BEFORE THE GAME
Wednesday night, the eve of the coming contest with the mighty
Pennington eleven, found Bartlett college in a state of wild confusion
and excitement. The campus was lined with students and returning
alumni, some of the latter having come hundreds of miles just to see
the unbeaten elevens clash.
News from the village of Tarlton announced every hotel and place of
accommodation to be over-crowded with visitors, friends, relatives, and
alumni, waiting for the morrow.
A delegation of students had been busy all day collecting empty dry
goods boxes, odd pieces of wood, limbs of trees, and what not for the
creating of a large bonfire should Bartlett be victorious. All this
refuse was concealed behind one of the dormitories ready to be dragged
out and placed in the center of the campus pending a successful
termination of the game.
Judd and Cateye watched the throngs jostling back and forth across the
campus from their window in the dormitory. The football men had been
given strict orders not to mingle with the crowd and to retire early.
The two chums felt rather awed by the spirit of the occasion and the
significance of the morrow. For a long time they sat side by side
listening to the college yells and songs drifting up to them from
below. Although a veteran football man, Cateye was deeply affected by
the display of enthusiasm and college spirit.
"What a wonderful thing it all is," he found himself musing aloud.
"What all is?" inquired Judd.
"Why,--this college spirit."
"Hump!" breathed Judd, lightly, "I thought you was talkin' about some
patent medicine."
The careless reply and Judd's former actions caused Cateye to wonder if
college spirit really meant anything to the rube. Cateye knew Judd to
be intensely loyal to his friends and wished that his chum might show
that same sense of loyalty to his college or team.
After a fifteen minute silence Judd began to show signs of restlessness
which Cateye wrongly interpreted.
"Nervous?" he asked, softly, throwing an arm about his chum's brawny
shoulders.
"Naw!" growled Judd, disgustedly, "Just anxious for fear I won't get a
chance to play tomorrow."
The singing and yelling did not cease until after eleven o'clock but
two hours before this time Coach Phillips made sure that every football
man was snugly stowed away in bed. Judd dropped off to sleep
immediately upon retiring, but nothing short of chloroform could have
caused Cateye to lose consciousness while the din kept up. His mind
was too occupied with the trend of coming events.
As the last song was sung and the last yell was yelled Cateye delved
into the mysteries of slumberland.
For two hours his rest was undisturbed. But after this came more
interruptions. Cateye awoke with a start. The same sort of chill
crept up his spine as on the night of Judd's arrival. This time,
however, Cateye sensed at once just what had produced the sensation.
Judd was talking in his sleep again. It was his first offense since
that memorable night so long ago.
"Gimme that ball! ... No, I'm not hurt! Jes' gimme the ball an' I'll
take her across! ... Signals over! That's it! My number. Look out,
there!"
The talking stopped and Judd began to grind his teeth, an unpleasant
sound, especially at night. This was too much for Cateye. He bounded
out of bed and switched on the light. At the same moment Judd came out
of his nightmare by emitting a loud groan and kicking the bed free of
covers.
"What's the matter?" gasped Cateye.
"Oh, nothin'," grinned Judd, sleepily, "I only made a touchdown."
Cateye crawled back into bed, shivering from the aftermath. Judd soon
began to snore regularly showing what little effect the scoring of a
touchdown had upon him. After listening to the hoarse rumble for a few
minutes Cateye buried his head in a pillow and muttered to himself:
"Oh, for a maxim silencer!" Despite the snores he soon fell asleep and
did not awaken until late Thanksgiving morning.
By noon of the eventful day an enormous crowd of people had gathered,
representing loyal rooters and supporters of the respective colleges,
Bartlett and Pennington, as well as those impartial to either team, who
were attracted for sheer love of the game itself.
The college grounds shone with bobbing pennants and colors; the Red and
Blue of Pennington; the Black and Gold of Bartlett. Outside the gate
to the gridiron at one o'clock a great throng of football enthusiasts
clamored for entrance.
