KENDALL GOES BACK
Kendall, trotting awkwardly with one arm out of commission, followed
the team and substitutes up the hill to the gymnasium. Feeling sadly
out of it, he found a seat in a corner and watched the others. The
rubbers were busy as soon as the doors had swung shut, and the air was
already redolent of arnica and witch hazel. There was a rush of water
and a babel of voices. Andy was busy at his store of rubber anklets and
bandages. Fales had twisted his knee and Crandall had a cut over one
eye that gave him a particularly wicked and disreputable appearance.
Payson was talking with Captain Merriwell, the latter stretched at
full length on a table with a rubber massaging his back. Payson was
frowning intently as he talked. One by one the fellows came over to ask
Kendall about his injury. They all seemed really sorry; even Fayette,
who had profited by the other’s misfortune, expressed concern in tones
that sounded genuine! After awhile the coach began to talk and the
room quieted. What he said was not very different from what coaches
have said at such times from the beginning of football. He pointed out
mistakes and explained how to avoid them. There was no scolding. At the
end he said gravely:
“The school wants you to win to-day. Just keep that in mind. You’ve
been outplayed so far by a team that’s no better than you are; not
quite so good, I think. You’re no more handicapped than they are by
the wet field and wet ball. There’s no reason why you can’t make a
touchdown in each period, fellows. But you’ve got to do better than
you have done. You’ve got to play together and put more snap into
it. Perhaps you’ve forgotten what Nordham did to you last year. Or
perhaps you don’t care. If you don’t care, go on playing as you’ve
been playing. If you do care, go back there and show them how to play
football!”
On the way back Payson sought Kendall. “I’m sorry you got hurt,
Burtis,” he said kindly. “Take care of that wrist, though, and we’ll
have you playing next week. Andy says he will have you in shape by
then.” He nodded and moved ahead.
“Next week!” muttered Kendall. “That means I don’t get back to-day! I
could, though, if it wasn’t for this silly sling around my neck.” He
removed his hand and lowered it. It began to hurt as the blood flowed
down into it, and Kendall scowled. “Gee, but it’s mean luck! First
I went and fumbled the ball and they scored a touchdown, and then I
had to bust my wrist and can’t play any more!” He worked his fingers
experimentally. They hurt some, but he decided that he could manage to
hold a ball with them in spite of the splints if they’d only give him a
chance. He looked about for Andy Ryan as they trotted on to the field
to the long cheers of the stand. The trainer was busy, and Kendall
waited until he was for an instant alone. Then――
“Andy, you said I could go back,” he charged.
“Go back? Do you mean play football?”
Kendall nodded.
“I said that, did I?” Andy grinned. “Was I snoring at the time?”
“You know you weren’t,” answered Kendall indignantly. “And you did say
maybe I could――――”
“Maybe! Sure I said maybe, Burtis. But what would you be doing out
there with one arm in a sling――――”
“I don’t need to keep it in a sling, Andy!”
“You don’t, eh? Listen, son. Do you keep your hand where I put it and
take care of it. Then maybe you can play next week. If you don’t――――”
“Maybe!” gasped Kendall in dismay. “Is――is there any doubt of it?”
“There is,” replied Andy dryly. “All ready, men!”
Kendall, staring blankly before him, turned to find a seat on the
bench, and heard his name called. Gerald was leaning across the barrier
with an anxious countenance.
“What did you do?” he called. “Break anything?”
“Dislocated,” answered Kendall, tapping the bandaged wrist. He moved
nearer to Gerald. “They say I can’t play any more to-day, and――and――――”
“Of course you can’t,” agreed Gerald frowningly. “You’ve got to take
care of it. Isn’t it mean luck, Kendall?” One might have thought that
it was Gerald who had injured himself instead of Kendall. The latter
nodded gloomingly, waved his well hand and found a seat between Metz
and Jackson. Metz was not very cheerful company these days, since
he had but lately been deposed from right end in favor of Adler and
was not yet viewing the matter philosophically. Jackson, who was a
substitute guard, a big, raw-boned chap with lantern jaws and eyebrows
that met companionably above his nose, glanced at Kendall’s injury and
asked laconically:
“Broke, Burtis?”
“No, just a dislocation.”
“Too bad ’tain’t broke. They say breaks heal quicker’n dislocations.”
