstrued. He would have to be
more careful. Coach Edward was even now regarding him suspiciously.
"I hope, Mack, that I can trust you," he was saying.
"You sure can," Grinnell's disgruntled substitute answered, inwardly
resenting the suggestion that he might use such information as he had
gleaned against his school.
"I am surprised," Coach Edward finished, "that you would have permitted
yourself to examine anything on my desk."
"I'm sorry, sir," Mack apologized, realizing that the Coach had reason
for complaining. "But I wouldn't think of passing anything on to
anyone else."
"It wouldn't be exactly wise," said Coach Edward as the two stood face
to face.
Mack, who had toiled so long in the hopes of becoming a varsity regular
and whose disappointment had finally assumed proportions of a grudge
against his Coach, now made one final appeal.
"Coach, everything I do seems to be wrong. I can't get over the
feeling that you don't like me. I swear I didn't mean anything by
looking at those plays ... but you've an idea that I did. As for my
being on the team and not getting a real chance to play--there must be
some reason ... some big reason, if it's not prejudice. Whatever that
reason is--I want to know it."
"That's what you _say_," rejoined Coach Edward. "But you're the sort,
Mack, who won't be told. You're proving that fact right now even
though you claim you want to know what's wrong. I've done the best I
could for you on what you've shown me... I'm not in the habit of
arguing or discussing a player's merits or demerits with him off the
field so I'll have to ask you to consider this interview at an end."
"Okay!" rasped Mack, his pride deeply wounded and his feelings running
away with him. Turning on his heel, he strode to the door, but whirled
impulsively to throw back an angry taunt: "And here's hoping you get
trimmed by Pomeroy!"
"Thank you," replied Coach Edward, icily. "I might have expected just
such a remark from you."
And a very unhappy youth, leaving the Coach's presence with a wave of
remorse sweeping over him, knew that now he most certainly had sealed
his doom. He could hardly expect to be given an opportunity of playing
in the Pomeroy game after this.
Grinnell's football schedule was so arranged that the Pomeroy game was
always the last of the year. This permitted the small college eleven
to throw its complete strength against an ordinarily more powerful team
in the annual hope of creating an upset. For Pomeroy, the Grinnell
contest had customarily been booked as a "breather" between big games.
There had been little disposition in previous years, as a consequence,
to take Grinnell's opposition too seriously. Thus, most of the
excitement and enthusiasm had been provided by wide-eyed Grinnell
supporters who had hypnotized themselves almost to the point of
believing that the impossible was about to happen--a Grinnell victory!
That these loyal rooters had been disappointed as regularly as the
annual conflicts arrived, did not seem to dampen the ardor of the next
season's support. "Hope springs eternal" was the trite but simple
explanation offered by certain zealous followers who steadfastly
refused to concede Pomeroy's vaunted superiority. Coach Edward's
advent at Grinnell had served to heighten the interest when the small
college had held Pomeroy to a 20 to 7 count the first year of his
mentorship. Things commenced looking decidedly up as Grinnell, under
the new coaching regime, came back the following fall with even more
stubborn opposition, losing to Pomeroy in the last quarter, 13 to 7.
No longer could Pomeroy consider the smaller college a set-up and this
alone was sufficient for Grinnell supporters to claim a "moral
victory." But even bigger things were expected this season--Grinnell's
first undefeated eleven going into its major contest against a Pomeroy
team which was fighting hard to sustain its prestige of former years.
Secret practice sessions were announced by Coach Edward the final week
before the Pomeroy game, adding an air of mystery and high tension to
an already pulsating feeling of suspense.
"Coach has a genius for inventing new plays," Frank Meade, left half,
remarked to Mack Carver as the two dressed for practice on Tuesday
afternoon. "Don't you think?"
"He figures out some good ones all right," Mack admitted.
"I'll say he does!" echoed Frank, with enthusiasm. "That one he taught
us last night--a forward pass breaking out of that lateral!"
Mack's face colored. He was too familiar with this play from having
seen it in diagram form on the Coach's desk.
"Yes," he mumbled. "That's a peach."
"If it's properly executed," Frank went on, "it should be good for a
touchdown."
"Absolutely," Mack agreed, bending down and fingering with his shoe
laces.
"Of course the right half has to block off any tacklers who may be
trying to get through at the man with the ball," Frank continued. "The
ball carrier's got to be given plenty of chance after taking the
lateral to spot a receiver for the forward. If he can do this--the
play ought to be a wow."
"I'd like to be in there on that play," Mack said, impulsively.
Frank laughed. "You may get the call yet. Anything can happen in this
game!"
