YARDLEY GETS REVENGE
But Yardley found her revenge in another form of sport.
Tom had succeeded where Paul Rand had failed. Although the managers
of the rival basket-ball teams had failed to reach an agreement the
captains were more successful. Tom had offered to let Broadwood fix
her own dates and name her own grounds for the series of three games,
and Broadwood had promptly got over her peevishness. The Broadwood
captain had politely replied that his team would play the first game at
Broadwood, the second at Yardley and the deciding game, in case of a
tie, at Broadwood. And he fixed the dates to please himself, requiring
that all three contests take place inside of a fortnight in early
March. Rand had held up his hands in holy horror when Tom had shown him
the letter and declared that Tom was several sorts of a fool to accept
such arrangements.
“It’s their turn to play the odd game here,” declared Rand. “Besides,
who ever heard of playing the first two games within three days of
each other?”
“Oh, what does it matter?” asked Tom. “We want to play them, don’t we?
Then what’s the use of haggling about it? I’ll play them any place and
any time, just as I said I would.”
“But,” began Rand, a trifle haughtily, “as manager--”
“Paul,” said Tom, “you’re a good fellow, all right, but you’re a mighty
poor manager.”
And Paul, who, after all, had plenty of sense, recognized the justice
of the charge and said no more.
So one Wednesday evening a large part of Yardley Hall School rode over
to Broadwood and saw Tom’s five defeat the green-stockinged warriors in
their own gymnasium by a score of twelve to nine and came triumphantly
home again in the moonlight chanting pæans of victory and making night
hideous.
“Well, that was going some!” declared Alf radiantly on the way home.
“On their own floor, too!”
“And when they come over here Saturday night you’ll see us do worse
than that to them,” said Tom grimly. “There isn’t going to be any third
game in the series this year.”
And there wasn’t.
Broadwood sent over a good big number of “rooters” armed with flags,
who did noble work with their lungs. But as Yardley had turned out
almost to a man, the odds were too great in a contest of noise. The
gymnasium was packed and jammed, downstairs and up, and the singing and
cheering began half an hour before the time set for the game. Broadwood
used one of her football songs with good effect. The verses didn’t
amount to much, but the refrain, howled by a hundred throats, was
always effective:
“Oh, what’ll we do to Yardley, to Yardley, to Yardley?
Oh, what’ll we do to Yardley?
(An eloquent and dramatic pause.)
Well, really, I’d rather not say!”
And Yardley hurled back one of her own gridiron odes defiantly:
“Old Yardley has the men, my boy,
Old Yardley has the steam,
Old Yardley has the pluck and sand,
Old Yardley has the team!
Old Yardley can’t be beat, my boy,
She’s bound to win the game!
So give a cheer for Yardley and
Hats off to Yardley’s fame!”
Tom, captain and center, played the game of his school life that night.
If one imagined him slow, one had only to watch him for a moment on a
gymnasium floor between the baskets. He was the quickest slow person
that ever imitated a streak of lightning! And he pulled his team along
with him in a way that was beautiful to behold. Things began to happen
right at the start. The first basket came less than a minute after the
whistle had blown, resulting from a wonderful rush down the floor by
Tom and Derrick followed by a swift shot by the latter. Then Broadwood
gathered herself together and tightened up her defense. Her men for
a while covered so closely that not even Tom could get away, and the
ball hovered around the middle of the floor. Then one of the Yardley
players was caught holding and Broadwood, amidst shouts of joy from the
wavers of the green flags, scored a goal from foul. For several minutes
there was no more scoring. Twice Yardley had the ball under her rival’s
basket. Once a poor shot lost them the score. The next time Broadwood
“mixed it up” so strenuously that there was no chance to shoot. Then a
Broadwood boy stole the ball and charged down the hall almost alone.
But the Yardley defense was not napping, and a blue-shirt charged into
the enemy just in time to spoil the throw. After that Broadwood seemed
to get rattled, for Yardley scored thrice from the floor, one basket
by Tom being sent from almost half the length of the gymnasium and
bringing the supporters of the home team to their feet with a roar of
delight. The half ended with the score eight to one, and it looked like
a pretty certain thing for the Yardley five.
But Broadwood still shouted and sang defiantly, and when the teams
lined up and play began again it was soon evident that the Broadwood
coach had been saying things out there in the dressing room. For
Broadwood’s team play began to be in evidence again, and although for
a while she played more on the defense than attack, it was plain to be
seen that Yardley would have to work hard to keep from being scored on.
