ON THE GRIDIRON
When the exercises for the day were over, Dick sought out Captain
Handlee, and inquired how he liked the wall-scaling.
"Fine! Fine!" exclaimed the veteran. "We never had such practice when I
was in the army, but we did pretty near the same in real life. I
remember one occasion at Chancellorsville--"
"Now Captain Handlee," interrupted Major Webster, who had constituted
himself host to the veteran, "you keep all such stories for me. If you
get telling them to the cadets, first thing I know I'll have to be
providing big brick walls for them to scale."
He led the veteran away, the aged captain bidding good-bye to Dick.
"I hope you'll be successful on your trip," said the young millionaire.
"I hope so, too, Dick, for I miss my son more and more as I grow older."
In spite of the good record he made in the drills, at artillery practice
and in his class, Dick found as the weeks went by, that he was making
no progress in becoming popular with the main body of students at
Kentfield. He had a few chums among the freshmen, and of course was on
speaking terms with all the others, but aside from Paul Drew, his
roommate, he had no close friends. This state of affairs made him feel
sad, for at home he had been the most popular lad in town.
"I'm not succeeding as I thought I would," he said to himself, one day.
"I guess I'll have to put my plan into operation. But perhaps I'd better
wait a while yet. I'll give this way a fair show."
As fall advanced there began to be talk about forming the football
eleven. A number of new players were needed, because some of the best
had graduated the previous year.
"I hope I can make the team," said Dick to Paul one evening during their
study period. "I used to be considered a good player at home."
"I don't see why you can't get on. Fortunately Dutton has nothing to say
about who shall play, though he's considered one of the team's
supporters and backers."
"Still he may influence Captain Rutledge. I hear they are going to pick
candidates this week."
"Yes, I heard Harry Hale, the coach, talking about it. I hope you make
the eleven, Dick."
It was the following day, when Dick was out in the field, with some
other cadets of his class, getting instruction in survey work, that he
overheard something which made him feel more than ever like giving up
the fight against his handicap. He was standing near a thick hedge,
holding the scale rod, while another cadet was reading it through the
instrument, when he heard voices behind the shrubbery.
"Looks to me like Hamilton would make a good player," he caught, and he
knew that Coach Hale was speaking.
"You're right," said Captain Rutledge. "He's got the right build, and I
hear he played at home."
"Aw, you don't want him on the team," expostulated a voice which Dick
knew at once belonged to Captain Dutton.
"Why not?" asked the coach, in some surprise.
"Well, none of the other fellows like him. You wouldn't get good team
work if he played."
"Are you sure?" asked Captain Rutledge.
"Sure. He's not popular."
"What's the matter with him?"
"Well, he's got too much money, and he's always trying to make it known.
He gives himself as many airs as if he came of an old family."
This was an unjust accusation, but the coach and captain did not know
it, as they were upper-class cadets, and did not mingle much with the
freshmen.
"Well, we won't want to get an unpopular fellow on the eleven," said the
coach, dubiously.
"No, indeed," agreed the captain. "Still, we need good players. Suppose
we give him a trial?"
"You'll be sorry if you do," Dutton assured them.
Dick longed to drop the rod, leap over the hedge and give a
well-deserved threshing to Dutton, but he knew he would lose more than
he would gain. He was brought quickly out of his fit of righteous anger
by the sharp command of the officer in charge of the surveying party.
"Plumb east there! Hamilton!" was the cry, and Dick saw that he had
allowed the rod to slant too much. He straightened it, and, glancing at
the hedge saw the three cadets who had been talking, moving away. But,
before they got out of earshot Dick heard Dutton say:
"I wouldn't put him on the team, if I were you, for I don't think he'll
be here long."
"Why not? Doesn't he like it?" asked Captain Rutledge.
"Oh, I guess he likes it all right, but we don't like him. I shouldn't
wonder but what something would happen to make him leave," and Dutton
laughed sarcastically.
"I guess I'd better be on my guard," thought Dick as he moved the rod to
another place, in obedience to the instructions from the cadet at the
instrument.
A few days after this, a notice was posted on the bulletin board in the
gymnasium, telling all candidates for the football team to report on
the gridiron that afternoon, as selections for the regular and scrub
teams would be made. Members of the scrub would act as substitutes on
the regular.
"Here's where I get my chance," said Dick to Paul.
"Well, I hope you make the regular team," replied his roommate, as the
young millionaire went to submit himself for examination.
Coach Hale, Captain Rutledge, and a number of the former players were on
hand, as was Dutton, and some of his cronies. All the candidates were
looked over, sized up physically, and put through a course of "sprouts"
in running, leaping, and tackling. Then their football history was
inquired into.
"I guess you'll do, Hamilton," said the coach, and Dick was delighted.
A moment later, however, he saw his hopes dashed to the ground. Dutton
called Harry Hale over to him, whispered a bit, and then Captain
Rutledge joined them.
"You'll be on the scrub, Hamilton," said Hale, a little later. "You'll
probably have a chance to play in several games, however, for I like
your form. You've got to be regular at practice however."
Though much disappointed, Dick vowed to do his best at practice. This
was started a few days later, and, when the regular team lined up
against the substitutes, Dick resolved that they would make no gains
through him, for he was playing at left guard, though he preferred being
back of the line.
"Well, how are we making out," Dick overheard Captain Rutledge asking
the coach, one afternoon, following some hard scrimmages.
"Pretty good. That Hamilton is like a brick wall, though. We can't gain
a foot through him. I wish we had him on the regular."
"Well, you know what Dutton said."
"Yes, I know, but I don't believe all Dutton says. He's got queer
notions. I think Hamilton is every bit as good as he is. Besides, Dutton
doesn't play football."
"I know it, but he has lots of influence."
Dick fully subscribed to this, for he knew it was due to Dutton that he
was on the scrub instead of on the regular team. But he resolved to have
patience.
As Dick walked off the gridiron, following the practice, he was met,
before he reached his barracks, by Grit, who had been let out of his
kennel in the stables.
"Hello, Grit old fellow!" exclaimed Dick, and the dog nearly dislocated
his stump of a tail, so excited was he. Since rejoining his master he
had picked up wonderfully. "I've got you for a friend, even if I haven't
many others," said Dick, as he bent over to fondle the dog. As he did so
he saw some marks on the animal's smooth, satin-like coat, that made him
start.
"Grit, you've been fighting!" he exclaimed. "How did that happen?" He
knew there were no other dogs near the academy with whom his pet would
quarrel. He asked the stableman about it.
"Sure Grit's been in a fight," replied one of the hostlers. "I thought
you matched him in a scrap wid a dorg in town. Grit won, anyhow. It was
a couple a' nights ago."
"Matched him in a fight? Why, did some one--some of the cadets take Grit
to town, and let him fight?"
"Thot's what they done, Muster Hamilton, an' they won a pot of money on
him too, I understand."
"Who took him?" asked Dick, trying to speak calmly.
"Why, uts no secret. Muster Dutton an' Muster Stiver tuck him one night.
Ut was a foin foight, I heard 'em say."
Dick started away, after chaining Grit up, a set look on his face.
"I'll have it out with Dutton," he said.