THIRTEEN TO TEN
Being on probation didn’t prevent Hugh from seeing the game that
Saturday afternoon, and he and Guy and a lower middle youth named
Stiles sat together through the best part of two hours and watched
Grafton play two twelve-minute and two ten-minute periods with the
Leeds High School team. It was unseasonably warm for the first week
in October and the players felt the heat. The game dragged along
uninterestingly until, in the final period, Coach Bonner put in a
number of second-string players. That brought the two teams nearer
equality and, although there was no more scoring, the last ten minutes
contained several exciting incidents. Weston, at quarter-back in place
of Nick, got away on a sixty-five-yard run and all but scored. A
Leeds left end pulled down a forward pass for a twelve-yard gain that
momentarily looked like a touchdown. Keyes, the only one of the back
field to play the game through, fooled the enemy with a short punt that
almost resulted in a score when a Leeds player dropped the ball and it
was pulled out of the air by Siedhof. But in the end the score remained
as at the finish of the first half, 13 to 0, in favor of the home team,
and Grafton dawdled back to the campus not greatly impressed.
Hugh parted from Guy and Stiles and went on up to his study. Bert was
not yet back, and, after thoughtfully staring from the window at the
passing groups below, he went out and down the corridor to Number 34.
His rap on the half-opened door elicited a response and he entered
to find the single occupant of the room minus coat and waistcoat,
perched at the window and surrounded by books and papers. Cathcart
was tall and thin, with a fair complexion and a good deal of unruly
red-brown hair. Just now, a green shade over his eyes and a pair of
black rubber spectacles on his nose, he presented an amusing vision
as he glanced near-sightedly across. Cathcart was eighteen, a senior
and an acknowledged “grind.” It was said of him that faculty had
almost broken his heart in his lower middle year by refusing to let
him take more than twenty-one hours a week. He got as much pleasure
out of studying as Bert Winslow did from football or Guy Murtha from
baseball, and was absolutely unable to get the point of view of the
fellow who considered study a disagreeable thing to be avoided as much
as possible. It was not until Hugh was halfway across the room, which
combined study and bedroom, that Cathcart recognized him. When he did
he untangled himself slowly, distributing sheets of paper around the
floor, and slid to his feet.
“Hello,” he said doubtfully.
“Hello,” answered the visitor.
Then, without further remarks, they set to rescuing the scattered
papers. This gave them time to consider the situation and when they
faced each other again Cathcart said: “About the other night, Ordway: I
hope you didn’t think there was anything personal in what I did?”
“Not for a moment, Cathcart. I’d have done just what you did, you know.
That’s quite all right, I assure you.”
“Well, I’m glad you take it that way, really. You see, being proctor
has its drawbacks. I wasn’t anxious for it, but it makes a big
difference in my expenses for the year, you see. I get my room a good
deal cheaper, and that’s rather nice in my case. I was glad faculty let
you off as easily as they did, Ordway.”
“Thanks, yes, they were really very decent to me. Where I made my
mistake, Cathcart, was in not coming up the other stairway.” Hugh
smiled. “You wouldn’t have heard me then, I fancy.”
“I don’t think I would,” agreed the other. “I――I wish you had. Someone
said you got shut up in the gym, I believe?”
“In School Hall.” Hugh narrated his adventures on Thursday evening.
“But if you had shouted out the window someone would surely have heard
you,” said Cathcart.
“Yes, but I didn’t want to give those lower middle beggars the
satisfaction, if you know what I mean. And I rather funked having it
get around that I’d been such a silly ass, too! I say, I’m keeping you
from work, eh?”
“No, you’re not, really. Push those books aside and make yourself
comfortable. I wish you’d tell me whether Bert has it in for me,
Ordway.”
“Oh, I don’t think so! He was a bit crumby that night, but he soon gets
over it.”
“I hope so. I like Bert. I suppose I’ll have to make up my mind to
getting a few of the fellows down on me before the year’s over. Bound
to, I guess. It’s hard to make them realize that it’s my duty to report
things. They don’t think anything about it if it’s one of the masters,
but they resent it if it’s a proctor. How do you like the school,
Ordway? I suppose it’s different from your schools in England.”
“I fancy so. I never went to an English school, though; never went to
any school before I came here. Of course I’ve heard lots about the
English schools; I know quite a few chaps at Rugby and Charterhouse and
Winchester; and I rather fancy we’re a bit different here. But I like
it very much. Fact is, Cathcart, I was in a regular blue funk about
coming here. I rather thought the chaps would rag me a lot, you know,
but they haven’t. Nick Blake does, but I don’t mind Nick a bit. Of
course, I am different, I fancy; rather stupid about a lot of things;
and I’m only just beginning to understand that you chaps don’t mean
more than about half you say. It puzzled me a lot at first, you know.