"Yeah?" retorted Mack, sarcastically. "All I've gotten so far is
slivers in the seat of my pants from sitting on the bench. I'm getting
tired of being shoved in for a couple minutes before the end of the
half to give you birds a chance to get under the showers and take a
rub-down before the second half opens. And then rushing in after the
game's in the bag to hold 'em for dear old Grinnell. There's no kick
in that."
"But somebody has to do it," returned Frank, regarding Mack, curiously.
"I did that the last two years before they put me to work as a regular."
"Yes, but this is my _third_ year," rejoined Mack. "At that rate, if
I'm any good, I ought to be out there with you, too."
"You're playing in hard luck," Frank replied, pulling on his sweater.
"Grinnell has the best material she's ever had and the regulars are so
good that even good substitutes don't have the chance they might have."
He made a little bow, winking mischievously. "Of course, I'm excluding
myself. I'm rotten!"
Mack forced a grin. This whole situation was too serious to him to be
taken lightly. "Yes," he retorted. "I'd probably be a regular if I
was as rotten as you are!"
"Cheer up!" chuckled Frank, slapping Mack on the back. "Maybe some
day--you _will_ be!"
"I won't unless Coach gives me a better break," said Mack, a bit
bitterly. "I've played in enough games to get my letter but it hasn't
meant anything ... an average of five minutes a game. Even at
that--don't you think I'm as good a back as Dave Morgan?"
Mack bit his lips as he asked the question. It was perhaps unfair to
so embarrass Frank but Grinnell's substitute back was tempted to "fish"
for compliments as a defensive gesture against Coach Edward's analysis
of his ability. Should Frank agree that there was very little
difference, in his opinion, between Dave and himself, Mack felt that
this alone might prove the Coach to be biased.
"You--as good a back as Dave?" repeated Frank, cagily. "Well, I'd be a
hard one to answer that. Dave happens to team together with me just
about perfectly. He's cleared the way for most of my long runs, as you
know."
"Probably I could have done that, too," Mack argued. "But I've never
been put in the game when you were in. I've gone in with the second
string backfield. We don't have an open field runner in that crowd who
can get away like you can."
"Thank heaven for that!" grinned Frank. "Say--you've asked _me_ a
question. Now let me ask _you_ one. Since your brother is coach of
Pomeroy you ought to know something about our chances for beating them
this year. What do you think? Are we going to break the jinx?"
Mack hesitated. Frank, who had raised his voice to command the
attention of fellow teammates, was enjoying Mack's discomfiture.
"That's what I call putting a fellow on the spot," sympathized Dave
Morgan, sauntering up. "If you can't think of a good answer, Mack--I
suggest the old reliable 'yes and no'."
Fellow team members laughed.
"Hey, Mack!" called fullback Steve Hilliard. "Isn't your brother
handicapped with poor material this year? His team's not done so well
... sort of an in and out eleven ... one Saturday looking like a world
beater ... the next Saturday looking like a bunch of dubs. What's the
low-down?"
"You fellows know as much about it as I do," replied Mack, reluctant to
venture a comment. "For one thing, I think my brother's team has
played the stiffest schedule in their history ... and he's had trouble
keeping them at their peak every game. But Pomeroy's liable to make
plenty of trouble for us--as usual."
"Meaning you think we still can't take them over?" pressed Frank,
jovially.
"We'll have to go some!" was Mack's well guarded opinion.
"Which leaves us just where we were before," summarized Frank. "Too
bad, guys! Here we've got a man--the actual brother of Pomeroy's
coach--and he can't give us a better inside on what to expect. Was for
two years on the squad, too!... I was hoping he could tell us all of
Pomeroy's weaknesses and what his brother might be having up his
sleeve. But now it begins to look like 'no soap'!"
"Don't you even know his standard plays?" joshed Steve. "If you know
the formations, you might tip us off so we could shift to meet them."
"I'd have to be in the line-up to do that," said Mack. "Each play
would have to be diagnosed. Even then I wouldn't want to do it."
"Why not?"
"Wouldn't seem hardly fair--taking advantage of what I know about my
brother's plays ... or system."
"All's fair in love and football," kidded Steve. "Shouldn't think that
would make any diff. Your brother has scouts out, trying to discover
what he can about us. Our coach has scouts giving your brother's team
the once-over. So there you have it! Fellows have changed colleges
before. You're entitled to bring what you know about football at
Pomeroy to Grinnell. Why be close-mouthed about it?"
Mack shook his head decisively.
"As far as my football in Pomeroy is concerned," he gave answer, "it's
a closed book. I'm here at Grinnell just as though I'd come here at
the start. Of course I can't forget, with the Pomeroy game coming up,
that my brother's coach of the team and that I'm really opposing him..."
"How do you feel about that?" Frank asked.
