THE FIRST HALF
The appearance of the Bartlett eleven touched a match to all the
explosives that the Bartlett rooters had stored up and a riot of
deafening sound rocked the field.
The crowd easily outnumbered any ever congregated at Bartlett. Half of
the eastern bleachers had been reserved for the Pennington rooters,
while the section directly across was occupied by Bartlett enthusiasts.
The seating capacity was greatly overtaxed. At least two thousand
people hovered behind the goal posts at the ends of the field and
swarms were even accommodated in roped off areas between the foot of
the bleachers and the playing lines.
Both teams appeared a trifle nervous before the game commenced,
undoubtedly caused by the magnitude of the crowd and the importance of
winning.
McDonald, Thorpe, Preston, McCabe, and Judd, all Bartlett substitutes,
swathed in extra sweaters, seated themselves by the sidelines, in an
advantageous position, to watch the game.
Benz, captain, conferred with Melvin, Pennington captain. The referee
tossed a coin. Melvin won the toss and chose to receive the kickoff.
Benz selected the north goal for Bartlett to defend. The two teams
lined up quickly. An avalanche of sound came from the spectators.
"Are you ready?" shrieked the referee to the Pennington captain.
Melvin raised his hand in the affirmative.
"Ready, Bartlett?"
But Benz was crouching, tying up a shoe lace, preparatory to kicking,
and trying to overcome his nervousness. This prolonged the tenseness.
After an age, it seemed, he straightened up; the referee raised his
arm; the Bartlett men leaned forward, expectantly; the whistle
screeched; Benz booted the ball; and the great game was on!
It was a splendid kickoff. The ball rose, spinning like a top and with
enough impetus to send it far down the field.
Knapp, Pennington quarterback, captured the pigskin on his fifteen yard
line and dodged in behind his quickly formed interference. For
five,--ten,--fifteen yards he ran; his advance guard toppling man after
man who attempted to reach him!
The crowd was on its feet, howling like mad!
"Stop him!" shrieked the Bartlett stands.
"Go on, Pennington!" bawled the Red and Blue.
A lanky individual now loomed up in the path of the oncoming trio. It
was Pole! He hurled himself straight at the knees of the interference
and the men went down like ten pins.
All save Knapp. Small of stature and a veritable rabbit on his feet;
his interference now gone, he depended upon his own cleverness to gain
more ground. He eluded the too eager arms of Benz who missed his
tackle completely and struck face downward on the sod.
The spectators were now become fairly wild with excitement. Such a
brilliant run at the very outset of the game was entirely unlooked for!
"He's got a clear field!" screamed some voice above the din.
"A touchdown from kickoff!" cried a Pennington enthusiast.
Knapp, in order to escape all opponents, now skirted the edge of the
gridiron. He passed within a few feet of the Bartlett substitutes who
were wildly hoping that some one might down him.
Judd's quick eye saw only one man between Knapp and a touchdown. That
man was Cateye!
"Get that guy, Cateye!" bellowed Judd, making a megaphone of his hands.
In that frenzied moment, above the terrific din, Cateye heard and
recognized Judd's voice wafted out to him. The words seemed to give
him added zeal. He raced across the field toward the speeding Knapp.
The little quarterback, confronted with this new obstacle, turned in
sharply as Cateye lurched through the air, in order to avoid the
tackle. But Cateye had judged the distance too true and Knapp had
dodged too late. There was an impact as shoulder met thigh and a
crunching sound as the two rolled over and over upon the turf; then
mighty cheers.
"That-a-boy, Cateye!" barked Judd, joyously, while the Bartlett stands
echoed his name.
"Yea, Knapp!" thundered the Penningtonites.
Knapp's fine sixty yard run injected a world of pep into his team and
restored their confidence. The Bartlett eleven, on the contrary, was
badly disheartened and shaken up by the suddenness of the spectacular
run.
With the ball on Bartlett's twenty-five yard line and four plays to
make a touchdown the Pennington team assailed the Black and Gold line
viciously.
On the first play the ball went to Gordon, the heavy full back, who
plowed through the right side of Bartlett's line for eight yards.
"Wow! Nothing to it!" roared the Pennington stands.
"Hold 'em, Bartlett!" entreated the supporters of the Black and Gold.
An end run netted five more yards, placing the ball on the twelve yard
line. Gordon then took the pigskin, plunging straight through the
center of the line for four yards. The Bartlett eleven seemed wholly
unable to cope with the swift, varied, smashing attack of the visitors.
It was evident to the onlookers that Knapp's brilliant run at the start
of the game, coupled with Gordon's tremendous line bucking, had
completely bewildered the Bartlett team. It was the first time during
the entire season that any eleven had been able to gain consistently
through the line and this fact further discouraged the Black and Gold.
"Hold 'em, fellows!" begged Benz, from the backfield. "Don't let 'em
get a touchdown!"
