AN AFTERNOON OF FOOTBALL.
Frank had succeeded, after some hard work, in getting order out of
chaos, and was in the act of unpacking his suit case when there was a
thundering clatter on the stairs, and Jimmy, followed more leisurely
by Lewis, broke into the room without even the ceremony of knocking.
"Well, if it isn't my old eel from Seawall," shouted Jimmy
boisterously. "We thought you were never coming."
"You certainly took your time," said Lewis. "You were only going to
be a week late and here half the month is gone and half the football
schedule's been played. Give an account of yourself."
"Well, you see, they weren't prepared to have me go till the winter
term, and it takes father a long time to change his mind after he
gets it made up to one thing. But mother and I got at him and proved
to him that I was as fit as a race horse and there would be no more
breaking down. So here I am."
"And about time, too. You're going out for the football team, I
suppose," said Jimmy. "You see the school isn't a very big one, and
everyone who is heavy enough takes a try at it. Even Lewis here is on
the squad."
"Sure thing," nodded Lewis from the window seat. "I didn't intend to
try for it, but the captain sent over one day and said it wouldn't be
fair to the school if I hid all my talent under a bushel."
"Yes, and it's been hid under a sweater ever since. Lewis is a fine
ornament to any sideline," said Jimmy.
"Are you on the team, Jimmy?"
"O, no. I'm just on the squad doing what they tell me to. I got a
chance yesterday afternoon to play tackle, but I'm about as much at
home playing up in the line as a tadpole in a haymow. The tackle
opposite me played horse with me. And the coach glared at me savagely
whenever the play went over me, and that was every time, I guess."
"Didn't he know you were a back?" asked Frank.
"I ventured to tell him that, but he told me in the most courteous
fashion to shut up, and I shut."
"Don't you think you have a chance?"
"About as much chance as I have to be president, which, considering
that there are somewhere about ten million possible candidates, is a
problem that even Lewis could figure."
"Jimmy hasn't got a chance to make the team, Frank. I haven't been
here but three weeks, and it's as plain as the nose on your face that
if you haven't a Gamma pin on you, you might as well go way back and
be comfortably seated. Tom Harding, the captain, is a Gamma, the
manager is a Gamma, and I know for a fact that ten out of the eleven
are in the same society."
"It's a regular open and shut game," added Jimmy.
"Isn't there another society here?" inquired Frank. "What's the
matter with it?"
"Alpha Beta. It doesn't count," said Lewis contemptuously. "Gamma Tau
is the oldest society, and has had things all its own way for some
years. Then some of the fellows, about six years ago, got together
and ran in Alpha Beta, and for a little while it made a good fight
against its older rival. But as every one was trying for the Gamma,
the Alpha got the second run of fellows until now it isn't an honor
to belong to it, and the fellows who don't get Gamma turn the other
down flat, preferring to have nothing."
"Seems like a chance for a third," observed Frank. "Wonder it hasn't
been started."
"No one has the nerve to start it," said Lewis. "They growl and growl
at the Gamma like nice little dogs, but they never bite."
"Gee whiz, it's nearly practice time," cried Jimmy. "We go out from
four to five every day, and we've just time to make it. Stop your
prinking, and come along. You can sit on the bleachers and see
football as she is played by Lewis and me."
Frank, nothing loth, banged shut the suit case, and putting on his
cap was soon scampering with the two friends toward the playground.
Queen's school playground was the gift of a wealthy graduate of the
school who had kept his interest in the old place. Its equipment was
most complete. The playground lay to the west of the line of school
buildings,--gridiron, diamond, and boat-house, and beyond the latter
the tennis courts, all models in themselves, and ample in size for
the needs of the school for many years to come.
Nature had done her share in the first place with a tract of land
almost as level as a floor and some thirty acres in extent, but the
hand of man completed the job, and the playground was one of the show
places of Queen's School. Its rather low level, as it bordered on
the Wampaug river, insured a greenness of verdure no matter how dry
the season. Trained ground keepers kept the place like a gentleman's
garden. Stands which would accommodate several thousand people were
ranged on both sides of the gridiron, and a much smaller but prettily
covered stand gave ample room for spectators at the diamond. The
boat-house was well furnished with canoes, pair oars and gigs, and
even boasted a fine cedar eight-oared shell and a heavier eight
called a barge. But Queen's rowing had declined in late years, and it
had been some time since the shell held a victorious crew. Around the
gridiron was the running track, a pretty and well kept cinder path on
which the track meets of the school were held, and where every other
year Queen's met Warwick in their annual struggle.
"Isn't she a beauty?" cried Jimmy, waving his hand with a
proprietor's sense of ownership over the whole fair prospect, as the
boys reached the crest of the little hill behind Warren Hall. The
whole of the playground dotted with exercising boys lay open to their
view.