Mack drew in a deep breath as team members looked at him with intent
interest.
"All right, boys!" broke in Coach Edward, entering the locker room.
"Snap out of it! We're going to have our last scrimmage of the year
tonight. Going to try out those new plays I ran you through yesterday.
Let's go!"
The players, springing to their feet, jostled each other through the
doorway onto the field, Mack joining with them, secretly glad of the
coach's interruption. Inwardly he was in such a turbulent state that
he didn't really know how he felt about the Pomeroy-Grinnell clash. He
should be intensely loyal to Grinnell, without question ... but there
were other factors crowding in. If to lose the Grinnell game actually
meant the loss of his brother's coaching job ... it also meant the loss
of his mother's support. Carl had been assuming this responsibility
until he, Mack, could finish his schooling and help out. Under these
circumstances, with Carl's position probably wavering in the balance
due to an unsteady season and the demand of Pomeroy alumni for winning
football, the outcome of the Grinnell game took on added if not painful
significance. The situation was even beginning to take the edge off
Mack's original desire to compete against his brother's team and show
it up. There was always drama in the idea of brother against brother.
Newspapers were already hinting at the possible conflict and would make
much capital of the matter if it did come to a head. But Mack did not
now relish the thought of being in any way instrumental in the loss of
his brother's coaching job.
"I'm getting in more and more of a jam, it seems to me," he muttered,
as he trotted out on the field. "Maybe I'd be better off if I quit
this game entirely."
Opportunities often come when least expected. Coach Edward suddenly
decided that he wished the regulars to face the strongest lineup he
could possibly throw against them as a severe test of the new plays.
As a result, Mack Carver found himself at right half on the Second
Eleven which had been trained in Pomeroy plays.
"You've run through many of these Pomeroy plays yourself," Coach Edward
said to him, "so we're depending on you to carry the brunt of the
Second Team offensive and give us a good idea of what to expect next
Saturday."
There was nothing in the coach's attitude to indicate a remembrance of
the unpleasant interview between them. Mack's heart bounded at the
thought that Coach Edward was recognizing him to this extent. Here
was, at least, a chance to demonstrate what he could do in
practice--much more of a chance than he had been given hitherto.
"I'll try to impersonate Dizzy Fox, Pomeroy's star right half," Mack
told Alf Rigsbee, Second Team quarterback. "He's the man our fellows
will have to look out for!"
"Okay, _Dizzy_!" grinned Alf. "You're going to be in for a busy
afternoon!"
"And listen!" cried Mack, with more spirit than he had felt all season.
"Let's give this Varsity bunch more than just a work-out!... If we all
hang together, I think we can outscore 'em!"
"We can try!" volunteered Bob Hayes, fullback. "Seeing as how we've
got some of you first team subs in here to help us!"
Coach Edward, assuming the role of referee, blew his whistle,
signalling the two teams to take the field. It was to be the Varsity's
kick-off.
Frank Meade, carefully toeing the ball, looked over the boys opposing
him.
"Don't be too hard on us, you guys!" he joshed. "We're just learning
the game!"
"Then we'll teach you a lesson this afternoon!" quarterback Alf Rigsbee
called back to him. "We're out to _get_ you babies and we don't mind
saying so!"
The threat brought howls of good-natured derision from the Varsity team
members but the chiding ceased when, with Franks kicking off over the
goal line and the ball being brought out to the Seconds' twenty yard
line, Mack Carver made fifteen yards on the first play with one of his
brother's clever wing back formations.
"I'll show Coach Edward whether I'm a ball carrier or not!" Mack told
himself, highly flushed with his early success. "Call my number
again!" he begged.
Quarterback Rigsbee shot him the ball a second time and Mack skated
through tackle on a delayed wing back for seven yards.
"This Varsity isn't much!" kidded the Seconds' linesmen, elated at
Mack's gains.
"Wait till we've solved these new plays and we'll stop you cold!"
promised Bert Henley, Varsity quarterback.
But the Seconds were well drilled and Mack Carver, in particular,
functioned remarkably well, skirting the ends and knifing through the
line on plays with which he had long been familiar.
"Wonder what Coach thinks now?" he said to himself as the Seconds
landed on the Varsity's ten yard line for a first down.
Mack found himself regretting that there were no student spectators and
no newspaper reporters on the sidelines watching his performance. All
such had been banned for this week of secret practice.
"Come on, gang! Let's stop this advance right here and now!" appealed
Varsity quarterback Donner. "We've played with these little boys long
enough!"
The Varsity had taken a time-out to get reorganized. The so-called
Scrubs hadn't made things this interesting throughout the entire season.
