QUEEN'S MEETS BARROWS AT FOOTBALL.
In spite of Horton's appeal for good playing, the sample of football
that the First team gave was anything but encouraging. The coach was
all over the field, exhorting his charges to their best efforts, but
their best efforts fell very far short of what he wanted.
After the kick-off, the First had made some good gains through the
Second's Line. Then Dutton missed his signals and lost a lot of
ground. He stood dumbly with the ball in his hands while the opposing
tackle came ripping through the line, seized him around the waist,
and ran him ten yards back towards his own goal before Dutton could
yell "down."
"Isn't that the limit of all things?" said the Wee One to Frank.
They were sitting together on the bleachers with a bunch of other
critics, passing judgment on the playing, good and bad, as they saw
it enacted before them. The Wee One was a critic of no mean calibre.
"Isn't that the limit of all things? If they could only perform an
operation on the thing that Dutton calls his head and get some grey
matter from a jackass and insert it, he might possibly remember some
of the signals,--at least such little ones as 'straight through the
line,' which is about all he's good for anyway."
"Guess Horton's going to have apoplexy now, isn't he?" inquired
Frank, as he watched the coach striding about among the players,
shaking his clinched fists. But Horton recovered himself, and
commanded another scrimmage. This time the First pulled itself
together, and under the urgings of the quarter and the vigorous
coaching of Horton, tore through the Second for great gains. It was
fast and furious, slang, bang, up-and-at-it-again football, and the
Second was retreating down the field, doing its best to hold its
ground, but being swept aside by the rushes of the giant Dutton.
It was first down on the Second's ten-yard line, and it looked like
a touchdown. The First was about to take revenge for the rebuffs the
Second eleven had been giving them for several days.
"Now," shrilled Chip at the top of his lungs, "put it over.
16--32--11."
"Hillard's signal for a tackle-shaving play," translated the Wee
One, and Hillard was off like a shot for, say what you might about
his uncertainty with the ball, he was extremely fast on his feet,
and when he was able to hang onto the ball he could be depended on
to make ground. But poor Hillard, whose star had been bright that
afternoon, was in so great a hurry to start that he missed the
more important matter of securing the ball firmly. It dropped to
the ground. He made a step in its direction, but misfortune upon
misfortune, kicked it with his foot and sent it rolling towards the
end of the line where an alert end of the Second team pounced upon it.
The whistle in Horton's lips shrieked savagely, a signal to stop
play. The First eleven gathered together stupidly, and scowled back
savagely at the members of the Second, who stepped around elastically
and grinned broadly.
"I wouldn't be in Hillard's place for a row of apple trees all in
full bloom," ventured the Wee One. "Something's coming to him, all
right. What did I tell you?" as Horton raised his voice so everyone
could hear it:
"Hillard, you may go to the sideline. I've got to have some one
who can keep his fingers around a ball. You've thrown away all the
good work your team has done. I won't need you again for some time."
Horton delivered his sentence in a calm voice, and then turned
towards the sidelines where some of the substitutes were seated.
"Where's that Freshman who played on the Second yesterday afternoon?"
he said. "Hey, there, Turner, take Hillard's place. We'll see if you
can hold the ball."
"Hurray!" cried Frank, jumping to his feet in excitement, "Jimmy's
going to get his chance. That's great, and he's got it in spite of
Mr. Dixon."
"And that will peeve Dixon," chuckled the Wee One. "There they go."
Jimmy was on the field in a flash, and his sweater was slung behind
him as he ran.
"Now," said Horton, "I'm going to give you a chance here, and if
you make good you may get in the game to-morrow. Your business
is just now to follow your signal, and hold onto the ball. The
signals are the same you have been playing under. Come on." And the
whistle sounded. "Here, First eleven, take this ball again on the
fifteen-yard line and try it."
On the very first play, Dixon gave the ball to Jimmy, who, following
close behind his tackle, who opened a convenient door in the opposing
line, went half the distance to the goal line.
"Good work!" shouted the coach.
Dutton on the next down sliced between tackle and guard, and got
three yards and first down.
"I hope they don't put it up to Jimmy to make that four yards," said
Frank, "it looks like a mile."
"Well, I'll bet Chip gives him the ball. He won't give him anything
easy to do, and Chip would rather not score than let him cinch
Hillard's place."
