THE AWKWARD SQUAD
The school year began the next morning at half past seven when the
bell on School Hall rang its imperative summons to chapel. Hugh
Ordway, sitting beside Bert in one of the yellow settees in the back
of assembly hall――precedent gave the back seats to the upper-class
fellows at chapel and to the lower-class boys at other times――observed
everything with lively interest. When, the short service over, the
fellows rustled back into their seats to listen to the Principal’s
talk, Bert whispered to Hugh: “You’d better try for the Glee Club, old
man, if you can sing like that.”
Hugh flushed, but made no answer.
Doctor Duncan, middle-aged, tall, sallow, bearded, and near-sighted,
arose to the clapping of hands and moved to the front of the platform.
His little speech was the same, almost word for word, that the
seniors had heard three times already, but the juniors huddled in
the front rows listened with flattering attention and were, we will
trust, properly impressed. The Principal’s advice was excellent and
they certainly couldn’t do better than follow it. Then came a few
announcements: Mr. Gibbs had been detained at home by illness and
pending his return to duty his classes in History would be taken by
Mr. Gring; German 1 would be held in Room F instead of H, as formerly;
seniors and upper middlers whose courses had not been as yet approved
would submit them to Mr. Rumford during the morning; the reception to
students would be held that evening at the Principal’s residence, and
it was hoped that all would attend.
Dr. Duncan bowed, removed his spectacles and substituted his
shell-rimmed glasses, and said, “Dismissed,” and the hall emptied.
Breakfast was at eight o’clock and the first recitation period was
at nine. Neither Bert nor Hugh had a first-hour class and they took
advantage of that to wait on Mr. Rumford, Assistant Principal and
instructor in history, with their schedules. Bert’s misgivings proved
not idle, for the German course was changed to physics. Hugh had
elected physics, chemistry, and history in addition to the regular
studies for his year and his card was promptly approved. At ten they
went into Mathematics 4 together and at eleven they had Greek. In the
afternoon there were two more periods for Bert――French and History,
and one, the latter, for Hugh.
They came out of Mr. Gring’s class together and hurried to the room
to leave their books and change to football togs. Hugh, who had
the evening before announced his desire to play football and been
unblushingly encouraged by Nick, had provided himself with a most
complete supply of clothing and paraphernalia, including a head-guard
and a football! He confessed that he hadn’t been certain about the
necessity for the last article, but had decided to be on the safe side.
He looked remarkably spick-and-span in his brand-new regalia when they
sallied forth again, a violent contrast to his companion, whose togs
were battle-scarred and weather-worn and not, it must be confessed,
overclean.
All Grafton, in togs or out, was flocking toward Lothrop Field, and
Hugh’s immaculate costume was no longer spectacular once they had
joined the throng, since at least half the entering class appeared
to have donned football attire quite as fresh and unsullied as his.
The juniors were not allowed to try for the School Team but, under
the direction of Mr. Sargent, Athletic Director, were trained in the
science of the game and later herded into a first or second junior
eleven and held notable contests. Still later, the upper-middle and
lower-middle classes formed teams and they and the first juniors
battled for the class championship, a much-coveted prize.
Already a few tennis enthusiasts were busy on the courts as Bert and
his companion passed through the gate, and Hugh stopped a moment to
watch. “I dare say a chap doesn’t have much time for tennis if he plays
football,” he remarked questioningly.
“None at all,” said Bert. “Do you play?”
“A bit. It’s a rip――a corking game, I think. If I don’t have any luck
with football I’ll have to go in for it. I saw a notice up about a Fall
Tournament, I think.”
“Yes, they have one in a week or two. We’ve got some rather decent
players here. Last year we didn’t do a thing to Mount Morris.”
“You mean to say you beat them, eh?”
“We certainly did! They didn’t have a chance. By the way, have you a
racket?”
“Oh, yes; thanks.”
“I sold a peach to Nick yesterday for a dollar and a quarter. I was
thinking maybe you might have liked it.”