"They'll be expecting another wing back," counselled Mack. "My brother
had another good play you fellows haven't been taught. What do you say
we try it?"
"No--we'd better stick to the plays that have been given us," replied
quarterback Alf Rigsbee.
"It's simple," insisted Mack, "and we want this touchdown. Listen--you
feint a pass behind the line to me and I shoot to my left like I've got
the ball but the left half really gets it--only, after he does, he
fades hack into the backfield and then throws a forward pass out to me.
It's a grand scoring play. We ought to be able to work it without
rehearsal and it should catch the Varsity flat-footed!"
Quarterback Rigsbee looked to his fellow team members questioningly.
"Sounds like a peach to me," endorsed left half Bill Grady. "What do
you say we try it?"
"Well, if you guys think it's okay," agreed Alf. "Now this'll be the
signal...!"
With play resumed, the Seconds sprung their surprise play. A quick
crisis-crossing behind the lines, Mack lunging to the left, Bill Grady
taking the ball and dropping into his backfield...!
"Look out for a pass!"
The Varsity shouted its warning as Bill suddenly wheeled and hurled the
pigskin to his left where a crouching figure straightened up, raced
toward the goal, jumped into the air to catch the ball and was tackled
almost immediately, only to fall over the line for a touchdown.
"Atta boy, Mack!" shouted delirious Seconds, dragging the tickled
Varsity substitute to his feet.
"How about it, you Varsity?" Mack taunted. "A march of eighty yards!"
"Yea, Pomeroy!" razzed Second team members. "You can't stop Pomeroy!"
"Just a minute!" broke in Coach Edward, abruptly. "What play was that
you fellows just pulled?"
Alf Rigsbee, Seconds' quarterback, looked a bit uneasy.
"Why, er ... it was a play Mack suggested to us ... one his brother
used. Not so bad, hey?"
"Since when is anyone giving you men plays without my authority?" the
Coach demanded, picking up the pigskin. "Ball's on the ten yard line.
Use the plays in which you've been instructed!"
Mack stared, open-mouthed. "But, Coach, I...!" he started, biting off
the protest.
"I was afraid of that," quarterback Rigsbee mumbled. "But we scored on
the Varsity anyhow. They can't take that away from us! Never mind
that, guys--we'll do it all over again!"
Cut here Alf's optimism encountered its first snag. The Varsity, now
desperate, crashed through the Seconds' line to throw Mack for a four
yard loss. In four downs the Seconds had advanced the ball only to the
nine yard line where it went over. The Varsity tried a running play
which failed to gain and then kicked out of danger. On an exchange of
punts, the Varsity gained twenty yards and put the ball in play on
their twenty-nine yard line.
"Here we go!" they announced.
"Yes--_backward_!" shouted quarterback Rigsbee as the Seconds' line
charged fast and forced a two yard loss.
"Get in there!" ordered the Coach. "You've got to work for your
yardage tonight. I haven't picked out any bed of roses for you Varsity
men. If you're going to stand a chance against Pomeroy you've got to
do better than this!"
"Don't let them shake Frank Meade loose!" pleaded Alf of his determined
Seconds. "Frank depends on Dave's clearing the way for him. Stop Dave
and you stop Frank most of the time!"
"I'll take care of Dave!" volunteered Mack, eyeing his rival for right
halfback. "The coach thinks he's better than I am. All right--this is
a swell time for him to prove it!"
On the first play with Dave running as interference, Grinnell's star
blocking halfback collided with the fellow who thought he was just as
good and Mack's ambitious effort to break up the formation ended in a
nose dive as Frank, carrying the ball, raced down the field for
thirty-seven yards and a first down on the Seconds' thirty-four yard
line.
"I thought you said you'd take care of Dave," chided quarterback
Rigsbee as a dejected Mack picked himself up.
"He won't block me out again!" was all Mack would say as he took his
place behind the line.
"Dave's a tough man to stop," rejoined Alf. "You pick him off right
along and you _are_ good!"
The Varsity was laughing now. Frank's long run had pepped Grinnell's
first stringers up. Quarterback Bert Henley said something in Frank
Meade's car. Frank nodded. It was to be one of Coach Edward's new
plays ... two laterals behind the line with Frank on the ball carrying
end.
"Watch this one!" warned Alf Rigsbee as he saw the shift. His Seconds
were all eyes and they needed to be for the passes which followed left
them momentarily dazed. The pigskin changed hands with bewildering
speed behind the line and Frank finally emerged with Dave running
interference, dashing around right end. Most of the Seconds had been
pulled in on the play but Mack, studying the shift closely, hazily
recalled that this was another of the plays he had seen diagrammed.
"Frank around right end!" he exclaimed, "that play looked like a nifty
when they ran through it last night. But I'll nail Frank this time!"