Broadwood’s chance came in the middle of the period. A well-arranged
rush down the floor, with all her attack taking part, brought the ball
to Yardley’s basket and, although the guards rushed to the rescue,
a tall Broadwood youth managed to shake himself free, reach up, and
almost drop the ball through the mesh. With the score eight to three,
Broadwood felt encouraged and started in to add to her tally. But
Yardley played desperately, if somewhat wildly, and although Broadwood
was now making raid after raid on the Blue’s goal, all her tries were
spoiled. But Yardley twice infringed the rules and from her two free
tries Broadwood secured one goal, increasing her total to four. This
was followed by a double foul, a Broadwood and a Yardley player
becoming rather too enthusiastic in their efforts, and again Broadwood
added one to her tally, Yardley missing the basket by a bare inch. That
made the score five to eight, and Broadwood’s cheers broke forth anew
and a little forest of green flags appeared. The ball went back to
center. Tom clapped his hands.
“Now then, fellows, settle down! No more fouls! Break this up!”
The big round clock over the running gallery showed that something like
six minutes remained as the referee blew his whistle again and the
ball shot into the air. Both centers leaped and struck, and a small
Broadwood youth caught the ball as it came down near the side-line,
squirmed away from his opponent, dribbled a few steps, and passed
across the floor. But the next man was closely covered and the ball
bounded away from him and popped into the eager hands of Tom.
“Cover up! Cover up!” shrieked the Broadwood captain, as he bounded
toward Tom. Tom side-stepped and let his antagonist stagger by. Then a
short pass to Derrick, and the two started down the floor toward the
Green’s goal. Derrick passed back and Tom caught the ball in spite of
the opponents who were massing about him, wheeled, feinted, dashed
through the mêlée, dribbled, and then threw to a blue-shirted youth
waiting near Broadwood’s goal. It was a hard, fast throw, but the
youth caught it, struggled a moment under the attack of his adversary,
broke loose, and threw somewhat wildly for the basket. The ball struck
the frame above and came down into the waiting hands of Derrick. Two
Broadwood fellows hurled themselves toward him but not before the ball
was out of his hands again. There was a moment of suspense while it
rolled leisurely, undecidedly around the hoop. Then in it dropped,
through the mesh and back to the floor amidst the triumphant yells of
Yardley. And the two excited youngsters operating the score-board in
the balcony almost fell over the railing in their endeavor to change
the Yardley 8 for a 10.
Gerald, who, with Dan and Alf and Joe Chambers, had been early on the
scene and had secured seats in the front row on the floor a yard back
of the boundary line, let out such a shriek of delight that everyone in
the hall heard and laughed. Covered with confusion then, he sank back
between Dan and Joe. But no one paid any more attention to him and his
blushes soon passed. He was wildly excited, and once Dan had had to
hold him into his seat for fear he would go toppling out onto the floor
under the players’ feet.
The ball was centered once more and the clock proclaimed but four
minutes of playing time left. Broadwood became desperate. Capturing
the ball near the middle of the floor, she tried a long shot that
struck the frame of the basket but didn’t go through. Again she got
the leather, and this time she tried to reach scoring distance, but
the Yardley defense was so tight that she lost the ball. Then came
another rush down the floor, with the Yardley team working together
like clockwork, and another goal thrown by the Blue’s left-guard. After
that the visitors went to pieces. In their frantic endeavors to score
they failed to cover closely and became so strenuous that two fouls
were called on them in succession, neither of which Yardley was able to
convert into points. Then, with a little more than a minute to play,
Yardley began to sweep her rival off her feet and to score almost at
will. One goal--another--a third from a difficult angle at the side
of the hall, and Yardley’s score was growing by leaps and bounds. Tom
dropped out now and one by one the substitutes were put in, in order
that they might get their letters. And then, with a blue-shirted youth
poised for a shot, the whistle blew and pandemonium reigned. Up on the
score-board the final figures stood 18 to 5.
Gerald found himself one of a seething, pushing, shouting mass of
spectators out on the floor. Dan and Alf and Joe were lost to sight.
The players, after cheering for Broadwood, were trying to reach the
dressing room uncaptured. But none escaped. Each one was caught and
borne shoulder-high from the hall. Gerald felt someone smash into
him from behind, turned, and found Derrick struggling with a group
of enthusiastic captors. They were trying to lift him onto their
shoulders, but the crowd was packed so tightly that for a moment their
efforts were in vain. Derrick, laughing and fighting, was almost
squirming away when a big youth seized him around the waist and shouted
to Gerald to catch hold. Gerald caught hold, somehow, somewhere, and
the next thing he knew he and the big fellow were staggering through
the jam with Derrick on their shoulders and a happy mob of fellows
around them. Down the hall to the stairway they went, Gerald panting,
struggling to keep his feet, and immensely proud.
And the next morning, when he awoke, he wondered why his back and arms
ached so!