You have a way of poking fun at things, if you know what I mean, that
sounds odd until you understand that it _is_ fun. I didn’t; not at
first. I’m learning, though.”
“I suppose we are different,” acknowledged Cathcart, “in some ways.
Sometimes I think we don’t take things seriously enough, Ordway, we
fellows here at Grafton. Not that Grafton is much different from other
preparatory schools, though.”
“That’s what I like,” said Hugh eagerly. “I think your way of not
taking things seriously is awfully jolly. It isn’t that you really
don’t――don’t _know_ that they’re serious――when they are――but you simply
don’t take them so. As I say, I’ve never been to an English school, but
I’m sure you fellows over here get a lot more fun than we do on the
other side. Just at first some of the fun seemed to me to be rather――I
say, I hope you won’t mind it, old chap, but it seemed a bit silly, if
you know what I mean.”
“I think a lot of our fun is,” replied Cathcart, “but it’s generally
fairly harmless. Of course, the other night was different, but that was
exceptional here. We aren’t in the habit of blacking each other’s eyes,
you see.”
“But I liked that! That was――was so jolly spontaneous, eh? Some of the
fun seems a bit――well, a bit studied, but that wasn’t. A lot of chaps
have been awfully apologetic about that affair, and I don’t see why.
On the other side we’d have thought nothing about it, and the masters
wouldn’t have noticed it, I fancy. But we’re a bit more used to using
our fists than you chaps, I think. I say, though, here I am talking
like ‘a bloomin’ Britisher,’ as Nick says, when I’m really just as much
American as I am English.”
“Are you really? That explains it, then. There’s something about you
that doesn’t seem entirely English, Ordway. You don’t _look_ terribly
English, for one thing.”
“My mother is American,” said Hugh. “Her family has lived in Maryland
ever since the place was settled, I fancy. I’ve been over here off
and on, you know, ever since I was a kid. It’s queer, Cathcart, but
sometimes I feel as if I was all American and sometimes as if I was all
English! Queer game, eh?”
“Jekyll and Hyde idea?” asked the other, with a smile. “But don’t ask
me which is Jekyll!”
“I won’t,” laughed Hugh. “Don’t want to embarrass you. What’s that
stuff you’re digging at?”
“Benson’s ‘Medieval History,’” replied Cathcart. “It’s very interesting.”
“But, I say, we don’t have that, do we?”
“No, I’m just taking it up as a reading course. I have a good deal of
spare time this term and next, you see.”
“Fancy that! I dare say you’re a regular shark at study, eh? Honor Man
and all that?”
“Well, yes, I was Honor Man three terms last year and two the year
before and one in my junior year. It isn’t hard, you know.”
“Do you go in for games at all? Tennis or golf or anything?”
“N-no, not now. I play tennis a little, but I haven’t done much at it
since spring. There doesn’t seem to be much time.”
“Yes, but look here, old chap, tennis would do you a jolly sight more
good than Whatshisname’s ‘Medieval History’!”
“I don’t feel the need of it, Ordway. You see I have gym work during
the fall and winter terms and then in spring I go in for tennis a
couple of times a week.”
“You need more than that. Look here, I’m out of football for a couple
of weeks anyhow, Cathcart. What do you say we have a try at tennis some
day? What hours do you have in the mornings?”
“I’m pretty full every morning but Thursday and Saturday,” replied the
other doubtfully. “I wouldn’t be much of a fellow for you to play with,
Ordway. I’m terribly stale. Fact is, I only do it in spring because I
have to.”
“Oh, I’m no marvel, old chap! Anyway, that doesn’t matter, does it? We
can have some sport. What time Thursday, now?”
Cathcart laughed. “Well, eleven to twelve, if you really want me to
play.”
“Eleven to twelve is all right for me. Don’t forget. Got a good racket?”
“Why, come to think of it, I don’t believe I know where it is. Seems to
me someone borrowed it last term. I’ll have a look for it, though.”
“Don’t bother too much about it. I’ve got one you may use and welcome.
I say, I hope you don’t think me awfully cheeky to come in and take up
your time, eh?”
“I don’t, indeed, Ordway! I think it mighty nice of you. I was rather
afraid you held it in for me, you see.”
“Oh, rot! As though I would! Thursday at eleven, then? I’ll stop here
for you, eh?”
“Yes, do, for I might forget it. Thursday’s a good way off, though,
and if you find time you might drop in again. It’s good to talk with a
fellow who doesn’t spout football every minute!”
“Right-o! And come across to 29, Cathcart, will you? There are heaps of
things I’d like to talk about.”
Hugh usually had his last recitation at one, and that left him a long
afternoon to get through with. One could always study, but when the
weather was fair, and it held fair that autumn well into November,
staying indoors was not what he wanted. He had one or two set-to’s at
tennis with various acquaintances but by three o’clock he was always on
hand at the first team gridiron, following the play and trying his best
to profit by what he saw. There was no cheering news from Hanrihan,
however, that week, nor had Hugh taken Guy’s advice and spoken to Ted
Trafford about his reinstatement. He didn’t feel up to doing that,
but would have been highly pleased had Bert or Nick done it for him.
