IN THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY
And then, suddenly, it was Saturday morning!
Clint, rousing from disturbed, uneasy slumber, stared at a patch of
sunlight shimmering on the white ceiling and tried for just that moment
that lies between sleep and consciousness to account for the fluttering
condition of his nerves, the sense of impending doom that lay like a
dark shadow at the back of his brain. Then full recollection came, his
heart turned completely over twice, raced like a propeller out of water
and sank dejectedly to somewhere near the pit of his stomach. After that
he was very, very wide awake.
He turned and looked enviously at Amy, who, one bare arm over his
touselled head, slept on untroubledly. A door banged in the corridor,
the sound of rushing water came from the bathroom at the end, someone
across the way began to sing "Tipperary" joyously, and through the open
window came the shrill voice of an early First Former:
"Hi, Terry! Terry Brainard! Oh, _Ter_-ry!"
Clint would have liked to have buried his head in the pillow and gone
back to sleep and slept until--well, say five o'clock that afternoon.
For by five o'clock the Claflin game would be over with. But even a
five-minute cat-nap was denied him by restless nerves, and, after a
moment or two, he put his legs out and sat up yawning, feeling strangely
tired and listless. His bath helped some, however, and later on he was
surprised to find that as long as he kept his mind off the game he was
able to do full justice to a chop, two soft-boiled eggs, three slices of
toast, a dish of stewed apricots, a baked potato and three glasses of
milk! After that he felt better still!
There was a studied effort on the part of the players to keep away from
the subject of football that morning. Many of the fellows looked nervous
and drawn, and said little. Others were, or appeared to be, in high
spirits, and laughed a good deal and rather stridently, and talked
loudly of all kinds of things--except football. Jack Innes was even more
quiet than usual and almost jumped out of his chair when a boy at the
next table dropped a knife on the floor.
There were no recitations after eleven that day. There might just as
well have been none before that, for it's quite useless to expect a boy
to put his mind on his studies only a few hours before the Big Game! At
eleven the 'varsity players and substitutes assembled at the gymnasium
and, escorted by Mr. Detweiler and Mr. Boutelle, took a walk across the
fields and hills at an even though moderate pace. They were back a
little before twelve. Dinner was at noon, and by a quarter to one they
were climbing into coaches in front of Main Hall and at one-eight they,
together with most of the school, were pulling out of the Brimfield
station on their journey to Westplains, twelve miles distant.
Claflin was an older school than Brimfield and had a much larger
enrolment. Until last year the Blue had won three football games from
the Maroon-and-Grey, all, in fact, that the two schools had played
together. Last year the tide had turned and Brimfield had nosed out her
rival by one touchdown. This year--well, what was to happen this year
was still on the lap of the gods, but Brimfield set out confident
of victory.
Coaches met the players at the Westplains station and rolled them away
along the tree-lined, winding road to the school, while the rest of the
Brimfield invaders followed on foot or, if their pockets afforded it
and they hankered for luxury; in the little station-wagons which,
patriotically decorated with blue bunting and flags, sought patronage.
Claflin School was set down in the very middle of the town, a quiet,
rambling, overgrown village too near New York to ever become more than a
residence place. The school was spread over many acres and its
buildings, most of which had been there many years, had a look of mellow
antiquity which the newer Brimfield halls had not had time to acquire.
Wide-spreading elms shaded the walks in Summer and even today their
graceful branches added beauty to the campus. Brimfield, nearly a
hundred and fifty strong, took possession of the school grounds and went
sight-seeing before they poured out on the further side and made their
way to the athletic field.
Amy and Bob Chase, pausing to translate a Latin inscription over the
entrance to one of the buildings, became detached from the others and
were discovered by Mr. Detweiler, who, having made an unsuccessful
attempt to find a college friend who was instructing at Claflin, was on
his way to the gymnasium. He listened, unseen, for a moment to Amy's
extremely literal and picturesque translation, and then a laugh revealed
his presence and Amy looked around a bit sheepishly.
"That's fine, Byrd," said Mr. Detweiler. "You certainly reflect credit
on 'Uncle Sim'!"
"I guess," observed Bob Chase, "'Uncle Sim' would have had a fit if he'd
heard that!"
They strolled on together, speaking of the buildings they passed, until,
opposite the gymnasium, Mr. Detweiler started to leave them, thought
better of it and said: "By the way, Byrd, I wonder if I was pledged to
secrecy the other day."
"The other day?" repeated Amy questioningly.
"The day I met you and Thayer and--" He looked doubtfully at Chase.