Racing to his left, Mack rapidly loomed in front of the fast traveling
Frank who was shielded by his interferer, Dave, running a step ahead
and in front of him. Dave, seeing Mack coming, prepared for the
impact. Mack, eyes only for Frank, charged savagely, intending to
brush Dave aside and keep on going until he had brought Frank to the
ground with a diving tackle. What actually happened was extremely
jolting to Mack. He hit Dave but did not tumble him. Instead it was
he who rebounded and Dave continued on. Mack, rolling over, painfully,
saw Dave go on down the field to bowl quarterback Alf Rigsbee, playing
safety, out of the way and leave Frank with a clear path to the goal
line.
"Great work!" Mack heard Coach Edward complimenting Dave. "That's what
I call 'interference'!"
The Varsity lined up in front of the Seconds' goal line with Dave
holding the ball while Frank place-kicked the point after touchdown. A
chagrined Mack Carver could only turn to Alf and declare: "The score
should have been a tie if that touchdown of ours hadn't been
disallowed."
Alf shrugged his shoulders, expressively. "What do we care?" was his
answer. "It's only practice!"
To Mack, however, his entire efforts seemed to have been punctured like
a toy balloon. He had tried to put more fight in his play. He had
tried, moreover, to show the coach that Dave was not so hot as a
blocking back. But he had actually only served to further demonstrate
Dave's great ability to dump would-be tacklers. This scrimmage had
been more than practice to him--it had been a final testing of
abilities he had claimed to have which he apparently did not possess.
The coach would probably discount the runs he had made while
impersonating Pomeroy's star back, Dizzy Fox. He had already
discredited the touchdown scored on a trumped up play, despite its
perfect execution. In fact, every way you looked at it, this fellow
Mack Carver appeared as a complete wash-out. He even marvelled now
that he had had the audacity to visit Coach Edward and ask why he
wasn't a regular on the Varsity. How foolish of him to have imagined
that the Coach was holding his relationship to Carl Carver against him!
He really owed the coach an apology!
"Hey, Mack!" said a voice, and Grinnell's substitute back, momentarily
lost in a solemn revery, realized that Dave Morgan was at his elbow.
"Listen, old man," Dave was saying. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No," Mack replied. "But you sure took me out of those plays. It was
swell interfering."
Dave nodded. "You came at me like the charge of the Light Brigade," he
grinned, "only you hit me too high ... gave me a chance to get under
you and I hoisted you out of the way. Next time try the shoulder and
the half roll--like this ...!" And Dave put his words into action,
sending Mack spinning as he did so.
"Much obliged!" was Mack's comment, when he had recovered his balance.
"Don't mention it!" said Dave, and was off to join his Varsity mates as
the two elevens lined up again for kick-off.
Mack, standing staring after the fellow who had beaten him out for the
team, could scarcely control his feelings. He had carried a chip on
his shoulder all season; hadn't mixed with the fellows the way he might
have; had taken the game and its incidents too seriously, and here was
a guy--his rival--who was sport enough to take him aside and tip him
off as to how he might be stopped!
"I'll try it next chance I get," Mack decided, "and if it works...!"
Varsity kicked off to the Seconds who lost the ball on downs after
putting on another advance--this one for forty yards. Mack was
responsible for half of the yardage gained but the Varsity was now
getting on to the Pomeroy plays and developing an effective defense to
cope with them. Taking the ball on its twenty-three yard stripe, the
Varsity started a slashing drive, mixing straight line plays and end
runs. Finally, with the Seconds' defense stiffening, quarterback Bert
Henley called upon Coach Edward's new play--the lateral opening out
into the forward pass.
"Now!" thought Mack, as he analyzed what was coming.
Dave Morgan, intended as Frank's screen on the pass, lateralled to
Frank and stationed himself in front as interferer. Frank, who had
started to run wide, faded back for the throw. Coming in fast, Mack,
following instructions, tore into Dave, hitting him low. Frank's
interference disappeared suddenly and completely in a jolting
somersault and Mack, with a half roll, was upon his feet and diving
back after the man with the ball. Frank tried to elude him and to
forward pass at the last instant but Mack had covered him too fast. He
was tackled before he could get the ball away for a loss of twelve
yards.
"Great stuff!" congratulated a winded Dave who had staggered to his
feet. "That's getting past interference!"
"Now aren't you sorry you wised me up?" smiled Mack, appreciatively.
"You could have had things all your own way."
"But it wouldn't have been any fun," was Dave's reply. "Now I've got
to _work_!"
