arose over the suspension of one Mack Carver. Not widely acquainted
because of his having entered Grinnell as a Junior with his residence
on the campus not quite three months in duration, Mack now became the
most discussed young man in school. His brother, Coach Carl Carver of
Pomeroy, had been too well known for the past few years, due to the
steam roller effect of his team upon the woeful best that Grinnell
could put on the field. Newspapers, in their merciless survey of the
present situation, left nothing to be imagined, emphasizing that the
coming Saturday's contest was more a "battle of coaches" than it was a
"battle of elevens." Injury of Dave Morgan, Grinnell's great blocking
back, had complicated matters still more since Mack Carver, the
suspended back, would logically have taken his place on the team. News
had leaked out of Mack's satisfactory performance in the last secret
scrimmage and rumor had it that Mack and his brother were not supposed
to be on speaking terms. This rumor hardly jibed with the suspicion
Mack was declared to be under--of having stolen Grinnell signals and
plays for the purpose of tipping said brother off that Pomeroy might be
assured of winning the game. But, since one good rumor deserved
another, all those interested might read and take their choice.
Meanwhile all sorts of wild reports were circulated, sides were
frenziedly taken, and the Grinnell stadium was sold out with thousands
of demands for tickets being of necessity refused.
"There'll be plenty of excitement here Saturday," a Grinnell
storekeeper remarked. "I'm going to re-enforce my store windows so the
crowds can't push 'em in."
Friday afternoon, Pomeroy's football squad, thirty-three strong,
arrived at Grinnell, having made the hundred and forty mile trip by
bus. They immediately took rooms in the Grinnell Inn--a whole floor to
be exact--and then the squad stretched their legs with a walk up and
down the Main Street while Coach Carl Carver got on the telephone and
called his brother.
"Mack--this is Carl! What's all this I hear about stolen plays and
your suspension?"
"It's all a lot of noise!"
"Yeah? Doesn't sound like it by the papers. Looks pretty serious to
me. I've invited Coach Edward up here to see me in fifteen minutes and
I want you to be here."
"Aw, nix, Carl!... I've said my say. I'm not begging for anything.
I've embarrassed you enough as it is! You know what they're saying ...
that we're in cahoots!"
"What do I care what they're saying?... I want you to be here,
understand?... I'm not taking 'no' for an answer!"
"Okay," said Mack, reluctantly, "but I'm telling you beforehand, it
won't do you any good."
Mack arrived five minutes before Coach Edward appeared.
"Well!" greeted Carl, "this is a nice kettle of fish!"
"Mostly my fault, too," said Mack, and related the events leading up to
the present moment.
"So Coach Edward is after my job?" mused Carl. "That's what happens
after you've had a winning team for a couple years. A few reverses and
the proud alumni commence hollering 'get the axe'! Everybody loves a
winner and they don't stop to figure there's got to be a loser to every
winner. Now that Grinnell's piled up a great record this year, we're
supposed to bump you off. If we do, despite the fact we've had no
season to shout about ourselves, the alumni will consider our year
crowned with success."
"You think you're going to beat us?" grinned Mack.
"Yes--with you suspended!" kidded Carl.
"Cut it!" Mack winced. "I'll prove to you yet that I can play
football!"
"Go to it!" invited Carl. "I admire your stick-to-it-iveness! Three
years and just a substitute indicates a bear for punishment."
"Being related to you is my biggest handicap," was Mack's rejoinder.
"It cost me better consideration before and it's costing me my chances
now."
"Tough luck!" sympathized Carl. "But if your coach gets my job next
year, you'll have a clear field!"
"I hope he doesn't!"
"Meaning you hope we win?"
Mack's face colored. "No--but I hope you keep your job win or lose."
"Listen, kid!" and Carl looked cautiously toward the door, "we've been
slowed up due to injuries and illness this year in addition to poor
material. But right now my eleven's at its peak for the first time and
we're set to give Grinnell a whale of a battle tomorrow. So--if your
team wins, your coach will be deserving of something!"
A rap sounded on the door.
"There he is now!"
Carl strode over and flung the door open.
"Edward, how are you?"
"Fine, Carver. And you?"
"Okay!... I've asked my kid brother to sit in."
"Oh! ... Hello, Mack!"
"Hello, Coach."
"Sit down, Edward."
"Thanks."
"I haven't said anything to Mack about this but maybe I can throw a
little light on this stolen play business."
"Yes?"
"On Wednesday night, this week, I received a mysterious note, signed by
a Mister "X" who proposed to sell me your signals and plays. I was
advised to leave one hundred dollars under a log in a vacant field..."