"Bob's all right," Amy reassured him. "I know when you mean, sir. But I
don't understand about being pledged--"
"I'll tell you." Mr. Detweiler looked hurriedly at his watch. "I
happened to hear from Mr. Daley yesterday that your friend Durkin had
got in trouble. You knew that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, it seemed that Mr. Fernald thought Durkin had either picked the
quarrel or--well, we'll say welcomed it. Daley told me Durkin was on
probation and stood a pretty fair chance of losing a scholarship he was
after. So, as I hadn't been, as I thought, pledged to secrecy, I told
Daley what I knew of the start of the trouble. That seemed to put a
different complexion on the matter and Daley went to Mr. Fernald and
told him about it. Since then I've wondered whether I ought to have kept
my mouth closed. Do you mind?"
"Not a bit," declared Amy heartily. "I'm mighty glad you did tell. I
wanted to, but Penny wouldn't hear of it. He said it would be sneaky, or
something like that. What--what did Mr. Fernald say, sir?"
"I haven't heard. I hope, though, he will see that your friend Durkin
couldn't very well avoid that row on Sunday. It seemed to me rather too
bad that he should lose his chance at the scholarship. That is why I
'butted in,' Byrd."
"I'm very glad you did, Mr. Detweiler. I'll find Penny and see if he's
heard anything."
Penny, however, was very elusive, and it was not until a few minutes
before the game started that Amy finally located him in the top row of
the temporary grand-stand. Even then Amy could only get within shouting
distance, but shouting distance sufficed.
"Penny!" called Amy. "Hi, Penny!"
Penny smiled and waved.
"Had any news?" asked Amy in a confidential shout.
Penny looked blank for an instant. Then a slow smile lighted his face
and he nodded vehemently.
"Yes," he called. "This morning, Byrd! It's all right about--you know!"
"Awfully glad," replied Amy. "Mr. Detweiler just told me! See you after
the game."
"Sit down, Amy!" said a friend in the stand.
"Yes, clear the aisle, please, Byrd," called another.
Amy smiled and hurried back to his seat next to Bob Chase just as the
two teams, having warmed up and experimented with what little breeze was
cutting across the gridiron, withdrew to their respective sides of the
field. A final long-drawn cheer for Brimfield issued from the south
stand, was answered by a more thunderous one from the opposite seats,
the teams lined up, the captains waved their hands to the referee and
Claflin's left guard sent the nice new yellow ball arching away
against the sky.
It is to be presumed that more than one heart under a canvas jacket was
thumping loudly at that moment, but I doubt if any was trying harder to
turn somersaults than Clint Thayer's as he hustled across to where
Kendall was gathering the pigskin in his arms. But in the next moment
Clint forgot all about his heart, forgot he even had one, for Kendall
was plunging forward through the fast-gathering Claflin warriors and his
work was cut out for him. Back to the fifteen-yard line went the pigskin
before the referee called it down, and Brimfield's supporters cheered.
It is always something of a shock to realise that an event which has
been dreaded for days has at last arrived. During that tense moment
wherein the blue-stockinged Briggs had cuddled the ball into position on
the tee Clint had experienced just such a shock. Only yesterday the
Claflin game had been of the future, only this morning he had still
viewed it uneasily as a thing impending, and now--presto!--it was here.
He endured for a long minute more kinds of stage-fright than he had
ever dreamed of! But action was a panacea for his malady, and the
instant he thrust himself in the path of a plunging Claflin man, felt
the impact of the hard-muscled body against him, recovered and fell into
his place in the quickly-formed wedge of interference, the thrill of
battle drove out fear.
Now Marvin was calling his signals, the Brimfield forwards were poising
themselves for the assault, and Clint, hands on the ground, feet apart,
head up, was watching every movement of his opponent. And,
simultaneously with the snapping of the ball, he was lunging upward and
forward with both hands, all the muscles of his tense body behind that
quick thrust, and the Claflin opponent, caught unawares, spun sideways
and crashed into his guard, while Harris, the ball clutched to his
stomach, smashed through and past and, stumbling, twisting, panting,
pushed three yards of turf behind him before the Claflin backs
pulled him down.
And so it went until Brimfield, taking the enemy by surprise, had won
her way to the thirty-seven yards. There someone mistook the signals,
three yards were lost on second down, and, with seven to go, Harris
punted high and far. Clint found his opponents too much for him that
time and was hurled aside. Claflin caught on her thirty-three and
ran back six.
Then Clint had a chance to prove himself on the defence, and prove
himself he did on the second play. The renowned Terrill, striving to
draw Clint out from his guard, suddenly found himself nicely fooled, and
Clint, swinging through inside, smeared the play well behind the Claflin
line. There was a vast feeling of satisfaction when his arms wrapped
themselves around the legs of that blue-stockinged left half and held
like a vise. The fact that a vengeful Claflin forward dropped his
hundred-and-seventy pounds on Clint's neck didn't matter a mite!
