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AROUND THE END
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR.
Around the End.
The Junior Trophy.
Change Signals!
For Yardley.
Finkler’s Field.
Winning His “Y.”
The New Boy at Hilltop.
Double Play.
Forward Pass!
The Spirit of the School.
Four in Camp.
Four Afoot.
Four Afloat.
The Arrival of Jimpson.
Behind the Line.
Captain of the Crew.
For the Honor of the School.
The Half-Back.
On Your Mark.
Weatherby’s Inning.
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, NEW YORK.
[Illustration: “To the right, off the port bow of the launch, a hulking
shadow took shape.”]
AROUND THE
END
[Illustration]
_By_
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
AUTHOR OF “THE HALF-BACK,” “CHANGE SIGNALS,” “FORWARD PASS,” ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1913
Copyright, 1913, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE FIRST SCRIMMAGE 1
II. THE RABBIT AND THE DUKE 12
III. COTTON TRIES FOOTBALL 28
IV. AT SOUND VIEW 45
V. LOST IN THE FOG 57
VI. THE RESCUE 64
VII. GERALD MAPS A CAMPAIGN 79
VIII. COTTON MAKES A WAGER 93
IX. HARRY SCENTS A MYSTERY 107
X. THE SPY 123
XI. BROADWOOD IS FOILED 138
XII. COTTON MEETS A FRIEND 150
XIII. THE DUKE STARTS SOMETHING 160
XIV. KIRK EXACTS A PROMISE 177
XV. THE NEWS PREDICTS DEFEAT 190
XVI. COTTON WRITES A LETTER 200
XVII. A FUMBLE 209
XVIII. KENDALL GOES BACK 220
XIX. 9-6 229
XX. HARRY REMEMBERS 241
XXI. KENDALL MAKES A SPEECH 254
XXII. TWO SHEETS OF BUFF PAPER 267
XXIII. “NO GOAL!” 278
XXIV. AROUND THE END 290
XXV. KENDALL IS MISTAKEN 299
XXVI. GERALD IS SURPRISED 312
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
“To the right, off the port bow of the launch, a hulking
shadow took shape.” _Frontispiece_
“The boy dropped to the floor and squirmed quickly from
sight.” 18
“‘Hello! Hello! This is Mr. Gibson.... What say?’” 142
“Something crashed against him, driving the remaining
breath from his body.” 296
AROUND THE END
CHAPTER I
THE FIRST SCRIMMAGE
“This way, everyone!”
Coach Payson sent the call to each end of the field and then, swinging
his small blue megaphone in his hand, waited for the panting players
to gather about him in front of the bench. They came running in from
all parts of the gridiron, a motley gathering of football aspirants;
seasoned veterans of last year’s Yardley Varsity, Second Team
men, substitutes, new boys; big, little, fat, thin, all sizes and
conditions. Andy Ryan, the little red-haired trainer, stood over his
pile of blankets and his water pail, back of the side-line, and viewed
the sixty-odd candidates with a pessimistic shake of his head. John
Payson, turning at the moment, saw it and smiled.
“What’s the matter, Andy? Don’t they look good?” he asked.
“I’ve seen some funny bunches in my day,” replied the trainer, “but
never anything like them!”
“That’s what you say every year,” scoffed Payson good-naturedly.
“I guess this lot will average about the same.” He turned to the
breathless fellows gathering about him and pulled a little red book
from his pocket. “All right, now. First scrimmage to-day, fellows.
First squad: Cousins, Plant, Fales, Girard, Merriwell, Stark, Metz,
Holmes, Greene, Fayette, Marion. Second squad: Fox, Steger, Keene,
Johnson, McKesson, Fenwick, Adler, Simms, Crandall, Burtis, Brinspool.
First squad take the south goal and kick off to the second. Men not
playing get into blankets. On the run now. We’ll have two ten-minute
periods. Get a couple of fellows to take the chains, will you, Andy?”
The two teams trotted to their positions, Andy tossed a horn to Davis,
the manager, and summoned two blue-blanketed figures from the bench to
act as linesmen, and in a moment the ball was hurtling from Merriwell’s
toe.
Behind the benches, scattered over the grand stand, a hundred or more
watchers who, during the preliminary practice, had lolled comfortably
on the sunny seats, sat up and gave their attention to the scrimmage.
Simms gathered in the long kick and, behind a quickly-formed
interference, ran the ball back a good twenty yards before the first
squad smothered him. Murmurs of applause arose from the audience.
“That was a dandy run, wasn’t it?” observed Harry Merrow, who, seated
beside Gerald Pennimore halfway up the stand, was eating peanuts as
though his life depended on it. Gerald nodded.