Coach Edward leaned forward, highly interested. Mack whistled,
impulsively.
"What did you do?"
"I left the hundred," related Coach Carver, "but I marked the bills.
The next morning I found the bills gone and, in their place, this
sealed envelope which, I imagine, contains the stolen plays and
signals."
"You haven't opened it?"
You'll have to take my word for it. The seal is unbroken. Of
course--this could be a second envelope."
"Hardly likely," said Coach Edward, greatly fussed. "May I open it?"
"I should expect you to," said Carl. "Maybe we've both been fooled.
It may be nothing but a wad of paper."
"No--it's the plays all right ... and--the signals!" gasped Coach
Edward. "This is almost incredible ... and certainly brazen! I don't
suppose the guilty person has been traced?"
"No--although the police in Pomeroy as well as the merchants have been
quietly tipped off as to the marked bills--a tiny "X" in the right hand
upper corner. You see, the idea is to out-X Mister X." Carl was
smiling.
"But he's probably left the town," surmised Coach Edward.
"Yes--and he's more probably returned to Grinnell," predicted Carl.
"You may find some of the marked five dollar bills in your town."
"Then you figure the thief a resident of Grinnell?"
"Well, I most certainly don't wish to claim him for Pomeroy! We've
already been given the name of being behind this ... and my own brother
is under the shadow of suspicion."
"This I regret very much," declared Coach Edward. "I said so at the
time. Mack and I have had our differences; I jumped a bit too hastily
at conclusions myself and the result is this unfortunate notoriety.
I'm profoundly sorry. I would like to be able to make amends."
"Then may I suggest that you begin by reinstating my brother at once.
You have the evidence now to prove he was not implicated and I demand
that you do it!"
"You won't have to demand," promised Coach Edward, "I was opposed to
this action in the first place and it will please me to present these
facts to the dumb detectives on the case who would have half the
college indicted for the theft if I'd listen to them!"
"Whether you use my brother in the game or not is no affair of mine,"
continued Coach Carver. "But it _is_ my affair when his name and mine
is attacked. As for tomorrow--good luck but not too much of it!"
"I might say the same to you!" said Coach Edward, extending his hand.
The two coaches shook hands. Carl's hand was cool and firm; but his
rival's palm was hot and trembly.
Morning papers, the day of the game, carried the news of Mack Carver's
reinstatement and a letter of public apology from Coach Edward. No
explanation was offered, as to the reasons behind Mack's return to the
Varsity.
"I'll bet this action was taken simply to reduce the feeling between
the two colleges," ventured a Grinnell supporter. "There have been
enough ugly reports surrounding this game and the authorities probably
got together, figuring they'd quiet a lot of wild rumors and unfounded
stories. But you can't tell me--where there was so much smoke--that
there isn't plenty of fire!"
And this opinion seemed to be shared by most of the thousands who
jammed the stadium for the game. It was a clear, cold day with a dry,
hard field destined to provide a fair test of the strength of both
elevens.
In the locker room, as Grinnell players dressed for the game, Mack
Carver was approached by team members who expressed their confidence in
him. Mack, while he tried not to show it, was highly nervous and ill
at ease. There was now every reason to believe that he would see
service in the game since Dave's knee had not responded to treatment
and since Coach Edward would probably feel that his playing at least
part of the contest would prove to Pomeroy that no grudge or suspicion
remained.
"If I'm put in I've got to play a bang-up game," Mack told himself, "or
I'll be open to criticism again. I can't afford to make any slips."
Dave Morgan, hobbling in on crutches, had encouraging words to say.
"You're in a tough spot, I know," he sympathized. "But just forget
you're related to Coach Carver and go out there to play a game of
football. If you tear in there the way you did when you got started
against me--you won't have to worry."
"Thanks," said Mack, gratefully. "You're a peach!"
"Don't kid yourself," grinned Dave. "I didn't throw this knee out to
give you your chance!"
Mack's eyes clouded. "No, Dave--you've done more than that. You've
shown me what real spirit was. I've been so wound up in myself that I
couldn't feel it before. I feel it now, though ... and I only hope I
can play good enough so your loss won't be felt too badly."
Dave patted him on the back. "I'll be pulling for you, boy!"
A buzz of excitement went through the crowded stands as the Pomeroy and
Grinnell elevens lined up for kick-off and the player numbered "26" in
Grinnell's backfield was pointed out to be Mack Carver. Pomeroy was
kicking to Grinnell.
"The highly exploited brother act is about to be put on!" cried a fan.
"We'll soon see what a brother player can do against a brother coach.
If there's not plenty of fireworks in this game, I'll miss a good
guess!"