It was nip and tuck for the rest of that first period. Claflin regularly
made from four to eight yards on three plays and then punted. Brimfield
made similar gains and punted. Kendall missed a catch and recovered the
ball for a ten-yard loss. To equalise things, Ainsmith of Claflin
fumbled for almost as much. The quarter ended with the ball in
Brimfield's possession in the middle of the field.
In the second period Marvin began to work the ends, sending St. Clair
and Kendall around the wings for short gains. Once, when Kendall, almost
stopped, wriggled himself free and dashed on along the side line, the
Brimfield supporters leaped to their feet in the stand with ecstatic
visions of a touchdown dancing before their eyes. But Kendall was forced
out on Claflin's thirty-five yards and the yells of triumph subsided.
From there Harris made it first down through a hole as wide as a door in
the centre of the Claflin line, reeling off twelve yards before he was
upset. The Blue's centre-rush was hurt in that encounter and a
substitute took his place. Marvin tested the new man on the next play,
but Kendall was stopped. A second attempt, with Harris plunging straight
ahead from kicking position, produced three yards. St. Clair slid off
left tackle for two more and Harris punted to the Blue's twelve yards. A
penalty for off-side brought the ball back to the seventeen. Claflin
rounded Edwards for six yards, pounded Clint for two more, was held on
the next down and punted to the Maroon-and-Grey's forty-seven. There
Marvin caught and was toppled in his tracks. Roberts was hurt in a
missed tackle and Coach Robey sent Holt in.
Both teams had slowed up in their playing now, for the pace had been
unusually fast. Claflin was caught holding and the ball went once more
into her own territory. Harris and Kendall hammered the tackles for a
first down and St. Clair got off around the right end for seven yards
more. Marvin fumbled and Harris fell on the ball. Harris punted to a
corner of the field and the ball rolled out at the fifteen yards.
Claflin braced then and pushed through for a first down, following it
with a long forward-pass that took the pigskin to her forty-three yards.
A fake-kick failed to gain and her full-back was brought up standing
when he tried Jack Innes's position. A punt was caught by Kendall on his
twenty-five-yard line and, behind good interference, he dashed back
nearly ten before he was nailed. St. Clair made three off the Blue's
right tackle and Marvin kicked from position, the ball rolling past the
Claflin quarter to his thirty-yard line, where he managed to secure it
just an instant before Steve Edwards reached him. Two tries netted but
four yards and a punt followed. Marvin caught near midfield and the
half ended.
The teams had shown themselves to be very evenly matched in all
departments of the game. On offence Brimfield had done a trifle better,
if we except the forward-pass made by her adversary, the only one so far
attempted by either side. On defence Claflin had proved no stronger than
the Maroon-and-Grey. In punting, Harris, for Brimfield, and Wentworth,
for Claflin, had shown about the same ability, what advantage there
might be being in favour of Harris, whose punts had been a little better
placed. So far it was anybody's game, and the rival schools, during the
intermission, sang and cheered loudly and confidently.
In the locker-room at the gymnasium Mr. Robey and the assistant coaches
dealt praise and censure and instruction. Several of the fellows had
been pretty well played out at the end of the half. Claflin had paid a
good deal of attention to the centre of Brimfield's line--later it
transpired that rumours had reached Westplains to the effect that
Brimfield's centre trio were weak on defence--and both Captain Innes and
Hall were rather battered up. Blaisdell had come out of it with less
punishment. There were no injuries of moment, however, even Roberts,
whose shoulder had been bruised, being ready to go back. As the time to
return to the field approached Mr. Robey called for attention.
"I want to tell you fellows," he said quietly, "that you've played well.
You've done as much as I'd hoped you'd do. You've held Claflin away from
your goal, and in doing that you've done a good deal, for you've been up
against as fine a Blue team as they've ever got together. But from now
on you've got to have punch, fellows. You've got to play faster and
harder. Claflin will try everything she knows. She isn't beaten, not by
a whole lot, and she's going to come back hard. I want to see
improvement in the backfield in this half. You backs haven't helped the
forwards as you've been taught to do and as you can do. You've let the
runner have an extra yard or two yards time and again. Go in hard and
stop the man before he gets clear. You've been waiting for him to come
to you. Don't do that. Go in and meet him. Every inch counts. Now, then,
let's see what you can do for Brimfield this time. Play hard. When you
tackle, stop your man. When you block, block hard and long. Put every
ounce of strength into the game from now on and I'll promise you that
you'll take that football back to Brimfield with you!"
Claflin had made four changes in her line-up when the teams faced each
other again, and Brimfield two. On the latter team Carmine was at
quarter and Gafferty had taken Tom Hall's place at right guard. Roberts
was back in his position at the right end of the line. Jack Innes
settled the ball on the mound of earth, glanced over his team, cried
"Ready, sir!" stepped forward and punted obliquely across the field
toward the Claflin stand. The second half was on and the laurel of
victory was still to be won.