Mr. Detweiler Instructs
"It isn't that I'm not tickled to death about getting on the 'varsity,"
explained Clint to Amy later, "but I'm mighty sorry to leave the second.
You see, a fellow gets sort of fond of the team."
"Fond!" jeered Amy. "You're positively foolish! It's a wonder you
wouldn't go into mourning!"
"And then, too," continued Clint, analysing his emotions for his own
satisfaction more than for Amy's benefit, "I'm scared. Suppose I don't
do well enough for them on the 'varsity, Amy. I'd feel pretty cheap if
they dropped me after a day or two, wouldn't I? 'Boots' swears he won't
have anything to do with me if I come back. I--sort of wish Robey had
chosen Cupples or Robbins. I really do!"
"Cheer up!" said Amy. "Faint heart ne'er won the 'varsity! I'll bet
you'll make 'em open their eyes, Clint, when you get there. One trouble
with you is that you're too modest. You need to have more--more faith in
yourself, old top. And don't take 'Boots' too seriously, either. If you
decide to return to his aggregation of world-beaters you'll find he'll
do a heap of scolding and then fall on your neck. But you won't do
anything of the sort. I'm no football connoisseur, whatever that is, but
I have a feeling, Clint, that you can play all around Trow and Tyler.
Besides, after Joe Detweiler gets hold of you he'll do wonders for you.
Joking aside, Clint, I'm awfully pleased. It's great! And--and it's so
mighty unexpected, too! That's what gets me! Of course, I've always
known you were bound to become famous some day, but I didn't suppose it
was going to happen so soon!"
"I didn't suppose it was going to happen at all," replied Clint rather
ruefully.
"And it's going to be fine for me, too," continued Amy with gusto.
"Think what it will mean to be the chum of a regular 'Greek'! 'Hats off,
fellows! Here comes Mr. Byrd! Good morning, Mr. Byrd. We trust we see
you well today? And how is Mr. Thayer? We hope that his knee has quite
recovered from its recent indisposition!'"
"You silly idiot!" laughed Clint.
"And then, Clint, think of following your meteoric career in the papers!
As I nibble at my toast of a morning I prop the New York _Herald_
against the water giraffe and read, spilling my coffee down my neck:
'The life of the party was Right Tackle Thayer. Seizing the elongated
sphere and tucking it under his strong left arm, Thayer dashed into the
embattled line of the helpless adversary. Hurling the foe right and left
and biting the Claflin quarter-back in the neck, he emerged triumphant
from the mêlée. Dodging the enemy's bewildered secondary defence, and
upsetting the umpire with a dull thud, our hero dashed down the field.
Line after line vanished behind his flying feet. Shod with the wings of
Mercury, he sped on and on and still on toward the far-distant goal
line. Cheers thundered from the encompassing stadium, met overhead,
broke and descended upon the head of the speeding runner in a shower of
fragmentary vowels and consonants. Still on and on went Right Tackle
Thayer. Friend and enemy were far behind. Victory stretched eager arms
toward him. With a last, gallant effort he plunged across the goal line
and fell unconscious beneath the cross-bar. At a given signal a wreath
of laurel descended from above and fitted about his noble brow. The
score: Thayer, 98; Claflin, 0!'"
"Just the same," muttered Clint, when he had stopped laughing, "I'm
scared. And I _do_ wish Robey had let me alone."
"Coward!" taunted Amy. "Quitter! Youth of chilly extremities!"
"I'll have to learn new signals, too. And that's a beast of a job, Amy."
"Sluggard! Lazy-bones! Dawdler!"
"Shut up! I wish it was you, by ginger!"
"If it was me," replied Amy, "do you think I'd be sitting there clasping
my hands agonisedly? Not much I wouldn't be sitting there handing my
clasp ango--Well, I wouldn't! I'd be out on the Row with my head up and
my thumbs in the pockets of my vest; only I haven't any vest on; and I'd
be letting folks know what had happened to me. You don't deserve the
honour of making the 'varsity in your fourth year, Clint. You don't
appreciate it. Why, look at poor old Freer. He's been trying to make
himself a regular for three years and he's still just a substitute!"
"That's what I'll be," said Clint. "You don't suppose, do you, that
they're going to put me in the first line-up?"
"Well, not for a day or two," answered Amy airily. "But after that
you'll be a regular feature of the day's entertainment. And, zowie, how
the second will lay for you and hand it to you! They'll consider you a
traitor, a renegade, a--a backslider, Clint, and they'll go after you
hard. Better lay in a full supply of arnica and sterilised gauze and
plaster, my noble hero, for you'll get yours all right, all right!"
"I don't see why they need to look at it that way," objected the other.
"I didn't _want_ to leave the second!"
"But they won't believe it, Clint. I'm sorry for you, but the path of
glory is indeed hard!"
It was.
And Clint frequently doubted during the next week that glory had
anything to do with it. When, on Tuesday afternoon, he reported to Mr.
Robey, that gentleman cast a speculative look over him, nodded and said
briefly: "See Mr. Detweiler, Thayer."
