THE LETTER THAT WASN'T WRITTEN
The Cherry Valley game came off the next afternoon, and the school
turned out with songs and cheers and marched across to the gridiron to
watch the last contest before the final and supreme test. It was a cold,
cloudy day, with a biting northeast wind sweeping down the field. Most
of the assisting coaches had gone away over the week-end, Mr. Robey and
Andy Miller had journeyed to Claflin to see the game there and Mr.
Detweiler was left in charge at home. Cherry Valley had been defeated
27-6 last year and was not looked on as at all dangerous. Her team was
light in weight and looked even less competent than it proved, since
whatever might have been said in criticism of it, it was fast. Brimfield
started the game with her best foot forward. With the exception of Clint
at left tackle, the line-up consisted of first-string players. Tyler
played in his old place at right tackle. Brimfield was not to show
anything in the way of new plays, in case Claflin had thought it worth
while to send scouts, and to that extent the Maroon-and-Grey was
handicapped.
The first period ran along without a score on either side. Brimfield
couldn't seem to get started. There was more fumbling on both sides than
was necessary, even when the wind was taken into consideration, and each
team lost the ball twice at critical moments. Brimfield worked down to
the Cherry-Red twenty-two yards, lost a couple of yards by a fumble,
tried the left end for no gain and essayed a goal from the field. But
distance and wind were too much for Harris. After that there was much
punting on Cherry Valley's part, evidently in the hope that a Brimfield
back would fumble. And Brimfield backs did fumble, for the wind made
certain judgment of kicks impossible, but fortunately the ball was
recovered each time without much loss. The first period ended with the
ball in midfield in Cherry Valley's possession.
Carmine went in for Marvin, since, with the wind against her, Cherry
Valley would not be likely to do much punting and Carmine's backfield
unsteadiness would not count. He managed to get more speed into the
Maroon-and-Grey and toward the end of the period two long punts, poorly
returned, put her within scoring distance. On the thirty yards
Brimfield uncorked her real offence and Kendall and Harris and St. Clair
hammered the line and skirted the ends and finally plugged through for a
hard-earned touchdown. The punt-out was missed and so Brimfield was not
able to add a 1 to the 6.
Thirty seconds after the kick-off Carmine faked a forward pass and
started around his own left end and, eluding most of the Cherry Valley
team by some of the best dodging that had been seen that season, put the
pigskin back on the Red's twenty-four yards. A forward pass, Harris to
Edwards, gained eight, and Harris made it first down past left tackle.
Kendall worked the centre for three and Harris romped around the right
for six more. Carmine plunged through centre for the distance. Harris
went back as if to kick and the ball shot to St. Clair and that elusive
youth fairly streaked across the field and, finding a hole, shot through
and over the line for the second score. This time Innes kicked the goal
and the tally was 13-0. There was no more scoring in that period,
although Cherry Valley sent the spectators' hearts into their throats by
getting a back off away on a long run down the side of the field which,
but for a splendid tackle by Kendall, would have resulted in a
touchdown. With the pigskin in Cherry Valley's possession on the home
team's sixteen yards the half ended.
Mr. Detweiler and "Boots" scolded and threatened during half-time. The
team had played, declared the latter, like a lot of helpless idiots.
What was the matter with them? Did they think they were there to loaf?
For two cents Mr. Boutelle would yank the whole silly bunch off the
field and finish the game with the second team! He would, by Ginger!
After that Mr. Detweiler more quietly pointed out some dozen or fifteen
of the most glaring faults displayed and read a new line-up. With the
exception of Clint, Hall, Carmine and Tyler every fellow was new. "And
now," said Mr. Detweiler, "let's see what you can do this half. Do
something, anyway! Stop loafing! If you can't play football, wave your
arms and make a noise!"
Brimfield wisely chose to play a kicking game at the beginning of the
third period, since, with the wind behind her, Freer's high corkscrews
were particularly effective. Freer didn't try for much distance with his
punts. What he did was to send them well into the air and let the wind
do the rest. The result was that the pigskin sailed down the field for
anywhere from thirty-five to fifty yards and came down in the most
unexpected places. Cherry Valley very sensibly made no effort to run
back punts, but signalled a fair-catch every time, which made it easier
for the Brimfield ends and tackles, since they, no more than the enemy,
could tell where the erratic ball was going to descend. Cherry Valley
attempted to run the ends and succeeded now and then, punting only on
fourth down when everything else had failed. After a dozen plays
Brimfield had gained half the distance to the Red's goal without having
put her new backfield to the test. There, however, a fumble by Still
changed the complexion of things, for the ball was recovered by a tall
Cherry Valley guard and that youth eluded the opponents and carried the
pigskin past the centre of the field and was pulled down on Brimfield's
forty-two yards by Carmine.