“I wonder why Payson put Simms on the second and Holmes on the first,”
he said. “Holmes only got into the Broadwood game last year for a few
minutes at the end.”
“He played all through the Nordham game, though, didn’t he? I think
he’s every bit as good as Simms.”
“He’s just as good a player maybe, Harry, but he isn’t half the general
Al is. I see Burtis is playing right half on the second. I wonder if he
will make the team this year. Of course he will get into the games now
and then if only to kick goals, but I guess he’s got a lot of football
to learn yet.”
“Gee, they ought to make him a present of his position on the First
Team,” responded Harry, flicking a peanut shell at a group of boys
below. “Any fellow who will go into a Broadwood game without any
experience and win for us by a goal from the field ought to have
anything he wants.”
“Well, I guess Payson will take him on all right. I hope so. I like
Burtis. Do you know him?”
“I met him once in your room last Spring. It was the day of the
baseball game with Broadwood. He seemed a quiet sort of chap.”
“Yes, he’s a bit shy at first,” Gerald chuckled, and then, in response
to his friend’s look of inquiry, continued: “I’ll never forget the
night last year he came into our room and told Dan quite seriously that
he ‘would like to play on the football team, please.’ Harold Towne put
him up to it. Burtis was a pretty green lad then.”
“Towne always was a pup,” remarked Harry cheerfully. “There he goes
now!”
“Who? Towne?”
“Burtis; he’s got the ball. Made a peach of a catch and―― Oh, good
work, Burtis! Gee, Gerald, he must have made fifteen easily. Say,
he can run with the ball, can’t he? Did you see him slip away from
Fayette?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made good this year. Goodness knows
we need a couple of half-backs! We’re going to miss Tom Roeder and
Stearns and Hammel like anything.”
“We’re going to miss a whole lot of fellows. We’ll never have an end
as good as Dan Vinton, nor a guard like Ridge. Did you hear Payson say
at the meeting the other night that only once before since he’s been
coaching have we had so few veterans to build the team around?”
“Yes. So, too, I guess. Simms and Merriwell are really the only members
of last year’s team we have; Holmes was more of a second-string man
than anything else. Still, there’s good material out there; Marion for
full, Stark for tackle, two good quarters, Fayette and Crandall and
Greene for halfs; we’ll get along, I guess.”
“I wonder what sort of a captain Merriwell will make,” mused Harry.
“He’s a good player, but――――”
“And a good fellow, and well liked, don’t you think? I don’t believe
he’s the leader that Dan was, though.”
“I should say not! You must miss Dan a whole lot, Gerald.”
“It’s something fierce! Lonely’s no name for it! I had a letter from
him yesterday. He’s out for the Yale Freshman Team, of course.”
“I dare say they’ll make him captain,” asserted Harry loyally.
But Gerald shook his head. “Not much chance of that, I guess. They
made Alf Loring captain last year, and it isn’t likely they’d give
the captaincy to Yardley fellows two years running. First’s going to
score, Harry. Who’s playing center for them? Girard? He’s a whopping
big brute, isn’t he? Pshaw! He’d better learn to pass back better than
that. Blocked! _Ball, you idiots!_ Who’s got it! First, I think. No,
second. Who? Burtis? It does look like him, but――no, it’s――It _is_
Burtis, for a fact! How the dickens did he manage to get around that
end? If he doesn’t watch out Payson will have him on the First Team.”
“Then he’s not likely to watch out,” laughed Harry. “Time’s up.”
They watched the players return to the bench and don their blankets
while Andy ladled out the water sparingly. Payson studied his
memorandum book, talking the while with Percy Davis, the manager.
Captain Merriwell, trailing his blanket behind him, joined them. Then
the coach turned to the line of players.
“All right, Plant, Girard, Stark, Marion, Steger, Johnson, McKesson,
Fenwick and Brinspool,” he called. “Once around the field on the trot
and run in. And don’t forget to weigh.”
Nine blankets were tossed aside and the released players started
their jog around the side-lines. Mr. Payson filled their places in
the line-up, and a few minutes later the second half of the scrimmage
began. Up on the stand, Harry Merrow, having finished the last of the
peanuts, blew up the bag and demolished it with a loud report that made
the audience jump in their seats. When his amusement had subsided he
turned to Gerald again.
“I wish I’d gone in for football,” he sighed.
“You’re too light, you silly chump,” replied Gerald. “Besides, you
can’t do cross-country work and play football. That’s what kept me out
of football; that and the fact that Dan wouldn’t let me on!”
“When are we going to start work?” asked Harry.
“In about two weeks. Andy wants the weather to get a bit colder. Where
did you finish last year? Eighth, wasn’t it?”