Clint sought the assisting coach. "Mr. Robey told me to report to you,
sir."
"Yes." Mr. Detweiler viewed him much as Coach Robey had, as though
trying to see not only what showed but what was inside as well. The only
difference was that Mr. Detweiler smiled. "Well, Thayer, now let's see."
He walked to the bench which the players were vacating, Clint following,
and seated himself. "Sit down a minute," he directed. And when Clint
was beside him he went on. "I really don't know much about your playing,
Thayer. We had to have a new tackle and I took you because I liked your
looks the other day. Maybe I ought to have taken one of the others. What
do you think?"
Clint smiled uncertainly. "I reckon I'm not a fair judge," he replied
after a moment's hesitation.
"I suppose not. But tell me, can you play tackle pretty well?"
"I've got along all right so far, I think. Of course, Cupples's been at
it longer than I have, Mr. Detweiler."
"What in your judgment is the biggest asset a tackle can have, Thayer?"
"Brains, sir."
"Hm; yes, that's so. Now, look here." Mr. Detweiler laid a hand on
Clint's knee. "There's a fine chance for a fellow who is willing to work
and learn on this team. If you'll make up your mind to it, you can go
right ahead and play tackle against Claflin. But you'll have to plug
like the dickens, Thayer. It won't be any picnic. I want a chap who is
willing to work hard; not only that, but who will take the goad without
flinching. Think you're the chap?"
"I reckon so," murmured Clint. "I'm willing, anyway, sir."
"You're not over-enthusiastic," laughed the coach, "but maybe that's
just as well. All right, you see what you can do. Get out there now with
the second squad. Try to show me that I made a good selection, Thayer.
And, by the way, I wish you'd drop around and see me this evening after
study. Can you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll look for you, then. And bring that friend of yours along, if
he wants to come."
"Byrd?"
"Yes, that's his name, isn't it? Tell him I'll be honoured if he will
pardon the informality of the invitation and give me the pleasure of his
society from nine to ten. That's his style, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir." Clint smiled. "I think he will be very glad to come, sir."
"All right. Now get in there, Thayer, and set your mind on it. Show what
you can do. I expect you to make mistakes, boy; we can correct those;
but if I think for a moment that you're not trying--Well, we can't waste
time on you in that case, Thayer."
Clint reported to Carmine, who was personally conducting the substitutes
around the field. "Hello!" he greeted. "Tackle, you say? All right.
Follow along for awhile, will you? Now then, fellows, get this right!
Gafferty over! 36--41--17--8! 36--41--17--"
Clint tried to pick up the signals, but it was a hopeless task, and it
was not until Mr. Robey detailed one of the substitutes to teach him the
'varsity code that he was able to take part in proceedings. He went in
at right tackle for one of the two fifteen-minute periods and,
considering that he was still unfamiliar with the shifts and signals,
did very well. No one told him so, to be sure, but he knew without being
told, and emerged from the afternoon's practice thinking that perhaps,
after all, playing on the 'varsity was not such a difficult thing as he
had imagined it. But Clint's troubles hadn't begun yet.
That evening when he went in to supper he created an unintentional
diversion by proceeding, from force of habit, to the second team table.
It was only when he got there and found no seat awaiting him that it
dawned on him that he had made a mistake. The second team fellows broke
into a roar of laughter as Clint blankly surveyed them and, turning
hurriedly, made his way to the other end of the room. The rest of the
fellows sensed the situation after a moment and Clint passed table
after table of amused faces. Amy, grinning delightedly, reached far
across the board where he sat and, pointing at Clint with a baked potato
impaled on a fork, announced loudly: "A _contretemps_, Mr. Thayer, a
veritable _contretemps_!" Clint was blushing when he finally reached the
first of the tables occupied by the 'varsity players and found a vacant
chair. There, too, amused glances awaited him, and he was heartily glad
when Freer laughingly pulled him into the seat beside him.
They got a half-hour's leave from the Hall Master after supper, which
allowed them to remain out of the dormitory until half-past ten, and, as
soon as study hour was over, set out for the village and Mr.
Detweiler's. When they reached his room in the little boarding house
they found Mr. Boutelle there, but he left almost at once. Mr. Detweiler
made them comfortable, apologising for the unattractiveness of
his quarters.
"The fact is, fellows," he explained, "I didn't expect to stay over the
week when I came, and so brought nothing but a kit-bag. But Robey thinks
I ought to see him through, and, to tell the truth, I'm rather keen to
myself. You don't play the noble game of football, Byrd?"
"No, sir," replied Amy modestly. "You see, I developed at the wrong
end." He tapped his forehead significantly.
"That's hard on you and me, Thayer," laughed the coach. "Well, what do
you do for exercise?
"Tennis, some."
"He won the singles championship this Fall, sir," explained Clint.
"Really? That's fine. I'm a bit of a tennis enthusiast myself. Played on
the team three years in college. Some before that. Tennis was about the
only thing we specialised in when I was here. By the way, did you get
into difficulties over the disciplining of that fellow, whatever
his name is?"
"No, sir, we haven't heard anything from it yet. He'd hardly be likely
to say much, would he?"