“My, but you’re a cheerful comforter,” muttered Kendall, as he turned
to watch the kick-off. Merriwell had elected to give that honor to
Nordham. There was no advantage attached to the possession of either
end of the field to-day, for there was no wind. The rain still
descended, but it was more like a heavy mist now. Nordham booted the
ball far down the field, and Simms got it near his own ten-yard line
and by a wonderful effort that brought the onlookers to their feet
carried it past mid-field. By that time the Yardley back had dodged and
fought his way past the entire Nordham team save its quarter and seemed
well on his way for a touchdown. Having outstripped his interference,
Simms ran directly at the Red’s quarter-back at full speed. But that
youth was not to be fooled. He approached Simms slowly and cautiously.
Just as the runner swerved to his left the red-legged player made a
diving plunge at Simms and brought him down, the two sliding through
mud and water for yards after the tackle.
Yardley hammered the center for small gain and then slid off the
tackles and made her distance. A fumble was recovered and an end run
lost ground. Simms tried a quarter-back kick, and Nordham got the ball
near her thirty yards. An exchange of punts gave no advantage to either
side, and Nordham tried the Yardley center and squeezed through for two
short gains. Crandall got the punt and trailed off twenty-odd yards
before he was pulled down. Yardley went back to her former tactics of
direct attack, plugging the guards and tackles and now and then trying
a wide end run. In this manner the ball was carried down to Nordham’s
twenty-three-yard line. Marion got through for three, Crandall made
five on a skin-tackle play, and the pigskin rested squarely on the
fifteen-yard line. There was a pause here, Simms and Merriwell holding
a consultation. Kendall guessed that they were discussing the chances
of making that needed two yards. To try a field goal then seemed absurd.
Finally Fales dropped out of the line and went back as though to kick,
and, although there were one or two cries of “Fake!” Nordham seemed
pretty well convinced that a try-at-goal was to be the play. She pulled
her wings in a little and made ready to break through. This left the
Yardley ends free and Kendall, noting the fact, wondered whether Simms
meant to chance a forward pass. The ball went back to Fales and the
big guard stepped forward and swung his long leg. The Nordham forwards
came crashing through with upstretched arms, leaping and stumbling.
Fales, however, had not kicked. With the nearest Nordham players almost
upon him he side-stepped and hurled the ball straight over the center
of the line toward where Cousins awaited it. There was an instant of
suspense, of wild scrambling on the part of the defenders, and then
the ball, aimed too high, went over Cousins’ head, struck an upright
of the goal and bounded back. A dozen bodies threw themselves after
it. But under the rules it went to Nordham for a touchback and a groan
of disappointment arose from the stand. Nordham kicked from behind her
goal line and Crandall made the catch on Yardley’s forty-three yards.
From there Yardley hammered out two yards and then the whistle blew for
the end of the third period.
As the players separated to don their blankets and change positions
Coach Payson strode over to Andy Ryan. Kendall, watching, saw the
trainer swing around and look at him. Payson’s gaze followed. Kendall’s
heart leaped into his throat. For a moment the two talked. Once Andy
shook his head slowly. Once he shrugged his shoulders. Then Payson was
calling.
“Burtis!”
Kendall sprang from the bench and hurried to the side-line.
“Do you think you can go in and kick if you have a chance?” asked the
coach hurriedly. “If you’re to go in at all I’ve got to put you in now.
You may tell Simms not to use you except for kicking.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take your sling off,” said Andy, “but keep your arm up all you can.
And keep out of scrimmage, too.”
“Yes, you needn’t rough it up any, Burtis. All I want you to do is punt
when necessary, and if we get inside their thirty yards try a goal
unless Simms is pretty certain of making a touchdown. You tell him
that. Tell him he’s to use you only when necessary, and to try for a
field-goal inside their thirty yards unless he’s sure he can make it by
rushing. Send Fayette out. Go ahead!”
The teams were already forming at the farther end of the field as
Kendall sped on. A cheer burst forth from the stand, and then another
as Brinspool raced after Kendall to relieve Marion. Kendall made for
the referee.
“Right half,” he panted. “You’re off, Fayette. Let me have your
head-guard.” Then he drew Simms aside and whispered the instructions.
Captain Merriwell joined them and listened. Neither he nor Simms seemed
very well pleased.
“A goal from field won’t do much good,” muttered Simms. “We’ll have to
have two to even tie the game.”
“He’d better have left Fayette in,” said Merriwell. “Well――――”
“Ready, Yardley?”
“All ready, sir!” Simms trotted to his place. Brinspool snatched
Marion’s head-guard and sent that youth dejectedly off. The whistle
blew.