“That’s awfully good of you,” replied the other gratefully, “but I’m
fixed very well for rackets. I brought three along.”
“Three! Then I guess you wouldn’t have needed that one. There’s your
crowd over there, Hugh. You wait with them, and Bonner will be after
you in a few minutes.”
“They’re the rookies, eh? Right, old chap. See you later, then.”
What happened to Hugh that afternoon Bert didn’t have much time to
discover, for the regulars had a pretty busy session. But afterwards,
back in 29, Hugh recounted his experiences with a quiet drollery that
brought many chuckles from Bert.
“It was all rather different from what I’d thought,” said Hugh,
reflectively rubbing a sore knee. “A chap named Hannigan――――”
“Hanrihan,” corrected Bert. “Sub tackle.”
“Well, he took a lot of us over on the other side of the tennis courts
and made us do the most astonishing things, do you know? We’d chuck the
ball around, one to another, and then when someone would drop it, you
know, instead of picking it up he’d have to fall over on the wobbly
thing!” He rubbed his knee again. “I had to do it myself a number of
times. A bit awkward I felt, too. The silly ball had a way of not being
there when you dropped down for it. And this chap Hanrihan was most
awfully impatient with us, do you know? Some of the things he said
were quite rude. I fancy he didn’t mean anything, though. I dare say
we were a bit trying. There was a fat Johnnie with us who was always
trying to catch the ball in his mouth and, of course, his mouth wasn’t
big enough. Hannigan――I should say Hanrihan――told me he was a tub of
butter. Queer thing to call him, I think. I wondered why a tub of
butter. Because he was fat, eh?”
“Yes. You mustn’t mind what they say to you, Hugh. It’s part of the
game.”
“I didn’t. Of course, I understood that. Then he had us line up and
start off when he rolled the ball and run like a ballywhack. But you’ve
been through with all that, eh?”
“Yes. Not just what you expected, then?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Bert. You see, on the other side we don’t
practise quite that way. I mean we――well, we don’t――aren’t so serious
about it, if you know what I mean. Take rugger, for instance――――”
“I beg your pardon?” interrupted Bert, puzzled.
“Eh? Oh, rugger――Rugby, you know. We rather make play of it. Of course,
we do practise, but not the way you American――I should say _we_
American――chaps do. But I dare say it isn’t so hard when you’ve learned
a bit, eh?”
“I’m afraid it is,” replied Bert. “The more you know and the better
player you are the harder grind you have to go through. If you make
the School Team you work like a slave for a good six weeks.”
“Really? But what for?”
“Why to beat Mount Morris, of course. And any others we can before
that.”
“Yes, of course, but――――” Hugh hesitated, with a perplexed frown on his
face. “Mind you, I’ve seen football played, and I got beastly nervous
and excited about it, but what I’m trying to get at is this, old chap:
suppose, now, you didn’t work so hard in getting ready for the other
chap, what would happen?”
“We’d get licked, I suppose.”
“You wouldn’t like that, eh?”
“Like it? I should say not! Mount Morris beat us last year, twelve to
three, and this place was like a――a morgue for a week afterwards. This
year we’re going to rub it into her.”
“That’s what I gathered,” said Hugh. “I mean, those fellows I saw play
last Autumn didn’t seem to be having much sport, you know; didn’t
appear to be there for――for the fun they’d get out of it, if you know
what I mean. It looked to me very much like hard work. The only time
they showed any pleasure was when they scored on the other chaps. Then
they’d wave their arms and jump up and down like mad. And a thousand
or so Johnnies in the seats would cheer themselves hoarse. But that was
’varsity football, and I fancied you fellows here at prep school would
go in more for the fun of it.”