The line stiffened and shifted to meet the next attack. They were
already fighting in the shadow of their goal posts. Gordon again
carried the ball and the play came direct for Cateye. By exerting a
great effort Cateye broke through the Pennington line and dropped the
huge Gordon for a slight loss.
The Bartlett stands became a mass of color. Cateye's name was on every
Bartlett rooter's tongue.
Pennington, as Coach Phillips had said, was using Gordon, almost
exclusively, from the outset of the game, as a battering ram to wear
down the Bartlett line. Once the line was shot to pieces victory would
be easy.
The Bartlett eleven, encouraged by Cateye's checking of the Pennington
advance, regained in a measure their lost confidence and every yard
thenceforth gained by the rival college demanded a royal struggle.
But Pennington was not to be denied the spoils of her rapid advance.
Her dashing, smashing attack had progressed too far to be immediately
and successfully blocked. Bartlett was beaten stubbornly back until
the players crouched upon the very goal line with Pennington two downs
to take the ball across.
The Red and Blue tried an end run but Benz tackled the man with the
ball before he had gained a yard. Benz was fairly outplaying himself
and sobbing like a baby.
The Bartlett stands shrieked encouragement, while from the Pennington
bleachers came yells of, "Touchdown! Touchdown!"
On the last down, with less than two yards to go, Gordon ripped
straight through the line and over the goal for a touchdown.
Amid a cascade of yells and wild demonstrations the Bartlett eleven
lined up under their goal posts, awaiting the try for goal.
Knapp, the star Pennington quarterback, to whom much credit must go for
the sudden overwhelming of Bartlett, threw himself face downward on the
turf and held the ball at arms length to allow Bowen, halfback, to
kick. Bowen paced a short distance back, carefully, then turned and
running lightly forward, toed the ball squarely over and between the
goal posts. Score, Pennington, 7; Bartlett, 0.
The Pennington rooters began to chant the score with the hopes of
further disheartening the Bartlett eleven. "We want more! We want
more!" volleyed Pennington.
"Rah! Bartlett, Rah! Fight 'em! Fight 'em! Fight 'em!" answered the
Bartlett stands defiantly.
There were seven minutes left of the first quarter. Pennington kicked
off. Potts caught the ball and advanced it eight yards to the
twenty-six yard line. It was the first time during the game that
Bartlett had the ball in her possession and the Bartlett supporters
were hopeful.
Neil called on Patterson, right half, for an end run, but the play
barely netted a yard. Benz shot through the line for four yards. The
Bartlett stands roared. Gary, left half, attempted a run around the
other end but was downed with no gain. Benz dropped back and punted
forty yards. The ball was Pennington's on their own twenty-nine yard
line.
Using the same tactics as before and working one forward pass to
advantage, Pennington began another steady march down the field.
Bartlett was being completely outplayed in every department of the
game. The quarter ended with the ball on Bartlett's seventeen yard
line and Pennington's first down.
The teams exchanged goals and play started again. Gordon hammered his
way through the line for nine yards with three tacklers hanging to him.
The Bartlett defense seemed to grow weaker every minute. A trick play
was good for three more yards, and with the ball on Bartlett's five
yard line Knapp got away for a wide end run and a touchdown. The
Pennington stands cheered madly. Why, this was no game; Bartlett was
being outclassed! It had taken Pennington only three minutes to put
over the second touchdown from the seventeen yard line. Bowen was
forced to attempt the goal kick from quite an angle and the ball went
wild. Score, Pennington, 13; Bartlett, 0.
Again Pennington kicked off. Cateye received the ball and advanced it
back twenty yards in a pretty, dodging run. Neil tried vainly to
enthuse the fallen spirits of his team-mates. They were not playing
true to form; they were suffering the slump of the season and during
the biggest game!
Benz was forced to punt again, the eleven not being able to make a
first down. Gordon & Company started another triumphal march toward
the coveted goal. This time the progress was easier than before.
After each play several Bartlett men were seen to hobble wearily to
their positions. The strain was beginning to tell. Soon the game
would become a rout.
A fumble! Bartlett's ball! The stands came to life. Pennington's
advance was at least momentarily checked. Neil called on Benz to carry
the ball. He made three yards. Neil used him again. Benz tore off
seven yards around end and Bartlett had made its first down!
Patterson and Gary, halfbacks, could gain very little on respective
attempts. Neil was forced to call on Benz to make the yards. Benz was
good for six. In a fake punt formation Benz tried a pass, but Norton,
Pennington right end, intercepted the ball and carried it fifteen yards
to the Bartlett thirty yard line before being downed. Bartlett's
slight revival of form was thus ended.
There were six minutes left to play of the first half, and Pennington
meant to have another touchdown. Every play was good for a few yards
at least.
Cateye, who had played a wonderful game at left guard, was tiring fast.
Knapp had chosen the left side of the line to direct a good share of
his smashes at and Cateye had borne the brunt of the attack. Now,
after each play, he was the last man to crawl upon his feet, and fall
back into his position.