That seemed to give the visitors the encouragement they had lacked, for
they at once started in with a bewildering set of fast criss-crosses and
double-passes and so deceived the substitute backfield that they made two
first downs before a halt was called. Then, with six yards to go on
third down, the Red pulled off a forward pass of startling length and
precision and the catcher was run out at the Maroon-and-Grey's
twenty-five-yard line. Cherry Valley tried Brimfield's left end and
gained four, slid off Clint for three more, tried the same place again
and was stopped for no gain and punted short and across field to Carmine
on his eight yards.
Carmine slipped past the Red's left end and started on a wide run,
looking for a chance to cut in. But advance was blocked thoroughly and
he was finally down on his ten-yard line. A plunge by Rollins gained two
and Freer got past the right tackle for three more. Then Freer was sent
back to his goal line to punt. Thursby, at centre, passed low, and Freer
was hurried, with the result that the ball went almost straight into the
air, was caught by the wind and landed out of bounds at Brimfield's
eighteen yards. Cherry Valley started in again with grim determination.
A weak spot was discovered at right guard, where Gafferty was in Hall's
place, and two gains were made there, bringing the pigskin to the twelve
yards. Another attempt, this time on Tyler, produced two more. With two
to go on fourth down, Cherry Valley elected to kick and her right
half-back, who performed the drop-kicking, fell back to the
eighteen yards.
The ball was opposite the left-hand goal post and a three-point tally
appeared inevitable. Carmine and Still, the latter acting-captain in
Jack Innes's absence, implored the forwards to block the kick. There was
an instant of comparative silence, broken only by the quarter's hoarse
voice as he gave the signal, and then the two lines heaved at each other
and the ball sped back to the kicker. His eyes sought the goal, the ball
dropped, his leg swung and through the din of cries and the rasping of
canvas came the thud of foot and ball. But it was followed by another
thud, the hollow sound of the pigskin striking the chest of the
Maroon-and-Grey's left tackle, and back up the field bounded the ball.
Clint had chosen the opposing tackle as his prey, had swung him out and
broken through somehow between him and guard. A half-back had thrown
himself in his way, but Clint had staggered over or past him and leaped
desperately into the path of the ascending ball. He had felt the
resounding smack of it under his chin and, recovering from the force of
the impact, had, even as he found his feet again, seen it bound away
past the frantic kicker, seen that youth go down under the sturdy Holt,
and had started instantly in pursuit. Behind him thudded friend and foe,
from one side darted the Cherry Valley quarter-back. The ball was
wobbling left and right a dozen yards away. Clint strove to put himself
in the way of the quarter, but that player, with a burst of speed, ran
free and dived for the ball. Clint toppled on top of the quarter. And
then, just how he never knew, he had the ball snuggled under his chest,
the quarter ineffectually seeking a hold on it!
"Brimfield's ball!" announced the referee, heeling. "First down right
here!"
That was Cherry Valley's last threat. Later, in the fourth quarter, she
reached the Maroon-and-Grey's twenty-seven yards but was forced to punt
after two attempted forward passes had failed. Brimfield secured two
more touchdowns, one in each period, and twice failed at field-goals,
Rollins's drop-kicking proving far from first-class. Freer took the ball
over for the first score in the second half, and Marvin, who replaced
Carmine toward the end of the last period, squirmed through from the
four yards for the second. Freer failed to convert his touchdown into a
goal, but Marvin very neatly added a point to his, and the final score
read Brimfield, 26; Cherry Valley, 0; which was a more satisfactory
result than last year's.
The school showed a strong disposition to lionize Clint for his blocking
of Cherry Valley's drop-kick, and when he entered the dining hall that
evening he received more applause than, any of the other players. It was
his first experience of being clapped to his seat and he found himself
heartily wishing that the 'varsity training-tables had been located
nearer the door!
The football mass-meeting that night was enthusiastic to a degree, and
even the news that Claflin had beaten Larchville that afternoon 11 to
failed to dampen the fervour of the songs and cheers that rang through
the hall. It was recalled that a year ago Larchville, who had then held
the same position on Claflin's schedule, had defeated the latter 12 to
6, and that subsequently the best Brimfield had been able to do with
Claflin was 6 to 0. Consequently it would seem that Claflin was stronger
this year than last. Unfortunately, however, Brimfield had not played
Larchville this season, owing to the fact that Larchville, having beaten
Brimfield 17 to 3 last year, had insisted that the next meeting should
be at Larchville, an arrangement Brimfield had not been willing to
consent to. For this reason it was not possible to compare the strength
of Brimfield and Claflin with any certainty. Andy Miller, who was
prevailed on to address the mass-meeting, declared it to be his
conviction that Claflin had a slightly stronger team than she had had
last Fall.