"I fancy not. Have you met him since?"
"Oh, we see him every day. He rooms next door in Torrence."
"And what about the chap whose violin he broke?"
"Durkin? Oh, Penny's making about as much noise as before. He says the
fiddle he's using now isn't nearly as good as the one Dreer busted, but
I can't see much difference myself. Can you, Clint?"
Clint shook his head sorrowfully. "Sounds even louder to me," he said.
"I must drop around some time and hear him perform," laughed the coach.
"He must be something of a character." Amy agreed that he was, and
narrated two or three anecdotes concerning Penny to prove it. Mr.
Detweiler evidently found Amy's discourse amusing and drew him out until
he was in the full flood of his eloquence. But when they had been there
a half hour or so their host abruptly switched the conversation.
"I want to talk shop with Thayer a little," he announced. "You won't
mind, Byrd? There are some magazines in front of you if you like
to read."
"Thanks, I'll just listen, sir. It always amuses me to hear folks get
excited about football."
"Oh, we're not going to get excited, Byrd." Mr. Detweiler hitched his
chair around a trifle and faced Clint. "How did you get on today?"
he inquired.
"Fairly well, I reckon. I didn't know the signals very well. I don't
yet, for that matter."
"No, it'll take a day or two to forget the others and remember ours.
There are two or three things I noticed about your playing this
afternoon, Thayer, and I want to speak of them while they're fresh in
my mind. In the first place, you played too close to your guard on
defence as a general thing. Open up there and, above all, don't play
between opponents. I mean by that, don't try to get through on defence
between two men. Select one and play him. Usually it will be the outside
man, and your game is to put him against his inside man or side-step
him. As a general thing your position on defence is a foot or so outside
the opposing end player, although there are one or two formations when
that isn't so. Another thing I noticed was that, while you watched the
ball well, you were liable to let the other man get the jump on you. As
soon as the ball is snapped, Thayer, get busy with your arms. There are
two main factors in the playing of a tackle position. One is head and
the other is arms. Use your head all the time and your arms most of the
time. As soon as the ball is snapped, out with your arms, Thayer. Lunge
against the opponent. Get him first and hold him off until you can see
where the ball's going. Don't try to break through blindly. Hold him at
arm's length, keep your legs out of the way and then put him in or out,
as the case may be, and go through for the runner. If you can get your
arms on the other fellow _before_ the ball is snapped, do it, but don't
try it too long before or you won't be able to hold it. Try for the
neck and arm position. It's the best. You can swing a man either way if
you have that. If he gets under your arms and boxes you don't try to
push forward by main force, because you'll be only wasting your
strength. Back away and get around him.
"Of course, you know that the play is usually to charge your opponent
toward the centre. Play to get around the opposing end on the outside
and block the runner. If he finds you've got past and are waiting for
him he will likely turn in and try to get through nearer the centre of
the line, and the centre of the line is the hardest to gain through. So
'turn 'em in' is the regular rule, Thayer. On attack keep close to your
guard and help him on plays inside your position. Learn to work smoothly
with him. Usually you'll be able to settle between you whether you're to
help him or go out and help the end. It depends on the play and on how
strong the guard is. When you make a hole, make it clean; and don't stop
when it's made. Keep on playing until the ball is down. And don't trust
the horn for it, either. See it down yourself.
"When the runner is through the hole it's often up to you to say whether
he's to make three yards or thirty. Look for the man who's in position
to stop the runner and get to him and put him out of it. Play the game
every minute, Thayer. Be always on the lookout for trouble and try to
get a finger in it. And, another thing, and I've been dinning this into
the men all the week, don't slow down before tackling. Tackle hard,
Thayer. Put on a little extra steam at the last moment and smash into
it! Don't merely stop your man; anyone can do that; but put him back
when you hit him. Make him fall toward his own goal, and not toward
yours. Sometimes there's a difference of two yards right there. And
besides, and I say this because I know it to be so, there's nothing that
takes the starch out of a backfield man who is catching a punt or
running it in like knowing that he's going to be tackled hard. He has it
on his mind when he's catching the ball. He knows he's got to get it
right and hug it hard or he will lose it. And it's a dollar to a dime he
will get over-anxious and nervous. A team that tackles fiercely and for
keeps will have its opponents making fair-catches before the second half
starts. Well, that's enough for tonight. If I hurl too much wisdom at
you you won't remember any of it. Besides, Byrd over there is
yawning already."
"Oh, no, sir, I found your discourse most interesting," assured Amy.
"And I do hope our young friend will profit by the advice. I sometimes
think he shows real promise, Mr. Detweiler."
"Well, we'll hope he will later on show fulfilment, Byrd. I don't want
to frighten you, Thayer, but you're likely to hear all this stuff over
again, and a heap more like it. These little lectures of mine occur
frequently. I hope you weren't as bored as your friend here."
"No, sir, and I'll try to remember what you told me."
"In case you shouldn't I'll tell you again soon," laughed the coach.
"Rome wasn't made in a day nor a good tackle in one lecture. Now we'll
talk of something that Byrd can come in on."