And Dave's prediction proved correct. A friendly feud developed
between Mack and himself. It was no longer possible for Dave to block
Mack out of the play and keep going himself. Invariably the two went
down and out together. Occasionally Mack would so batter his
interference as to reach the man with the ball himself. If he did not,
he so thoroughly removed the interference that he forced the ball
carrier in the open and made him comparatively easy prey for fellow
Seconds to bring down.
"Dave, you've done wonders for me," Mack said, gratefully, at the end
of a gruelling practice. "I don't know how to thank you."
"Don't try," Dave answered. "I've been watching you for some time. I
knew you were just missing out. You ought to make it tough for anybody
from now on!"
That any fellow player would have been so unselfish as to help a rival
overcome a fault in charging interference and thus jeopardize his own
position on the team was almost beyond Mack's comprehension. Long
after the practice session was over he puzzled Dave's great kindness
and wondered, too, whether Coach Edward had finally been impressed with
the way he had played.
"After I got the hang of it, I made even Dave look bad," Mack told
himself. "I certainly didn't intend to do this ... but every time I
broke up the interference and nabbed Frank it counted in my favor and
against Dave. Coach doesn't know, of course, who's responsible for my
improvement. I only wish it was earlier in the season. I might be
able to get somewhere." But this thought brought a feeling of remorse
since Mack's advancement would ordinarily have to be at Dave's expense.
"I see now what Coach meant about a fellow's playing wholeheartedly for
the team," Mack reflected. "Dave wasn't thinking of himself when he
helped me out. If I should develop into the better player, I know he'd
take his hat off to me. And here I've been playing for myself right
along. Swell guy--this Mack Carver!... So swell he ought to be ducked
in Grinnell Lake!"
News travels fast across a college campus. The following morning
students were thrown in a turmoil of excitement by word that Coach
Edward's office had been rifled during the night and nothing disturbed
but the team plays. It was rumored that two detectives had been
employed by the college to determine, if possible, the guilty party or
parties. Despite an attempt to keep the matter quiet, newspapers got
hold the story and, later in the day, papers appeared with streaming
headlines:
GRINNELL PLAYS STOLEN
FROM COACH'S OFFICE
POMEROY AUTHORITIES INDIGNANTLY
DENY ACCUSATIONS OF PART IN ATTEMPT
TO SECURE GRINNELL PLAYS AND SIGNALS
The Grinnell _Leader-Tribune_ went so far as to declare, in its news
story, that relations between Pomeroy and Grinnell had been strained
for the past two years since Grinnell had developed into a school to be
feared by the larger college. It seemed that Pomeroy had scheduled
Grinnell merely for the purpose of giving her a drubbing and taking it
easy between big games and that Grinnell's increased opposition had
been embarrassing to Pomeroy students and alumni who rated their eleven
far better than the intended victim. Now matters had become so acute,
a report was going the rounds that Coach Carl Carver's job at Pomeroy
hung upon his winning the Grinnell game, about which there was some
doubt owing to Pomeroy's uncertain season. A victory for Grinnell, on
the other hand, would be the greatest triumph ever scored by that
school since Pomeroy was a nationally known eleven, accustomed to
playing the best in the country. "It's a step up or a step down for
either coach," the news article concluded, and Mack Carver, Grinnell
substitute back, who read the stories with a strange lump in his
throat, breathed his thanksgiving that no mention was made of him.
"This is one time when my not being well known as a football player has
helped out," he said to himself. "If I'd been prominent on the
Grinnell team, I'd have been played up along with my brother. As it
is, they'll probably let me alone."
But in this surmise, Mack was wrong. On reporting for football
practice that afternoon, he found fellow team members regarding him
with traces of suspicion.
"Coach wants to see you in the Field House," Frank informed. "He says
not to dress."
Mack stiffened with surprise.
"Okay," he replied, face sobering. "Any idea what it's about?"
"How should I know?" rejoined Grinnell's star back, but Mack fancied he
noted an attempt on Frank's part to conceal his real feelings.
"Maybe," Frank added, rather lamely, "he's moving you up as a regular!"
"No chance of that," said Mack, grimly. "See you guys later!"
He turned on his heel and strode out of the locker room. On the way to
the Field House his thoughts ran together crazily. There could only be
one answer to the Coach's request to see him. It must be in connection
with the stolen plays!... Mack's mind raced back to the moment in
Coach Edward's office when he had been detected examining the plays.
He winced. This was probably the meagre clue upon which he was being
drawn into the case ... this and the fact that he was a brother of Carl
Carver's!
Coach Edward was apparently awaiting Mack's arrival. He was in the
company of two strange men when Grinnell's substitute back located him
in one of the conference rooms.
"Meet Mr. Pierce and Mr. Greene," the Coach introduced. "Take a chair
over here."