"I think," he explained, "that it is a little more evenly developed. She
is surer in all departments than she was a year ago. Like us, the Blue
started the season with five of her old men in the line-up, and, like
us, she had a good crowd of substitutes to pick from. Her captain and
quarter-back, Ainsmith, is one of the best in the game today, and in her
full-back, Atkinson, whom you probably remember, she has another star.
Her halves are new men, but they're fast and hard to stop. In the line,
tackle to tackle, I think we'll even up with them. As for our ends, I
believe we can show better goods than they can, although Mumford, who
played with them last year, is a very good man. I'm not telling you this
to discourage you, for I firmly believe we're going to win, but I don't
want you to think that it's going to be a walk-over, for it isn't, not
by any manner of means. We've got to work hard and use everything we
know if we're to have the long end of the score a week from today.
That's what our team has got to do. As for you fellows, you've got to
stand right up behind it every minute and make it feel that you have
confidence in it. I can't be here to see the game myself; I wish I
could; but I fully expect to take up the paper a week from tomorrow
morning and read that Brimfield has turned the trick again. And I expect
to read, too, that a notable feature of the contest was the
whole-souled, hearty support given the Maroon-and-Grey by their fellows!
That's all I've got to say to you. The team's going to do its part. You
do yours."
The next day dawned fair and warm, with an almost imperceptible haze in
the atmosphere, a veritable Indian summer day if ever there was one.
After dinner, a rather more hearty meal than was served to the football
players on week-days, Clint went back to his room with the noble
intention of writing a fine long letter to his father and mother. There
had been complaints from Cedar Run of late to the effect that Clint's
epistles were much too brief. Today he resolved to send at least eight
pages. He would tell them all about the fine weather and yesterday's
game--mentioning quite incidentally his own part in it--and the football
spirit that prevailed throughout the Academy and--and--About this time
Clint found himself smothering a yawn and viewing distastefully the
writing pad in front of him. Through the open windows came the sound of
voices borne on the still, soft air, and he pushed back his chair and
wandered to the casement. Across the field the Autumn woods were brown
and sunlit and their depths filled with a purple haze. Boys were
strolling in couples and groups across the yellowing turf. After a
minute Clint went back to the table, looked indecisively at the still
clean sheet of paper awaiting his pen, picked up his cap from the chair
and, with a guilty backward glance, stole out of the room. He felt very
much as though he was playing hookey, a feeling which perhaps naturally
increased his pleasure as he ran down the stairs and issued forth on
the Row.
Penny Durkin was seated on the steps with a text-book in hand, but Clint
noted that Penny's gaze was fixed on the distance. The fact acted as a
salve for Clint's conscience. If Penny couldn't study today, Penny who
had been known to play his fiddle even while he stuffed Greek or Latin
or mathematics, surely no one else could rightfully be expected to fix
his mind on letter-writing! Clint halted a moment on the walk and
Penny's gaze and thoughts came back from afar and he blinked up at
the other.
"Hi!" said Penny dreamily.
"Hi," returned Clint.
"Warm, isn't it?"
"Yes, great."
"I thought I'd study a little, but I guess I was almost asleep."
"Day-dreaming," suggested Clint. There was a moment's silence, during
which an odd idea occurred to Clint. He didn't much care to walk by
himself, and he didn't know where to look for Amy or any of the other
fellows who might care to join him. Why not, then, ask Penny Durkin?
Before he had thoroughly weighed the merits of the scheme he found
himself making the suggestion.
"Come on for a walk, Durkin," he said. "Bring your old book along if you
like. We'll find a place in the woods and, as Amy says, commune
with Nature."
Penny looked first surprised and then pleased, and, "I'd love to," he
said. So they set off together around the corner of Torrence and past
the little brick building which held the heating plant and made off
across the field. The sun was gloriously warm and the air was like that
of a June day, and after the first minute or two of progress they
discovered that they had no inclination toward hurrying, that, in short,
they felt decidedly lazy and drowsy, and that the sooner they reached
that place in the woods where they were to commune with Nature the
pleasanter it would be.