One half hour later a special train, carrying the rival eleven,
Pennington; a band, and five hundred rooters, pulled in. As the
Penningtonites leaped off the train dressed in full football garb; red
and blue jerseys, Indian blankets of the same color design and striped
hosiery, they received a tremendous ovation from the assembled crowd.
Led by their college band the football warriors paraded to the gridiron
followed by a wild column of Pennington rooters, each waving a red and
blue pennant. The sight was very impressive and thrilling.
When, at exactly two-twenty, the Pennington eleven trotted, unheralded,
onto the field and, tossing off their blue Indian blankets, began to
run through some snappy signal work, from the Pennington stands a mass
of red and blue rose and fell in perfect rhythm to the tune of "The
Warrior," Pennington's football song.
The Bartlett rooters in the stands directly across the field tried
their best to defeat the demonstration being made by Pennington,
combining the efforts of band and cheer leaders in order to do so, but
the momentary enthusiasm of the visiting college at sight of their
splendid eleven, for a time, eclipsed all attempts to drown them out.
In the locker room sixteen Bartlett team-mates, primed for battle,
heard the roar that swept across the field as the Pennington eleven
swooped upon the gridiron. Benz, pulling his shoulder pads in place,
strode about the room, nervous and anxious for the fray to begin.
Other players showed signs of uneasiness. Judd was the only one on the
team who seemed perfectly calm. As the din was at its height he turned
to Pole, who had laced and unlaced his shoe three times for no reason
whatever, and remarked quietly: "A noisy bunch, aren't they?"
At this moment Coach Phillips entered. He had been watching the enemy
eleven as they ran through light signal practice before the frenzied
crowd.
A few of the players gathered in a semi-circle about him, arms thrown
over each other's shoulders. Some were laboriously rubbing resin into
their hands to insure against fumbling the ball. Others, a little
affected by the mighty demonstration going on from without, paced
restlessly up and down.
"It's going to be a real battle to-day," warned the coach. "Pennington
has a wonderful aggregration. Their defeat of the State University
some weeks ago gives them the highest rating of any team in this part
of the country. A victory to-day puts Bartlett on the football map as
never before. And in order to win we must fight, fight, fight, every
second of the sixty minutes!
"Pennington has been depending largely this season upon the great work
of Gordon, fullback. He is a giant, six feet tall, weight two hundred
and fourteen pounds, and fast on his feet. He is the man you must
stop! Pennington has won every game this year in the first half. They
use this Gordon as a human battering ram, breaking up the opposing line
and making victory easy. No eleven this season had been able to check
his advances!
"Stop their slashing attack the first half, fellows, and you'll win the
game. The reason General Grant was so successful in his campaigns was
that he did not realize when he was defeated. He advanced despite his
defeats. That's the spirit I want you fellows to show! If you fail to
gain ground in one attempt put just that much more strength into the
next attempt. Game starts in ten minutes, fellows, so you'd better be
getting out on the field. Benz, remember to hit that line lower.
Neil, call your signals fast and snappy. Keep the team up and at 'em.
You linemen, the fate of to-day's game is largely up to you. You must
shoulder the brunt of the work and shatter the Pennington attack. The
men who will start to-day's game are,--"
Sixteen heads bobbed suddenly up and sixteen pairs of entreating eyes
focused themselves upon the coach.
"Left end, Bartz; left tackle, Oole; left guard, Frey; center,
Williams; right guard, McKean; right tackle, Potts; right end, Pole;
quarterback, Neil; left half, Gary; right half, Patterson; fullback,
Hoffmaster. Now, out of here, every one of you! Show lots of pep and
don't let that crowd bother you! You have played in front of big
crowds before and won. Do it today!"
The eleven fortunate men jumped nimbly to their feet and filed quickly
out of the locker room.
Judd slapped Cateye on the back as his chum arose to go.
"Give 'em fits, pal," he said, simply.