Mack, as he awaited the referee's whistle starting the game, felt his
heart throbbing in his throat. This was his big moment--a terrible
moment. For him--the world rested on his shoulders. Thanks to
unwelcome newspaper publicity his every move would be watched. He
would be playing as though followed by a spotlight. Keenly conscious
of the business rivalry between his brother and Coach Edward, Mack
thoroughly appreciated the gesture of his being placed in the opening
line-up. He even wondered what his own feelings would have been had he
been in Coach Edward's shoes. Could he have trusted the brother of a
rival coach in the big game--knowing how deeply rooted is family
loyalty? Not that he would have suspected said brother of deliberate
leanings toward the other side ... but he might have feared an
unconscious favoring and a partial let-down on the part of the brother
at critical times. Were a game the only thing at stake, such brotherly
consideration might be entirely discounted. But when the loss of such
a game might affect the family pocketbook, the situation took on
different proportions. And this was the tough spot in which the
Grinnell Coach and player found themselves. Coach Carl Carver had
never intimated any personal concern nor confessed to any embarrassment
at the possibility of Mack's playing. His attitude had been impersonal
... but he, of the three, was least in position to feel the strain.
The kick-off!
Mack's eyes followed the ball as it arched in the air and spun his way.
Out of the corners of his eyes he saw team-mates forming a phalanx in
front. Then he heard Frank Meade's voice off to his left.
"Take it, Mack--and follow me!"
The stands were rocketing sound as Mack, his throat suddenly dry as
paper, realized the pigskin was coming to him on his own seven yard
line ... that the Pomeroy eleven was rushing down ... trying to
penetrate Grinnell's quickly forming interference. He made the catch,
clutching the ball to him fearsomely, terrorized at the thought of
dropping it, and felt himself in motion as he slid in behind Frank who
crossed in front of him. Ten--fifteen--twenty yards he traveled ...
conscious that frenzied Pomeroy forms were being dumped heavily to
earth by fellow team-mates ... and that Frank, directly ahead, was
doing herculean work at clearing the way for him. On the thirty yard
stripe, Frank suddenly went down, blocking off another tackler as he
fell ... and Mack was forced to veer toward the sidelines as he was
left upon his own. He saw now that Dizzy Fox, Pomeroy's star backfield
man, was bearing rapidly down on him. There was no escape ... he must
try to straight-arm ... or else be forced out of bounds....
Smack!
Dizzy's body-jarring tackle could be heard over the entire field. Mack
felt his breath violently punched from him and the mad clamor of the
field fade out in almost total darkness. A referee's whistle
screeched. Mick came to himself with the trainer bending over him,
lifting him up and down at the waist. He was gasping for breath.
"Pomeroy's ball!" he heard the referee saying.
"Pomeroy's ball?" Mack repeated, dazedly.
"Yeah--you fumbled when you was hit!" said the trainer. "Tough break,
old boy!"
Pomeroy's ball on Grinnell's forty yard line and Mack Carver's
brilliant runback of the initial kick-off reduced to naught!
"What will Coach Edward think?" an agonized Mack wondered as he
stumbled to his feet and was shoved back into position.
"Never mind that, Mack!" Frank was saying in his ear. "That might have
happened to any of us!"
But this was small consolation and it was even less consolation when
Pomeroy, overjoyed at the early turn of fortune, put on an inspired
drive which carried them the remaining distance to the Grinnell goal in
three first downs. The point after touchdown was kicked and Pomeroy,
five minutes after the game's opening, was out in front with a seven to
nothing lead.
"That's what you call brotherly cooperation!" remarked a disgruntled
rooter, but he was instantly howled down by those inclined to be
charitable.
"Mack was over-anxious!" explained one. "He made a great get-away but
he was trying too hard. He was too tense when he was hit and the ball
was snapped out of his arms. If he'd have relaxed, he'd have held onto
it. Shouldn't I know? I played for three years!"
Again Pomeroy kicked off. This time the ball went to Frank Meade who
was downed on the twenty-five yard mark. Then followed a terrific
struggle between two powerful lines--both elevens settling down to work
with the first hysteria of battle over. The contest became a punting
duel between the twenty yard lines with the offense of the two teams
effectively checked.
"Looks like that lone touchdown might prove to be the measure of
difference between Pomeroy and Grinnell!" observed a spectator as the
half ended. "If it is, it's going to be hard on Mack Carver! He
hasn't shown much so far ... but no one has--except Dizzy Fox who made
the only score. That fellow sums up as the best back on the field!"