Neither did, though, so far as he learned. They seemed to accept his
termination with football as final for that fall. The only incidents of
importance that week were the tennis with Wallace Cathcart on Thursday
and the football game with St. James’ Academy on Saturday.
The tennis was something of a surprise to Hugh. He secretly thought
rather well of himself as a player, although he never boasted, and had
expected to have the rather awkward appearing Cathcart at his mercy.
But things turned out differently and Hugh had to work hard for the
two sets they played. In spite of the fact that his opponent didn’t
take the game seriously and had not, according to his statement, played
since the preceding spring, he was able to give Hugh a hard tussle.
Cathcart had a bewildering serve when, towards the middle of the first
set, he began to get command of it, and he possessed a remarkably
clever way of getting about the court. Weak on backhand strokes, he
wisely avoided them whenever possible and spun the ball across low and
hard from the face of his racket in a way that made Hugh admire and
marvel.
When, at the end of the first set, won by Hugh, 6–4, they rested a
minute, Hugh took Cathcart to task. “I say, old chap, it’s a crying
shame for you not to play more. Why, you’re a natural tennis player,
’pon my word you are! Look here, why don’t you, eh?”
“I don’t know.” Cathcart, breathing hard from his exertions, thought
a moment. “I really believe I could play fairly decently if I put my
mind on it and practiced. And it is good fun. I’d forgotten what fun it
was, Ordway. Do you think you could show me how to get those backhand
returns? Or wouldn’t you care to?”
“Glad to! The trouble is you funk ’em, you know.”
“I’m afraid of them. If I can’t get into position to take them on the
right I let them go. I’m awfully weak on backhand work.”
“Practice is all you need, then. That’s a perfectly spif――a perfectly
corking serve of yours! I have to take it almost at the backline, do
you know? Shall we go on?”
In the second set Cathcart won the second and fourth on his service
and then, losing the sixth to Hugh, took advantage of the latter’s
momentary let-down and made the set four-all. After that, though, he
tired and Hugh had no difficulty in winning the ninth and tenth games
and capturing the set by the previous score.
Cathcart agreed to play again Saturday morning, but begged off the next
day, having discovered some work he ought to do. Hugh took Ned Stiles
on instead, but had poor sport.
The St. James game in the afternoon was a rattling good one. For the
first time that season Coach Bonner put his full strength into the
field at the start. Dresser was at left end, Franklin at left tackle,
Kinley at left guard, Musgrave at center, Driver at right guard,
Trafford at right tackle, Tray at right end, Blake at quarter, Winslow
at left half, Vail at right half, and Keyes at full. St. James was
a heavy team, averaging a year more in age, perhaps, and surely ten
pounds more in weight, and played close-formation football in a very
clever manner. Grafton’s game this year, so far as one could determine
at this stage, was to be a combination of wide-open and old-style
football. She had an experienced trio in Musgrave, Driver and Trafford,
a fair guard in Kinley and a good tackle in Franklin. Roy Dresser, at
left end, was almost certain of his position, but Tray, on the other
wing, was less satisfactory. In the back-field, Blake and Winslow had
seen two years of service on the first and second teams, Vail was a
newcomer in football, although a senior, and Keyes had made the team at
the end of the preceding season. The back-field was rather lighter than
Mr. Bonner could have wished for, but it was fast and “scrappy.” So far
it gave promise of being a good defensive eleven, with its offensive
abilities still to be proved.
Today’s game showed up many weak points, for St. James was a hard
enough proposition to cause Grafton to make use of everything she
knew. It was St. James who scored first, shortly after the kick-off,
when Nick misjudged a punt in front of his goal and a brown-stockinged
player fell on the pigskin near the twenty-yard line. Grafton gave back
slowly, but the visitors made it first down on the nine yards. Then two
tries failed to gain more than as many feet and the St. James full-back
booted the ball over very prettily.
Grafton came back hard and forced the playing for the remainder of the
period but was unable to get a score. In the second quarter, Nick began
a march from the middle of the field to the Brown’s goal that would not
be denied and Keyes was eventually pushed over for a touchdown. Keyes
failed at the goal. St. James gained on rushes against Kinley when she
got the ball back, but the half ended with the score 6 to 3 in the
home team’s favor.
When the third period opened Trafford kicked off and St. James again
started her smashing at tackle and guard on the left, but the gains
grew shorter there and she switched to the other wing and finally
got her left half around Tray for a twenty-yard sprint that laid the
pigskin in dangerous proximity to the Scarlet-and-Gray goal. Some hard
fighting followed, with St. James digging her cleats valiantly and
smashing at everything in sight. Hugh got very excited at this period
of the contest and squirmed about on his seat in a most un-English
manner. Grafton took the ball away on her twelve yards and the stands
cheered with joy and relief.