“Ninth. Holder beat me out at the line. We ought to have an easy time
with Broadwood this year, Gerald. Most of their best men last year were
seniors.”
“I hope not. I don’t want any runaway race. There’s no fun in that.
Look, second’s going to try a goal from field. There goes Burtis back.
I hope he makes it.”
“Where is it? About the twenty yards? He ought to make it, if they
don’t get through on him. There it goes! Over, wasn’t it?”
“I think so, but it was pretty far to the left. Yes, it’s a goal. That
chap’s playing half the game for the second squad to-day. I’ll bet
they’ll have him in the first to-morrow.”
“I’ll bet they won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because to-morrow’s Sunday,” replied Harry with a chuckle. Gerald
pulled Harry’s cap over his face, rumpled his hair and ran an elbow
into his ribs.
“You’re a smart little joker, aren’t you?” he laughed. “Sit up and
watch the kick-off; and behave yourself; or, as Ned Tooker used to say,
hebave yourself.”
“He was a silly ass,” said Harry, smoothing his hair and adjusting his
cap.
“Ned? Don’t you believe it, Harry. He was a dandy, Ned was. I’ll bet he
has a better time than any other three fellows I know. That’s a punk
kick-off. Fenwick’s got it. Go it, you slowpoke! They’ve got him. He
ran the wrong way, the chump. Funny how easy it is to play the game
from the grand stand, Harry.”
“Yes, I guess you and I would do some brilliant little stunts if we had
to go out there,” agreed Harry, nodding his head toward the field.
“If I had the ball and one of those big chaps like Girard came at me
I’d drop it like a hot potato and never stop running until I was in
20 Whitson with the door locked behind me! Oh, I’d be a brave little
football player!”
“Every man to his trade,” laughed Gerald. “Your trade――and mine――is
running, Harry.”
“That’s so. Then I guess I’d get to my room ahead of Girard, wouldn’t
I? Hello, time’s up. Let’s get back. I’m getting goose-flesh all over
me. It certainly gets cold when the sun quits business. Did you have a
good time this summer?”
“Dandy! Dad and I went across for two months; England, France,
Switzerland, Holland, Germany and a little bit of Italy. It was great.”
“It must have been,” sighed Harry. “Wish _my_ father owned all the
steamship lines in the world! I spent the summer down on the Jersey
coast with the mosquitoes. Had a good time, though. Used to get into
my bathing suit at eleven and keep it on until ’most dinner time. You
ought to see my back. It’s like――like mahogany.”
“Your face is bad enough. I didn’t know you that day you yelled to me
from the window. Thought you were a colored gentleman!”
They made their way down the stand and on to the field. Ahead of them
the players, their blankets flapping grotesquely behind them, were
racing up the path toward the gymnasium. Two or three, however, still
lingered where coach, manager and trainer were in consultation. As
Gerald and Harry reached the end of the field, one of these passed them
at a trot, turned to look and stopped.
“Hello, Pennimore,” he said. “I guess you remember me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, Burtis. Glad to see you again. How are you?” They
shook hands. “You know Merrow?”
“I――think so. We met last year, didn’t we?” asked Kendall Burtis, as he
shook hands again. Harry said yes, and Gerald asked:
“Are you in Clarke again this year, Burtis?”
“Yes, same place. I’m alone so far. My roommate, Towne, hasn’t shown up
yet.”
“That so? What’s the matter with him?” asked Gerald as they went on.
“I don’t know. I asked at the Office the other day and the secretary
there said they were expecting him.”
“It would be a terrible loss to the school if he didn’t come back,”
observed Gerald gravely. Kendall shot a glance at him and smiled.
“Hope he stays away,” said Harry. “You played some football to-day,
Burtis.”
“Much obliged. I had pretty good luck.”
“Luck didn’t kick that goal, did it?” laughed Gerald.
“Well, there’s always a lot of luck in trying for goal,” replied
Kendall seriously. “Sometimes, just when you’re getting the ball away
something happens, like a forward breaking through, and you get sort of
rattled. Then there’s the pass, too. If that doesn’t come right you’re
likely to miss. There’s a lot of luck in it. Well, I must be getting
on. Glad to have seen you again, Pennimore. You, too, Merrow.”
“Thanks. What are you doing this evening, Burtis? Mind if I drop in for
a minute?”
“I wish you would. I haven’t anything to do. I――I’ll look for you.” He
nodded and trotted ahead.
“Funny about him,” mused Harry. “He’s as homely as a mud-fence until he
smiles, and then blessed if he isn’t almost good-looking! What do you
know about that, old Gerald?”