In the locker room a dejected Mack Carver rightfully expected a
reprimand from his coach. Instead, Coach Edward announced to his
squad: "Boys, you'll be glad to know that the man who stole our signals
and plays has been caught. He's a small time gambler who'd placed bets
on Pomeroy to win. We owe his capture to Mack's brother, Coach Carl
Carver. And I want to again apologize to Mack for the embarrassment
I've caused him and his brother."
"That's all right, Coach," replied Grinnell's substitute back who had
played in the starting line-up for the first time. "I'm darn sorry
about that fumble."
"Go out after 'em this half!" was Coach Edward's retort. "You can get
that touchdown back!"
Mack could have no quarrel now about not being given the proper chance
to show what he could do. Coach was keeping him in, was giving him the
benefit of every doubt, was finding no fault even when his fumble might
be costing Coach Edward an opportunity to take over the coaching reins
at Pomeroy ... and at the same time help Coach Carver to hold his
position.
"This touchdown mustn't be what decides the game!" Mack told himself,
fervently. "If Pomeroy wins, I mustn't be held accountable for it!"
The third quarter began as though to continue the close defensive
struggle but, along toward the end of the quarter, Grinnell suddenly
came to life as left half Frank Meade, behind the frenzied interference
of Mack Carver, broke away for a thirty-nine yard run which placed the
ball on Pomeroy's twenty-one yard mark.
"Great work, Mack!" shouted a delighted Dave Morgan from the Grinnell
bench. Then, turning to the Grinnell subs, Dave grinningly declared:
"Say--he looked just like _me_ out there on that one! Did you see him
block those tacklers out of the way?... Now he's got going ... look
out, Pomeroy--here we come!"
Pomeroy's defense tightened. An end run failed to gain. A lateral
pass was good for four yards. Third down and seven to go.
Quarterback Bert Henley, calling signals in the huddle, nominated one
of Coach Edward's new plays--the lateral pass opening into a forward.
On this play, Mack was to take the pass from Bert and lateral to Frank
who was to fade back while Mack screened the pass from in front,
blocking off would-be tacklers.
The ball was snapped. Mack took the toss from Bert and started
running, then tossed the pigskin on to Frank who was running on his
left.
The toss was poor and Frank fumbled, then recovered. Mack continued
left, covering Frank as he dropped back ... but the Pomeroy line was
through fast and Mack found himself confronted with three frenzied
linesmen who sought to break up the pass. He threw himself in front of
them all and actually succeeded in bringing two down but the third
dodged to the side and leaped up, just as Frank, hurried by the poor
toss, released the pass.
"It's intercepted!" screamed Pomeroy stands as the Pomeroy right end
deflected the ball and gathered it into his arms, starting off for the
Grinnell goal, some eighty yards distance. He angled his run to avoid
a desperate Frank Meade who immediately gave chase. Mack,
disentangling himself from the two Pomeroy linesmen, also attempted to
follow after but was bumped joltingly to the ground again by another
Pomeroy player who came up from nowhere to offer interference in his
team-mate's wake.
"Touchdown!" yelled a delirious Pomeroy as the right end crossed
Grinnell's goal just as Frank hit him in a diving tackle. "There goes
your old ball game!"
Amid a riotous ovation by Pomeroy rooters, the point after touchdown
was added as the third quarter ended with the scoreboard reading:
Pomeroy, 14; Grinnell, 0.
"I'm responsible for that score, too!" moaned Mack, inconsolably.
"That rotten pass I made to you, Frank. By the time you recovered and
got set they were on you!..."
Frank, bitterly disappointed, had nothing to say. But Quarterback Bert
Henley, greatly perturbed by the breaks of the game, turned savagely
upon Grinnell's substitute back.
"You're right, Mack. You've played a swell game today for Pomeroy! If
you'd stolen the signals and handed 'em to your brother's team, you
couldn't have done any better! Coach Edward's treated you pretty white
... but you're about as low as a guy could get!"
"Shut up, Bert!" demanded Frank, grabbing the outraged quarterback by
the arm as Mack accepted the blazing denunciation with clenched fists,
controlling himself with difficulty.
"He ought to be taken out!" cried fullback Steve Hilliard, equally
upset.
Grinnell team members looked to the sidelines, half-expectant that
Coach Edward would take action but he sat immobile as Pomeroy prepared
to kick-off once more. Whether by design or not, the pigskin was
driven directly at Grinnell's offending player.
"I'll take it!" cried Frank, racing over from the side.
"No!" shouted Mack, "It's _mine_!"
Something in Mack's brain went hot at the realization that his
team-mates were trusting him no longer. Here was Frank, trying to take
a ball away from him which was rightfully his to accept. Frank made
the catch, snatching the ball practically out of Mack's arms.