Pennington fought its way to the seven yard line. There were three
minutes left in which to score a touchdown. Gordon took the ball,
intending to drive his way through Cateye's position for a substantial
gain. But Cateye, calling forth one last, great effort, broke through
and tackled Gordon for a one yard loss.
The crowd gave him a mighty cheer but Cateye heard it not. He lay
where he had fallen. Benz rushed up, knelt down beside him, then
motioned to Neil.
"Help me get him to the sidelines, will you? He's knocked out!"
Someone rushed up with a blanket and pail of water. Cateye was carried
to the sidelines. The substitutes crowded around. Judd pushed them
aside.
"Cateye! Pal! Wake up! What's the matter?" Judd shook him rather
roughly.
Cateye began to come to. "My knee! My knee!" he gasped.
Judd jerked off Cateye's shoe and sock. The bandaged knee was already
badly swollen.
Coach Phillips came to Cateye's side. "Tough luck, old man. You
played a great game. Judd, take off your sweater. You're going in
Cateye's place. It's up to you. Hold 'em!"
"Me? Naw,--well," Judd hesitated, glancing at his room-mate.
"Go in, Judd, and stop that Gordon! There's two more downs and two
minutes to play. Don't let 'em make a touchdown!" Cateye pleaded.
Judd still lingered, uncertain.
A strange voice was heard outside the group. "Let me in I say! That
man was my former room-mate!"
"Why,--Bob Billings!" exclaimed Cateye, delighted, and forgetting his
badly wrenched knee for the moment. "I didn't know you were here!"
"Just arrived a few minutes before the game started," replied the great
Bob, reaching out and grabbing his open-mouthed younger brother,
"Hello, Judd! What are you doing standing here? The crowd's calling
for you. I supposed you'd gone out. Hurry up! Don't stop to argue.
It's time for play to begin again. I'll see you at the end of the
first half. Save the game, old man!"
Without a word Judd ripped off his jersey and dashed out upon the
field. So Bob was here! And Cateye laid out! And,--Bartlett was
being beaten! Well, he'd do his best to please Bob and Cateye, but how
could he save the game? "Gosh!" thought Judd, "The game's lost
already!"
Nevertheless he jumped peppily into Cateye's position. Just as his
presence had inspired the second team so did his presence now cause new
life to appear in the varsity.
Benz rushed up to Judd, throwing an arm about his shoulders. What did
this mean? Another trick? But--no--it couldn't be----! that look in
Benz's face and then--Benz was holding out his hand! Judd gripped it
in a daze as the stands roared. All this action took place in two
minutes time but to Judd it seemed like hours. So much had happened in
those two minutes! And here Judd found himself actually playing in
Cateye's position, something he had vowed that he would never do!
Besides this, Benz had become his friend. Wonder of wonders!
But Judd had no more time to contemplate. The referee's whistle
shrieked, and he became painfully aware that he was in the direct path
of the onslaught. He braced himself; hit the opposing line low, and as
a mass of legs passed over him he grabbed an armful and hung on. The
roar in the stands became a rumble. Judd had stopped the great Gordon
without a gain!
He staggered to his feet, a numb feeling in one hand, and Benz patting
him joyfully on the back.
"Get him just once more, Rube, old man," yelled Benz, in his ear, "and
it'll be our ball!"
Judd crouched in his position, his whole being concentrated on one
object, Gordon. Would they use him again? Or might Pennington resort
to some trick play to put the ball across?
Judd saw Knapp look at Gordon as he knelt to receive the ball; he saw
the ball snapped back; saw Gordon dash forward and apparently take it
from Knapp's hands, plunging into the other side of the line. All was
confusion. All were mislead but Judd. He burst through his side of
the line just as Gordon started forward. He saw the fake pass; saw all
his team-mates lurch toward the right in a frantic effort to stop the
much feared Gordon. But above all this he saw Knapp, running free,
with the ball tucked under his arm!
And Knapp saw Judd, the only obstacle between him and a touchdown.
Seven yards to go! Time almost up! Knapp ran straight at Judd; then
as the rube dove for a tackle, he jumped clear.
Pennington gave a lusty cheer,--then a groan of dismay, for Judd had
rolled quickly over and made a frantic grab at the flying feet as they
passed him. His right hand came in contact with Knapp's right ankle
and closed over it like a vice. Knapp fell his full length prone upon
the ground. Such a cheer as went up from the Bartlett stands!
Everyone was on their feet lauding Judd. And just then the whistle
blew calling time for the first half.
It was a much different team that left the field after that last two
minutes of play. A new spirit now prevailed. Although woefully
battered, out-generaled, and outplayed, beaten by a 13 to 0 score,
Judd's presence had produced the tonic which revived their spirits and
restored the punch which had been sadly lacking.
Benz and Neil escorted Judd to the sidelines whispering happily in his
ears.
"You stopped 'em, old fellow! You saved another touchdown! Great
stuff! Just wait until next half!"
"Say!" exploded Judd, ignoring the praise, "That little sucker is a
spry one, isn't he? A shoe-string more an' I'd never have caught him!"