But the joy was short-lived, for Keyes punted miserably from behind
his goal line and the ball was St. James’ again near the twenty-yards.
She got five on the very first play between Kinley and Franklin and
followed it with three more off Franklin. The latter was hurt in the
play and Parker took his place. St. James lost slightly on a run
around end, but gained her distance on the next down when a fake kick
developed into a line-plunge through center.
Grafton, flocking along the edge of the field, implored her warriors to
“Hold ’em!” But with less than ten yards to go and four downs at her
command the prospect looked extremely good for the visitor. A plunge at
Kinley was stopped for no gain. Then a complicated crisscross play sent
a half-back past Captain Trafford for three yards, Tray being boxed to
the king’s taste. Grafton began to breathe easier then, but the third
down added two yards more when the St. James full-back tore through
Kinley. That brought the ball to the five-yard line, and the Brown team
arranged itself for a try at goal. Ted Trafford diagnosed the play as
a fake and Nick hustled his back-field close in. When the ball went
back it was caught by a half who faked an end run and then, when the
left wing of the Grafton line had been drawn in, threw across to his
right end. That youth had only to drop across the line to score the
touchdown. In fact drop was all he could do, for Bert tackled him the
moment the ball settled into his hands. The punt-out landed the pigskin
directly in front of the crossbar and St. James added another point,
bringing her total to 10. The whistle sounded a moment later.
Grafton had now to score at least five points to win. A field goal and
a safety would do it, or two field goals or a touchdown, but with only
ten minutes left none of those seemed very likely. When, however, Nick
had sent Vail around the enemy’s right flank for some eighteen yards
and followed it by breaking through the Brown’s center himself for six
more, putting the ball on the St. James’ thirty-two yards just three
minutes after the last period had begun, the Grafton supporters became
more hopeful. Keyes smashed into the line twice for a total of five,
and it was first down on the enemy’s twenty-seven yards. Then, when the
Scarlet-and-Gray scented a touchdown or, at the least, a field-goal,
Vail fumbled a pass and a St. James forward squirmed through and
snuggled the pigskin beneath him.
St. James kicked on second down and Bert caught on his own forty-three
yards and ran back five. Grafton opened her line wide and passed
obliquely to Vail and the right half dodged past two white marks before
he was stopped. Delayed passes brought short gains and the pigskin
was on the Brown’s forty. Keyes got two off left tackle, Bert failed
to gain at the center and Keyes punted to St. James’ five-yard line.
Tray stopped the quarter for little gain and St. James kicked from
behind her goal after one weak attempt at rushing. Nick caught near the
sideline at about the thirty-two yards and started a run that wrought
Grafton to a condition of frenzied excitement. He passed four of the
enemy, running straight along the white boundary, dodged a half-back
near the fifteen yards and was only stopped when the St. James quarter
forced him out at the eight yards.
Grafton cheered exultantly and shouted “Touchdown! Touchdown!” and
Coach Bonner, thus far chary of substitutes, sped four into the
line-up. Yetter went in for Kinley, Weston for Nick Blake, Milford for
Tray, and Zanetti for Vail. It was Zanetti who made the first try and
gained two yards on a wide end run. That brought the ball directly in
front of goal. From a kick formation Bert plunged at left guard and
when the resulting confusion of bodies had been untangled the pigskin
lay almost on the three yards. With the crowd yelling like mad, Keyes
again went back and held out his hands, Nick called his signals and
Roy Dresser, on an end-around play, carried the ball across the line
almost unmolested, the fake attack on the center fooling the defenders
completely!
Just to prove that he could kick a goal, even if he had failed in his
previous attempt, Keyes put it over from a wide angle, and Grafton’s
score was 13. The period came to an end a minute or so later, the final
score, 13 to 10, and St. James cheered a bit disgruntledly and Grafton
quite contentedly.
Hugh, having passed through a succession of thrills that had left him
rather limp, loitered back to the tennis courts and, finding a seat
on a stone roller, watched a game of doubles without seeing much of
it. The contest he had just witnessed had settled his conviction that
he wouldn’t be at all happy unless he was allowed to return to the
football field and try for a place on the scrubs. Just now he felt
quite certain that, given the opportunity, he could prove his right to
a position there, and, while the white balls darted to and fro across
the nets unseen by him and the voices of the players fell on deaf ears,
he drew beautiful mental pictures in all of which he, Hugh Oswald
Brodwick Ordway, clad in canvas and leather, stood out very prominently.
After a while he discovered that the courts were almost deserted and
that he was shivering, and so, plunging hands in pockets in Grafton
fashion, he tramped thoughtfully back to Lothrop.