Mack sat down, feeling the two men looking him over, shrewdly.
"You've been called," explained Coach Edward at once, "in the hopes
that you may help us throw some light on what happened in my office
last night."
"I thought so," answered Mack, eyeing his coach squarely.
"Why did you think so?" demanded the man referred to as Pierce. He was
solidly built, black moustache and heavy eyebrows. Mack took an
instant dislike to his bullying manner.
"The reasons should be obvious," he replied.
"As we understand it," spoke up the man introduced as Greene, "you paid
Coach Edward a visit some days ago--at his office."
"I did," acknowledged Mack.
"At that time," continued Mr. Greene, "you took quite an interest in
some diagrams of plays which your coach had on his desk."
Mack's face flushed. "I did," he admitted.
"What was the big idea?" boomed Pierce. "You knew your coach would
tell you all he wanted you to know about any plays he had. Why take
the first chance you got to look them over?"
Mack turned to Coach Edward who sat back, having left the questioning
to the two strange gentlemen.
"Listen here, Coach! Who are these men? Am I being cross-examined?
You don't think that _I_...?"
"These men are detectives as you've probably supposed," said Coach
Edward. "I haven't accused you of anything. The case has been turned
over to them. They have been acquainted with all known facts ... and
you simply are being asked to contribute what you know."
Mack stirred uneasily. "I don't know anything!" he replied, frowning
his defiance.
"Didn't you even know that a key to Coach Edward's office was found to
be missing from his desk shortly after you left?" pressed Detective
Pierce.
"No," said Mack, his temper slowly rising.
"But you're willing to admit that a knowledge of Grinnell plays and
signals would be highly valuable to your brother, aren't you?"
Mack glared. "I suppose they would ... but if you think my brother
would take any underhanded advantage...!"
"We're not thinking," interrupted Detective Greene, smoothly. "We're
just talking out loud. I believe you've been peeved at your Coach for
some time ... even accused him of not giving you the breaks you
deserved!"
"That's right," said Mack, after a moment's hesitation. "And I want to
apologize for that."
"You do, eh?... What for?"
"Because I discovered last night I was wrong."
"Last _night_?"
"I mean--yesterday afternoon ... in scrimmage. I thought I was better
than I really was. I'm sorry I ever said anything, Coach."
Coach Edward nodded, exchanging glances with the two detectives.
"Trying to make things right now, aren't you?" taunted Detective
Greene. "But you can't explain away that crack you took at Coach
Edward just as you were leaving."
"What crack was that?"
"'Here's hoping you get trimmed by Pomeroy!'" Mack flinched. He had
been sincerely trying to straighten matters up but the detectives did
not appear to be giving him credit.
"I was sore when I left," said Grinnell's substitute back. "I
shouldn't have said that. I didn't really mean it."
"You didn't mean it, eh?... Isn't it a fact, when you left Coach
Edward's office you were practically positive you wouldn't get a chance
to play against Pomeroy?"
He hesitated. "Yes, sir," he finally granted.
"And," persisted Detective Pierce, "isn't it a fact, if you couldn't
get a chance to play, you would rather have seen your brother's team
win?"
"No!" cried Mack, rising from his chair.
"Just a minute, son!" snapped Detective Pierce, pushing Mack down.
"Wasn't that remark you made, leaving Coach Edward's office, actually a
threat?"
Mack stared at the burly figure in front of him in amazement. This
interview was taking on the proportions of a third degree.
"A threat?" Mack repeated, somewhat bewildered.
"A threat that, if the coach didn't put you in the game against
Pomeroy--you'd do all you could to help Pomeroy win!"
"That's a lie!" branded Mack. "I didn't have any such idea in mind.
You can't prove a thing. I never saw the key. I haven't been near
Coach Edward's office since. I haven't been in touch with my brother.
You can't make me out a thief. I went straight to the Coach with my
grievance and got it out of my system. I've apologized--whether he
wants to accept it or not. I'd intended going to him and apologizing
today ... until this came up. It's unfortunate ... but I didn't have
anything to do with it!"
Mack's outburst sounded incoherent as it poured from his lips but he
was greatly up-wrought. To think of such suspicions having centered
upon him! He could understand how he had been responsible for part of
his dilemma but the rest seemed far-fetched, absurd.
"I think, officer, the boy's been questioned enough," said Coach Edward.
"Not quite!" rejoined Detective Pierce. "This young man also mentioned
in your presence the rumor that you were out after his brother's job.
Isn't that so, Mr. Carver?"
"Yes," glowered Mack, now strictly on the defensive.
"He had that very much on his mind. It's human then to believe that he
would be interested in his brother's holding his job. Am I right?...