"Get in front of me!" he yelled.
Mack had no other choice. Pomeroy players were sifting through
Grinnell's interference as Mack shot up the field, with the
fleet-footed Frank constantly urging him on to greater speed, until
both got behind a wedge of their own team members who were doing an
excellent job of crashing Pomeroy tacklers. At mid-field the wedge was
broken up and Mack and Frank emerged from the heap on their own.
"To the right!" directed Frank, seeing that two tacklers were bearing
down from the left. Mack changed directions obediently.
Grinnell supporters, wild with hope, screamed the two runners on.
"Look out from behind!" they shrieked, as a Pomeroy player, giving mad
chase, was rapidly closing up the gap.
Frank looked back over his shoulder, then called to the fellow who had
put his own team in the hole.
"Mack--drop back and take that guy out!"
"Okay!" answered Mack, dropping at once to the rear as Frank raced past
him.
The Pomeroy tackler loomed up almost at once and Mack, whose charge
down the field as Frank's interferer had been fraught with one
spectacular piece of frenzied blocking after another, now completed his
task by hurling himself in front of the last threat to Frank's
sensational touch down dash from kick-off. Tackler and interferer went
down in a thudding pile as Grinnell's star halfback crossed Pomeroy's
goal line and triumphantly touched the ball down. Then the field
rocked with sound.
"What a run!" gasped Dave Morgan, waving his crutch. "And what a piece
of interfering! Mack sure produced that time! Didn't look like he was
handing the game to Pomeroy then, did it?... Come on, gang--this old
game isn't lost yet!"
But a great groan went the rounds as the pass from center was bad and
Frank missed the kick for extra point. Score: Pomeroy, 14, Grinnell, 6!
"If we make another touchdown and kick the goal, we'll still be a point
behind!" grieved a Grinnell supporter. "There goes our outside chances
of at least tying the score!"
"Now you're playing _football_!" were Frank's words to Mack as he shook
his fist at him and then turned on other scowling team members with the
demand that they show a little fight.
"This is not enough!" Mack kept repeating. "I've got to do more!...
This is not enough!"
Grinnell kicked off and it was a frenzied Mack Carver who raced down
the field to bowl over interferers and down the Pomeroy man with the
ball on his eighteen yard line.
"Yea, Carver!... Yea, yea, yea!"
"Hold 'em!" ordered Quarterback Bert Henley. "Make 'em kick!"
The Grinnell linesmen, battered from the pounding they had received,
dug their cleats into the turf and held for three downs with Pomeroy
being able to gain but two yards. Dizzy Fox then dropped back to his
five yard line to punt.
"Block that kick!" was the cry.
And, with the snapping of the ball, Grinnell opened up a hole. It
existed but for a moment as the lines strained against one another ...
but, in that moment, Grinnell's right guard was through. He hurried
the kick, all but blocking it so that the ball went out of bounds on
Pomeroy's thirty yard mark.
"All right, gang!" shouted Quarterback Bert Henley. "What are we going
to do about this?"
"We're going through!" answered the team to a man.
Coach Edward sent in three fresh linesmen with the aim of aiding the
offensive drive. The scoreboard read: eight minutes to play.
To Mack's astonishment, he was given the ball on the first play, a
drive through tackle. He plunged for four yards and, heard the
Grinnell stands yell his name. Frank was good for two yards ... Steve
was good for four more and a first down on Pomeroy's twenty yard mark!
"That's hitting 'em!" commended Bert. "Keep it up, you guys! How
about you, Mack? Do you want to see us win or don't you?"
Mack glared. "Just gimme that ball!"
Fighting and squirming his way through, Mack made another four yards.
"Four yards, Carver!" the stands commenced shouting.
But Pomeroy rose up to turn fullback Steve Hilliard back at the line of
scrimmage.
Third down and six to go. Frank Meade--on a triple pass behind the
line--with Mack as interference, breaking out around left end! The
play was beautifully executed but Mack, as he turned the end, stumbled
so that Frank bumped him and was thrown off his stride. Before he
could recover, Pomeroy tacklers were in on him so that he gained but a
yard.
"There you go!" razzed Bert, shaking a blackened fist in Mack's face,
"Spilling the bucket again!"
"Shut up, Bert!" snapped Frank. "Signals!"
"Signals!" Bert repeated.
Mack stiffened. Bert was calling the trick play once more on which he
had made the poor toss to Frank. This time the play must be good.
Here they were on Pomeroy's fifteen yard line and fourth down with five
yards to go.
"If I bungle _this_ one...!" Mack thought, and bit his lips.