Conversation was fitful. Penny spoke hesitantly of Clint's good work in
yesterday's game, ventured a vague prediction that Brimfield would win
from Claflin on Saturday and then seemed to fall asleep. Clint made no
effort to arouse him and presently they climbed over the stone wall that
divided the school property from the woodland and made their way through
the trees until they were half-way up the slope. There, in the lee of an
outcropping grey ledge of weathered granite, they subsided on a bed of
leaves with sighs of contentment. Through the nearer trees and above the
more distant ones, they could see the further side of the field and the
sunlit buildings.
"I reckon," said Clint, propping his shoulders against a convenient
surface of the ledge, "this is the place we were looking for. Now, bring
on your Nature and we'll commune."
"I used to come up here when I was a First Former," said Penny. "Two or
three of us kids would sneak stuff from dining hall and build a fire
back of this rock and picnic. One day we went off and forgot about the
fire and that night someone looked over and saw a blaze and they had to
fight it for almost an hour with brooms and buckets of water. We had a
fine time! Everyone turned out. We never told what we knew about it,
though!" And Penny smiled reminiscently.
"You're in the sixth form this year, aren't you?" asked Clint.
"Yes, this is my last year."
"And you've been here five already!" Clint marvelled. "My, that's a long
time, isn't it? You'll feel queer, won't you, when you don't come back
next Fall?"
Penny nodded soberly. "It'll be--funny," he agreed. "I don't suppose
you'll quite understand it, Thayer, but--well, this school is more like
a real home than any other place I know. You see, my mother died a long
while ago; I was just a toddler then; and my father married again. Then,
when I was eleven, he died and now I live with my stepmother and her
brother. He's not a bad sort of man, Uncle Steve. I just call him uncle,
of course. But my stepmother never liked me much, and then, besides,
father didn't leave much money when he died and she sort of feels that
she can't afford to pay my education. I've always had to fight to get
back here every year. Uncle Steve helped me some, but he's kind of
scared of ma and doesn't dare say much. That's why school seems like
home. When I go back to Parkerstown it's more like going on a visit than
going home. And after this year it's going to seem funny, unless I go
to college."
"But you are going, aren't you?" asked Clint anxiously.
"If I can. Mr. Fernald says he's hoping to get me a scholarship that
will pretty nearly see me through my freshman year, but there's nothing
certain about it, because there are always a lot of folks after those
scholarships and there aren't very many of them. I guess that's about
the only way I'll manage it."
"I do hope you get it," said Clint with genuine sympathy. "I suppose you
couldn't--couldn't find any way to work through, Durkin."
"I've thought of that. I don't know. I've done pretty well here, buying
and selling all kinds of things. You wouldn't think there'd be much
money in it, would you? But since my second year I've done a lot of it
and made nearly enough each year to pay my tuition. That's the only way
I've been able to stay. I guess ma argued that I'd cost her less at
school, making most of the money myself, than I would at home. Fellows
sometimes call me a 'Yankee' and a 'Shylock' and things like that
because I try to get all the money I can for a thing. But I've never
cheated anyone; and--and I've really needed the money. But I don't
believe a fellow could do that in college. There might be another way,
though. I've heard of fellows making a lot of money in college."
"Seems to me," said Clint, "it's your step-mother's duty to look after
you and pay for your schooling. It's your father's money she's using,
isn't it?"
"Yes, but there's not a great deal of it, I suppose. I never knew how
much he did leave. And ma's fond of nice things and it costs a good deal
to live, I guess. Oh, if I can get that scholarship I'll be all right.
You see, though, don't you, why I didn't want to scrap with Dreer? It
might have just queered everything for me."
"Yes, I see," asserted Clint. "You did the right thing. You'd have been
mighty silly to risk it, Durkin. What about playing? You--you play
pretty well, don't you? Couldn't you make any money that way?"
"No." Penny shook his head. "I don't play well enough. You see, I've
kept thinking that some day I'd be able to get instruction, but I never
have yet; except a few lessons a fellow in Parkerstown gave me one
Summer. I just scrape; that's all."
"I've always thought," fibbed Clint stoutly, "that you played finely!"
"I've always thought I could if I'd had instruction," replied Penny
wistfully. "I sort of love it. Maybe some day--" His voice dwindled into
silence, and for several minutes the two boys, each busy with their
separate thoughts, stared through the bare branches up to the blue
afternoon sky. They were aroused from their dreaming by the sound of
voices and rustling of leaves under the feet of the speakers. Clint,
peering around, saw Harmon Dreer, and another boy whom he didn't know by
sight, climbing the slope toward them.