The Wee One was right, for the next instant Jimmy had the ball, and
was ploughing into the line with his head down. Then he was lost in
a heaving mass, but somehow slipped out of it, emerged free, and
threw himself across the goal line. The First had scored. "Good work,
Freshman," said the coach, but the quarterback turned and walked up
the field sulkily.
For the rest of the afternoon's practice Jimmy fairly outdid himself.
When he went into the line the ball seemed to be a part of him, and
he rarely failed to make his distance. With his short, strong legs,
thick neck and powerful back, he bored and squirmed through the
smallest holes. On defence he was in every pile, and generally at the
bottom of it.
"That boy has real football instinct," said Horton to Mr. Parks,
who came down to the gridiron to look on. "He is green yet, but he
is going to make a good one, you will see. He doesn't know anything
about carrying the ball, yet he carries it, and he doesn't know
anything about the science of tackling, but he stops his man. Where
on earth he learned what he has, I don't know."
And Mr. Parks agreed that a new football player had come to town.
Practice finally ended. Horton's "That's enough for to-day," brought
Frank scampering down from the stand to walk joyfully along beside
his old playmate to the gymnasium.
"Knew you could do it, Jimmy," he said, as he trudged along with the
perspiring hero of the afternoon, who was well hooded up in a blanket
to keep the rather chilly October breeze off his overheated body. "It
was great to see you." Frank's eyes fairly shone with pleasure. He
took a greater pride in it than if it had been his own success.
"Glad I gave up the game," said Lewis, now in everyday clothes. "Two
great football players in one room would have been more than Warren
could have supported, eh Frank?" Frank was so happy that he would
have agreed to anything that afternoon.
Barrows came down in great force the next afternoon, and the light
blue of the Academy was flaunted everywhere on the yard of old
Queen's. The followers of Barrows freely boasted a coming victory for
their eleven, and, if truth must be told, the eleven was worthy of
the confidence expressed. Barrows Academy drew from an older class of
boys than did the Queen's School, many of its inmates on graduation
going directly into business, for which it, in a measure, fitted them.
"Did you see those giants on the Barrows team?" quoth the Wee One,
meeting Frank on his way to a geometry recitation. "They must have
imported them from the foundry."
"It's a fact, they do look mountainous alongside some of our
fellows," admitted Frank, "but we ought to know more football, we
certainly have the best coach."
"The coach part of it is all right," said the Wee One, "and we know
football, or, at least, ought to, but we don't seem to be able to get
it out of our system."
The game was set for three o'clock, and long before that hour there
was an exodus of the entire school, for class-room work on Saturdays
closed at noon. The game was considered something of a test for
Queen's, which had been playing very erratic ball all the year. There
was a good deal of grumbling about the way that the Gamma was running
things through its captain, Harding, and Chip Dixon, who seemed to
have a powerful influence over Harding. A good many thought that the
best players in the school were not having a fair trial, but as yet
there had been no open revolt. Real rebellion against the rule of
Gamma Tau still held off, but there were grumblings on the horizon
which indicated a storm if things did not improve. And to-day was a
chance for the crowd in control to show that they were playing the
kind of ball expected from such a school as Queen's with such a coach
as Horton.
Frank escorted Jimmy to the gymnasium that afternoon, where the teams
were to dress for the fray, and the Freshman halfback was in a fever
of excitement. Frank buzzed along with encouragement in every word.
"If I can only hang onto the ball," Jimmy would say, "but I had a
notion yesterday two or three times that Dixon was trying to make
it hard for me to get the pass. Once I nearly dropped it, and I was
scared to death, for the coach was right alongside of me. My heart
went as far down as my shin guards for sure."
"I'll watch him for any tricks like that," thought Frank, but to
Jimmy he said never a word. It might only be Jimmy's imagination in
his excitement.
"All I've got to say to you," said Horton to his charges when they
were dressed and ready, "is to attend to business and play as a
team, and think about what you are doing. These fellows are bigger
than you, and you will have to outwit them. Use your heads and keep
together. Now, skip."
In the first collision of the game, the big fellows from Barrows
swept the lighter Queen's School back as though they were made of
paper, and screams of delight rose from the stand where had gathered
the hosts of Barrows. Down the field they went--five yards through
tackle, ten yards around the end, five yards through center. Twice
the attack had bowled Jimmy over after breaking down the line, and
twice he had been able to stop the rush dead, without a gain. Once he
had the joy of pushing the Barrows' halfback through the hole he came
for at a loss of a yard.
"Look at Jimmy Turner, the Freshman," shouted the Wee One. "If they
would all play like that kid we'd have a chance."