It surely was a beauty; and Frank felt his heart swell with pride in
the knowledge that he was now a part of it. What worlds there were to
conquer here! Would he be able to win his place in these fields?
"I'll do my best," he whispered to himself.
"This is the gymnasium," said Lewis, pointing to a low structure
between the gridiron and the diamond. "Let's make tracks. There's the
coach now. You go right over to the bleachers, and we'll be dressed
on the field in a few minutes. Practice will begin very soon."
They parted, and Frank went on alone. When he reached his seat, a
score of fellows, who had dressed early, were tumbling around on the
ground like so many kittens, falling on the ball which was being
tossed to them by the coach, big Harry Horton, who at the same time
belabored them with words.
"Fenton, you fall on that ball like a hippopotamus; what are you
doing, playing leap-frog? That's not the way. Dive for it, and gather
it in to you. Try again." Fenton tried again, but with no better
success.
"Look,--this way!" And Horton rolled the ball along the ground,
sprang after it like a cat, turning slightly sideways in the air,
making a little pocket between knees and arms as he flew. When
he fetched up, the ball was snugly tucked close to his body in a
position which would make it perfectly safe from any attempts by fair
or foul tactics.
Fenton was impressed and made another try, doing it a little better.
"Good, now, MacIntosh, make it sure. When you go for the ball don't
go in such a great hurry. When you're in so big a hurry you don't
know what you're doing; make it safe. Keep your head, even when you
leave your feet." Horton had been a great player in his day on one of
the big college teams, and had taken up the work of athletic director
temporarily at Queen's, where he was greatly liked.
The squad was augmented by fifteen or twenty boys as this preliminary
instruction was going on, and practice now began in earnest. Among
those in the field, Jimmy took his place. Frank could see that he was
skillful at falling on the ball, and that he handled himself like a
cat. As he was laughing at some of the attempts of Lewis to corral
the rolling ball, a voice alongside cried:
"Hello, Armstrong, why aren't you in the fray?" and turning, Frank
saw approaching him Wee Willie Patterson.
"Don't mind if I sit down with you?" said the Wee One cordially.
"Mighty glad if you want to," returned Frank, who had taken a great
liking to the diminutive but independent Patterson. "It was lonesome
here alone."
"There's your friend of this afternoon, Mr. Chip Dixon, talking with
Captain Harding. He's quarterback of the eleven, and a mighty good
one at that. He can play the game if he can't do anything else. He
pretty near runs the team, too, for Harding is not much more than a
figurehead, even though he is a Senior.
"There she goes now. We're going to have a line-up, and a bit of a
scrimmage, I guess."
"First and Second elevens," cried Horton from the field, and as they
took their positions,--"now make this good. We are only going to have
fifteen minutes of it. Second team's ball for the kick-off." Jimmy
was not in either line-up, Frank noticed with regret, but thought
that maybe he'd get in before the end.
"Bing." Away shot the ball from midfield driven by the sturdy toe of
Duncan McLeod's foot. It settled in the arms of the First eleven's
fullback, twenty-five yards down the field, and that individual came
ripping back, tossing the Second's players over like nine-pins, until
he had brought the ball back to midfield.
"Peaches, peaches," cried the spectators.
"Line-up, quick," yelled the coach who was acting as coach and
referee as well. "You would have gone clear through," he said to the
fullback, slapping him on the back as he dodged through behind to
take his position at the other end of the line, "if you had used your
arm as I told you. Remember it next time."
"Come, now, make it go," barked Dixon, "1--7--33."
There was a quick pass, and Hillard, the left half, had the ball, and
with a good interference shot for the right end of the Second's line.
The defensive tackle was nicely put out of the play, and the right
half cut across and took care of the waiting end. Hillard was quickly
past the line and bearing off well to out-distance the defensive half.
"Look at the fool," yelled Wee Willie, "he has left his interference
behind him. Morton will nip him. What did I tell you! O, rot, look at
that!" Hillard had indeed left his interference, disobeying orders,
but he thought he was fast and agile enough to clear the quarterback
of the Second team, who was waiting his coming on the 20-yard line,
inching over toward the side lines so that the runner would have less
ground in which to dodge.
In spite of his plan and his speed, Hillard could not avoid those
eager arms of the quarter, and down he went in a whirling tackle. The
ball flew from his grasp as he struck the ground, then it bounced
crazily around, and finally nestled itself in the arms of Tompkins,
the Second's left half who had come across to strengthen his
quarter's defense.
Tompkins, seeing his opportunity, was away to the side of the field
from which the play had come like the wind, every man Jack of the
First eleven having been carried in the direction of Hillard. Before
they could bring themselves to a halt, and turn on their tracks,
Tompkins had gathered speed. Once a tackle got a hand on him, but
he shook it off, and with a clear field carried the ball across the
goal line, touched it down behind the posts, and sat there upon it,
grinning like a Cheshire cat.