“Oh, we get plenty of fun out of it,” said Bert. “We all like it, or
we wouldn’t do it. That is――――” He hesitated. “Maybe some of us do
go in for football more for the glory than the sport,” he went on
thoughtfully. “I guess it’s got to be rather a――a fashion. It’s like
this, Hugh. A fellow who makes his School Team is a bit important and
he gets some reputation and fellows like to know him. And then, when he
goes up to college he finds it easier. If he keeps on making good he
meets fellows he wants to know, fellows who can help him, you see, and
he probably makes one of the sophomore societies and――there he is.”
“Yes?” said Hugh questioningly.
“I don’t mean that all the fellows who try for the team think about all
that. They don’t. Lots of them play football because they love it. But
now, take Ted Trafford, for instance. Ted’s a bully sort of a fellow,
but he isn’t――well, brilliant. Ted started out with the intention of
doing just what he has done, that is, being captain of the team in his
senior year. Ted’s going to Princeton next fall. He will get there with
the――the prestige of having captained the Grafton School Football
Team, and it’s going to be a lot easier for him. If Ted went up there
unknown he would have hard work getting anywhere, probably. He’s just
a big, good-looking, good-natured fellow, and he isn’t a smart student
and he wouldn’t shine at anything outside of football. His folks aren’t
wealthy, although I guess they have enough money to live on, and they
haven’t any special social position in New York, I suppose. But that
won’t matter in Ted’s case because he will go up there and make the
freshman team and then get on the ’varsity and make a name for himself.
He will meet fellows of money and position that way, have a good time
in college and fall into something soft when he gets through.”
“I see,” said Hugh. “It’s that way to some extent, I fancy, on the
other side. I mean that if a chap makes a name for himself at school
he finds it easier getting in when he goes up to Oxford or Cambridge.
It’s quite natural.” He was silent a moment. Then: “I dare say that
explains why you chaps go in for sports so seriously. You’re working
for something, eh?”
“No, that isn’t quite right,” objected Bert. “I didn’t mean you to
think that every fellow has that idea in his head. I guess more than
half of us take part in athletics because we want to. I know that in
my case I never thought of getting any advantages by it. In fact, I
don’t believe I ever thought the thing out before. I play football just
as I play tennis or hockey or anything else, because I like the game,
like mixing with a lot of good fellows, like to do what I can for the
School.”
“And like to beat Mount Morris,” said Hugh, smiling.
“You bet!”
“That’s the part of it that seems a bit odd, now. As I make it out you
don’t care so much for playing football as you do for winning from the
other chap, the rival school, you know. If you do win it’s all awfully
jolly and everyone’s as happy as a lark. If you lose, why, you all draw
long faces and feel sort of disgraced.”
“That’s rather exaggerated, but you get the idea. And why not? Don’t
you like to win when you start out to?”
“Oh, rather! But playing a game is playing a game, old chap. It isn’t
business or war, is it? Why not play for the fun of it? Try as hard as
you like and then if you don’t win――er――forget it!” Hugh was palpably
proud of his bit of slang.
“That’s all right,” replied Bert. “I’ve heard a lot about your English
sportsmanship and all that, but I notice that when we go over to your
side of the pond and beat you, you don’t like it a bit and you come
back at us with charges of professionalism.”
“I didn’t know we did,” said Hugh. “If we do, maybe it’s because you go
into it so hard that――that you look like professionals! You know you do
go a pretty long way sometimes to beat the other chap.”
“Oh, rot! If you’re out to beat a fellow, beat him. That’s my idea.”
“Yes, I know, but there are some things a chap wouldn’t do to win,
aren’t there? He wouldn’t cheat, for instance, and he wouldn’t take
advantage of――of technicalities, if you know what I mean. Oh, I dare
say I’ll come around to your way of looking at it after a bit,” Hugh
added cheerfully. “Anyway, I’m going to keep on plugging along at
football, because, maybe, you know, after a while I’ll really think
it’s fun!”
“Meaning that you don’t now?” laughed Bert.
Hugh smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t――yet. Beastly
grind, I’d call it now. I say, isn’t it time for eats?”