AN ARMED TRUCE.
At practice that night Stone astonished everybody, even himself. All
hesitation and doubt seemed to have left him, and at everything he
attempted he was amazingly sure and so swift that not a few of the boys
who had fancied him heavy and awkward gasped with astonishment and
confessed to one another that they had “sized him up wrong.” Those who
had fancied him dull of wit were also led to wonder over the rapidity
with which he seemed to grasp and understand every suggestion of the
coach. He was able to catch punts on the dead run; when he fell on the
ball he got it cleanly, never once permitting it to bound away from
him; and he could kick, too, his sturdy right leg sending the pigskin
sailing far through the air.
Bern Hayden likewise practiced well, putting all his usual snap and
dash into everything he did, his accomplishments plainly demonstrating
why he had been generally singled out as the fellow who would certainly
be chosen as captain of next year’s team. Of them all he was, perhaps,
the only one who gave no attention to Stone; as far as he was
concerned—outwardly, at least—Ben did not exist.
All this was most encouraging and stimulating to Capt. Eliot and the
others. The coach, who on the previous night had felt greatly
disappointed in the material from which he had hoped to build a clever
high school eleven, betrayed his relief and satisfaction by the altered
expression of his face and the change in his manner. In fact, every one
seemed happy, and possibly, with the exception of Hayden, every one was.
With remarkable craft Bern masked his feelings. He did not even betray
the wrath that stirred his soul when, standing a short distance away,
he heard Dash Winton say to Eliot:
“I think I was mistaken about that chap Stone. I fancied he wasn’t much
good, but I’ve changed my mind since watching him work to-night. He
ought to make one of the most valuable men on the team.”
“I’m glad you think so,” returned the captain; “for we certainly need
him to stiffen the line.”
“To-morrow night,” said Winton, “we must have enough fellows out here
to make up a scrub team for a practice game. You’ll need all that kind
of work you can get if you’re going to play next Saturday.”
Hayden and Barker left the field together. “Peace has spread itself
like oil upon the troubled waters,” observed Berlin, with a faint
smile. “Too bad you had to give in, but I suppose it was the only thing
you could do.”
His companion’s dark eyes flashed him a look. “If you fancy I’ve given
in you don’t know me. I’ve never yet been downed, Barker.”
“But you had to give up your plan for bringing Eliot to time.”
“That’s all right. A good general who sees one of his movements blocked
changes promptly to another style of campaign.”
“Then you’ve another scheme in view?”
“I always believe in keeping a few cards up my sleeve.”
Bern betrayed no disposition to show these cards even to his friend,
and Barker refrained from asking questions he felt might not be
answered, being confident that in good time Hayden would let him into
the secret.
To every one else, as the days slipped by and Bern made no move, it
seemed that something like a truce had been mutually agreed upon. To be
sure, it might be an armed truce in which both parties were patiently
waiting the time when the certain course of events would again bring
open warfare; for never in all that time did the two bitter enemies
betray, even by a look, that either recognized the existence of the
other. In football practice, when necessary, they worked together
harmoniously enough for the accomplishment of the plays in which they
were involved. It frequently happened that Stone, breaking through the
line of the scrub, became a part of the interference which assisted
Hayden in advancing the ball, and always he was an effective part of
it. Both Winton and Eliot arrived at the conviction that one of the
team’s best ground gaining plays would be that in which Stone and Piper
opened a hole between the opposing guard and tackle to let Hayden
through.
On Thursday the coach requested that the gate of the field should be
closed and guarded to keep out the throng of spectators who were eager
to watch the practice, and that night, having strengthened the scrub,
he kept the regular team working constantly on the defensive; for he
claimed that a good defensive game was fully as essential as an
offensive one.
Saturday came at last, and at ten-thirty in the forenoon the players
were at the railway station to take the train for Clearport. Quite a
crowd gathered to see them off and cheer them heartily, while about a
dozen of the scholars, including several girls, all bearing banners,
accompanied them.
On the train Hayden and Barker sat together and took little part in the
general conversation. Even when Clearport was reached and the arrivals
were welcomed by Capt. Merwin and a delegation, this pair held
themselves aloof, finally walking up to the hotel behind the rest of
the crowd. And at dinner, coming late, Bern and Berlin sat at a
separate table, having made arrangements in advance with the head
waiter.
Eliot did not wholly hide his displeasure over this, for he had
expected that the players, the substitutes and the coach would all sit
at one long table. Nor did the distant pair betray any interest in the
jests and laughter of their teammates.
Dinner over, Winton had a private word with Roger. “As an exhibition of
snobbishness,” he said disgustedly, “that was the limit. If you don’t
look out, Eliot, those fellows will yet make trouble for you.”
“There’s only one,” returned the captain, “who is at all dangerous, and
I have an idea he realizes he can’t afford to make any real trouble. Of
course I don’t like the spirit he displays, but he’s such a valuable
man that I presume we’ll have to put up with it.”
The hour for the game drew near at last. It was a bright, snappy day,
with a strong westerly wind blowing, and when the Oakdale lads arrived
at the field they found quite a crowd already assembled, while a steady
stream of people came pouring in. Not a few persons from Oakdale had
come over the road in teams and automobiles, and the most of these were
gathered in a group on the seats at the southern side of the gridiron.
With a cheer they welcomed the appearance of Eliot and his followers.
That cheer gave Ben Stone a tingling thrill; he seemed to feel that a
little of it was meant for him. This thrill was intensified as he heard
them crying:
“There’s Roger!” “Good boy, Eliot!” “There’s Bern!”
“What’s your deduction about this game, Sleuth?”
“Got any peanuts, Chub?”
Then suddenly some one cried distinctly:
“Look at Stone! ’Rah for old Stoney!”
They shed their sweaters. A ball was tossed out, and immediately they
began passing, punting and falling upon it. And now Stone, painfully
self-conscious, fumbled. When, a moment or two later, the pigskin came
bounding his way over the ground, he flung himself at it only to have
it squirm out of his grasp and spin off to one side. He rose, his face
crimson, realizing that something was the matter.
A hand touched him lightly on the shoulder, and Eliot’s voice sounded
in his ear.
“All right, Stone, old man; don’t mind the crowd. Forget it.”
That was the matter; he knew it in a twinkling. Getting a grip on
himself, he became steady and sure.
Presently he found himself, with others, watching the two captains who
had stepped aside to consult with the referee. For a moment his eyes
roved over the scene. On one side of the field the seats were already
well filled. A mass of blue banners indicated where the scholars of
Clearport High were grouped. At the south the crowd was thinner and the
crimson banners of Oakdale were not so plentiful. East and west the
goal posts rose against the sky. Between those posts the regular white
chalk marks made a huge checkerboard.
Oh, it was a fine thing to be living! And it was a marvel indeed to be
there, a member of one of those two teams of healthy, brown-faced lads
who would soon be struggling for supremacy on that field.
His eyes came back to the two captains and the referee. He saw the
latter toss into the air something that spun and glittered brightly. He
saw all three stoop to observe how the coin had fallen. Then Eliot
slapped Merwin on the shoulder, said something, turned and came
trotting toward his comrades.
“Come on, fellows,” called Roger; “I won the toss. We’ll take the
western goal and have both wind and sun at our backs.”
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