Isn't that the way you feel about it, Mr. Carver?"
"Naturally," conceded Mack, with a feeling of being cornered. "But I
wouldn't let even that stand in the way of playing my hardest for
Grinnell if I got the chance in the Pomeroy game!"
"On the other hand, if you should sympathize too much with your
brother, you might fumble at the right time or make a poor play which
would help Pomeroy out?"
"No, no!" Mack fairly shouted. "I'm not that sort. I won't answer
another question!"
"You're quite right, Mack," sided Coach Edward, evidently disturbed by
the turn the cross-examination had taken. "Gentlemen, I don't think
anything is to be gained by detaining Mr. Carver longer."
Detectives Pierce and Greene looked consultingly at one another.
"I'm not satisfied that the boy's telling all he knows," declared
Pierce. "Since I'm in charge of this case, I must ask that he be
suspended from the team until this matter is solved."
"Please," begged Coach Edward, as Mack looked his concern. "Not that.
It will mean unfavorable publicity--ill feeling between the two
schools."
"We can't help that," said Detective Pierce, bluntly. "You've reported
that your office has been entered. We've been assigned to the case.
You've told us everything you knew about events leading up to last
night and it's our job to run the clues down. Greene and I feel that
this young man should be held as a material witness. Naturally it
won't look right for you to keep a man on the team who's under
suspicion."
"I quite agree with you there."
"Then suspend him at once."
"I dislike doing this very much."
"You haven't any choice, Mr. Edward."
"But I don't feel you've lined up sufficient evidence to warrant such
action. I'll confess thinking first of Mack when I discovered what had
been done ... but it was only because of certain incidents. Listening
to this cross-examination today, I'm not convinced that he is any way
connected. Rather, I believe that the circumstances surrounding him
have been unfortunate. I'd much prefer to drop the whole matter
than..."
"You can't drop it!" bellowed Detective Pierce. "It's in the papers.
We're not going to have it said that we were hushed up. Whoever broke
into your office must have been working for Pomeroy because the plays
and signals wouldn't have done anyone else any good. When this young
man decides to talk we'll find out something. You wait and see."
Mack Carver laughed, grimly. The situation, serious as it was, now
struck him funny. Two small town detectives with an inflated sense of
their own importance. Coach Edward, because of his desire to win the
Pomeroy game had magnified the happening until it had developed beyond
his control. There was going to be some fireworks now despite anything
that he could do.
"It's all right, Coach," said Mack, sympathetically. "Go ahead and
suspend me. You probably wouldn't have played me anyway--so it's no
loss to the team. Besides--these men can't prove anything on me if
they spend the rest of their lives."
"Mack," addressed Coach Edward, with obvious sincerity. "I hope you'll
believe me when I say that I'm deeply sorry this thing has occurred.
You've made your mistakes in judgment ... and I've made mine. I've a
feeling now that you're being done an injustice but there's little I
can do about it for the time being...!"
"What are you trying to hand the boy?" cut off Detective Pierce. "Is
he suspended or isn't he?"
"He's suspended," said the Coach, simply.
"Very well!" snapped Detective Pierce. "Come on, Greene. I've got
another angle for us to follow up. As for you, son--you stay put where
we can call you!"
"I will," Mack promised, and stepped into the hall.
Outside the cool November air felt bracing to his feverish temples. He
inhaled it to the depth of his lungs as he strode from the Field House,
across the gridiron where Darby, assistant coach, was putting the squad
through its paces.
"Hi, Mack!" yelled Frank as the substitute back was discovered. "Where
you going?... Wait a minute!"
The team members looked Mack's way, apparently much interested.
"They're probably curious to know what's happened," thought Mack, a
peculiar sort of numbness taking possession of him ... a numbness which
was making him insensible to bitterness and disappointment. But Mack
had no desire to mix with his fellows and hurried his footsteps toward
the exit gate.
"Hold on, Carver!" Assistant Coach Darby shouted after him.
Mack came to a stop and looked back, wonderingly. Darby hurried, over,
followed by Varsity team members.
"What's the matter?" asked Mack, almost defiantly. "What do you want?"
"Better get into your duds," said Darby. "We may need you."
"Not me," Mack rejoined, incredulously.
"Yes, you!" replied Frank, coming up and tapping him on the shoulder.
"Dave's just been carried off the field with a dislocated knee. It's
doubtful if he'll be able to play Saturday."
Mack stood for a moment, shocked at the news. The field seemed to spin
around in a circle ... then the peculiar numbness returned.
"Too late," he heard himself saying. "You'll have to use someone else.
I'm no longer on the team. I've been suspended."
And, with that, he continued on out through the exit gate, not so much
as glancing back over his shoulder.