"What's Dutton doing,--Oh, what's he dreaming about? Missed his man.
Did you ever see such a dope?"
"Turner got the Barrows' chap that time. Good for Jimmy."
"Hold 'em, Queen's, hold 'em."
But the Barrows' attack was not wonderfully varied, and little by
little the advance was cut down as the Academy eleven began to
approach the Queen's goal.
"Get together, get together, Queen's, and stop them," begged Captain
Harding, and working like one, the boys responded to his cry.
It was third down on Queen's 12-yard line, with a yard to go, and
the Barrows' backs held a consultation. The stands speculated as
to whether they would try to carry it, or try a drop kick. For the
latter piece of football, the aggressors were in a good position. But
finally they elected to rush, and settled carefully down to position,
balanced on their toes, and alert for the signal. If they could make
their distance, it looked hopeless for Queen's, for the remaining
yards to go for a touchdown would be easy, so the spectators figured.
The whistle shrieked, and the lines came together with a bang.
Humphrey, the Barrows quarter, who had been playing a fine game
and directing the team like a general, now made his first mistake.
Thinking that the going was too hard through the line, he sent his
fleetest halfback on a delayed pass out around right end. For a
moment it looked as though he had made a master stroke. Campbell,
the Queen's right end, was drawn in because he believed the play was
to be made on the other side of the line, but Jimmy had interpreted
correctly, too late, however, to warn Campbell. The Queen's tackle
came through hard, and halted the Barrows' runner a minute, just long
enough to let Jimmy get under way.
The Barrows' back ran behind an interference of the fullback, half
and quarter, and it looked like a hopeless task to break this compact
mass. Jimmy followed the interference out, crowding it back as well
as he could, watching his chance. Suddenly he realized that the
runner with the ball was outdistancing not only Jimmy himself, but
his own interference. Jimmy felt that he could not handle them all,
and he could not hope to get through the interference alone and get
his hands on the runner. He did the only thing possible,--that is,
he threw himself with unerring instinct against the knees of the
interference, in a kind of side-dive. The effect was instantaneous.
The interference was running so closely massed that there was no
chance for them to dodge, and they went down over the Freshman's body
in a tangle. The runner with the ball was so close that he, too, went
sprawling, heels over head, and before he was able to get to his
feet, big Boston Wheeler had pinned him down. It was Queen's ball.
How the Queen's stand did yell: "Turner, Turner, oh, you Turner!"
"Three cheers for Turner!"
"Rah, rah, rah, Turner, Turner, Turner!"
One might have thought there was only one man on the Queen's School
eleven. At the cheers for Turner, although his halfback's action had
probably saved the team from a score, Dixon's face took on a sour
look. There was too much Turner in the game to suit him. It was a
malicious eye he turned on Jimmy.
From this point, Queen's took up the march down the field, and
steadily, as Barrows had come into Queen's territory, so steadily
did the Queen's eleven fight their way back, and gradually it began
to dawn on the partisans of Queen's School that they had a chance.
Five yards here and five yards there brought the play quickly to the
Academy's 20-yard line. A penalty for holding set them back, but on a
pretty fake kick Dutton went straight through center to the five-yard
line.
"Touchdown, touchdown," yelled the Queen's bleachers.
"Good old Queen's, we have got the Wheel-barrows where we want them."
"All over, but the shouting."
First down and on the enemy's five-yard line. It looked certain.
But there are many slips in football as well as in the everyday
walks of life, for on the next play there was a fumble, and an
indescribable scramble to recover it. And when the scramble was
over, an Academy boy was found on top of the leather. A groan went
up from the Queen's crowd. Down among the tumbled players two stood
erect, one was Turner and the other Dixon, and the former had his
fists clinched.
"Turner fumbled," said some one.
"Did you see what happened?" Frank cried, excitedly, to Patterson,
with whom he was sitting.
"Don't you think I have any eyes?" said the Wee One, indignantly. "It
was a dirty trick. He gave the signal and threw the ball at Jimmy's
hands. Didn't give him a chance to get it. It was a deliberate trick,
a contemptible trick," he added.
A few minutes later the half ended, and Queen's came to the
sidelines. Horton was raging.
"Turner, you disappointed me. Right in the time we wanted you most,
you failed us."
"It wasn't----" began Jimmy.
"I don't want any excuses," said Horton, sharply. "Hillard, go in at
right half and finish the game there."