KENDALL MAKES A SPEECH
Yardley was in the final throes of excitement, an excitement that
approached the border of hysteria as Saturday drew nearer and nearer.
Rumors of all kinds filled the air. Furniss, Broadwood’s clever
left-end, who, it was generally agreed, would cause more trouble to
Yardley’s end-running game than any other member of the rival team,
was down with mumps and wouldn’t be able to play. Furniss was not down
with mumps; at least, not that Furniss; it was a younger brother in
the Junior Class who was ill. Broadwood had gone all to pieces after
the Forest Hill game; had played too hard and was in the middle of an
awful slump. Broadwood had showed up better at practice on Wednesday
than any day all season. Simms was a nervous wreck and wouldn’t begin
the game Saturday. Simms never felt better in his life, and was as cool
as a cucumber. Burtis was out of the game, inflammation having set in
in his broken wrist. Burtis’s injury was doing finely and he would at
least start the game for Yardley. Stark was having trouble with the
Office and might not be allowed to play against Broadwood; his case
was to come up at faculty meeting Friday night. Stark was all square
with the faculty and anyone who said otherwise didn’t know what he was
talking about!
And so it went, one rumor crowding on the heels of another until it
took a good part of one’s time keeping up with the gossip! Tuesday’s
practice was held in secret and so was Wednesday’s. Most of the
time was devoted to familiarizing the team with the new signals and
smoothing out the plays to be used on Saturday. Those two days were
hard ones and everyone was kept on the jump every minute. The actual
scrimmage was short and often interrupted. On Wednesday night there was
a signal drill in the gymnasium. The doors were closed more as a matter
of habit than anything else, since it was a well understood thing that
none save the team, the coaches and trainer were to enter. Consequently
when, toward the end of the blackboard instruction, Manager Davis
suddenly sprinted across the floor and up the stairs to the running
track and spent ten minutes poking around in corners for spies he was
well laughed at.
“But I did see him,” protested Perky excitedly. “I saw his head right
up there at the curve of the balcony. Had some sort of a cap on and he
was peeking over the railing!”
“You imagined it,” said Merriwell. “Anyhow, if you did see someone
where the dickens did he get to?”
Davis couldn’t answer that, though, and finally he acknowledged that he
might have been mistaken; that since the Gibson affair he had had spies
on the brain, so to speak.
The Duke was in the throes of composition that evening, having at
last settled down to the writing of the themes, when Cotton, who had
disappeared a half-hour before with a vague mention of the library,
returned unostentatiously with a book. The Duke glanced up incuriously,
his mind on his work, favored Cotton with a brief and somewhat hostile
stare, and was in the act of returning his gaze to the paper before him
when a detail of the other’s attire caught his eye.
“Did you know you’d torn your coat there at the pocket?” he asked.
Cotton pulled his coat quickly around and looked at the rip.
“Yes, I――I did that this morning,” he answered carelessly. “I caught it
on a door knob.”
But The Duke was already immersed again in his labor, scowling at the
sheet and muttering as he wrote.
The next day the janitor found a small round window in an alcove off
the running-track in the gymnasium swinging open. Not having heard of
Davis’s hallucination, however, he merely fastened it again and thought
nothing of it.
The weather turned mild on Thursday, and when in the afternoon the team
held open practice and the school lined the ropes and cheered and sang
for a full half-hour, the warm sunlight and gentle southerly breeze
suggested baseball rather than football. Later the fellows crowded
about the front of the gymnasium and cheered some more, cheered every
member of the team individually, cheered Coach Payson and Andy Ryan
and Manager Davis and the two rubbers, and cheered long and loud and
repeatedly for “Yardley! _Yardley!_ YARDLEY!”
In the evening there was a grand mass-meeting, the supreme gathering
of the season, with the whole team seated about the platform and the
musical clubs grouped behind them, with Mr. Payson and Mr. Collins and
Mr. Bendix for guests of honor and Andy Ryan peeping out from a corner,
and with the President of the First Class, Mr. Gerald Pennimore, acting
as master of ceremonies. The Assembly Hall was filled long before the
hour set for the meeting. The audience was in high feather, and while
it waited for the proceedings to formally commence it sang and cheered
and stamped and indulged in mild “rough-house” to its heart’s content.
Promptly at seven-thirty the team and the musical clubs filed on to
the platform, followed by the head coach and the faculty members, and
Gerald held up a hand for silence. As the fellows were busily cheering
the players, Gerald had to stand there patiently several minutes before
he could make himself heard. Even then he had to wait while a cheer was
given “for Pennimore, fellows! And make it good!”
Gerald’s address was short and earnest. He asked for the loyal support
of the team, whether in victory or defeat, and introduced Mr. Collins.
The Assistant Principal, trim and smiling, said about what he usually
said on such occasions, was duly applauded, and yielded to Captain
Merriwell. Merriwell was very earnest, but, not being a fluent speaker,
made poor going and relied more on repetition than variety. However,
the spirit of his discourse met with enthusiastic approval, and after
he had returned to his seat it was some time before Coach Payson found
a chance to have his say. The coach started out in a rather jocular
mood and told two or three stories that set the audience shouting
with laughter. In the end, however, with a sudden change to gravity,
he said: “I’d like to be able this evening to assure you all that we
are going to win on Saturday, fellows, but I can’t. Frankly, to my mind
this year’s contest is more in doubt than any contest for two years.
I don’t know whether we’ll win or lose, fellows. Broadwood has a far
better team than she had last year. She’s farther advanced, is playing
together well and is powerful. In weight she has the better of us. So
far, her record beats ours. On the other hand, we have a team that has
not yet played as well as it is able to play――――”
A shout of approval broke forth.
“――――and a team that has strong possibilities. It isn’t a great team
to-day judged by Yardley standards, but it may be a great team on
Saturday. It’s a well-rounded team, a team of hard-working, willing
players, every one of whom is ready to do his utmost――and a little
more――for the school the day after to-morrow. And now it’s up to the
school to help the team, fellows. I want you all to believe in it, to
stand back of it, to encourage it by thought and action every minute
between now and the last whistle on Saturday. (Cheers.) We’re going
to play the game on foreign soil, so to speak, but whatever handicap
that proves to us can be offset by your support. During the game let
the team know that you’re there and right with them all the time. Don’t
cheer just to make a noise, and don’t cheer just to rattle the other
fellow, but cheer because you want your team to win and want to tell
them so. And don’t stop cheering if the luck goes against them. If
they find themselves losing they’ll play all the harder. Do the same,
fellows; if the team gets in a hole, cheer all the harder――until it’s
out!”
The applause was so loud and prolonged that the coach had to wait a
minute before he could go on.
“I guess that’s about all I have to say. I want to thank you all on
my behalf, just as Captain Merriwell has thanked you on behalf of
the team, for the way you’ve stood behind me all the season, just as
you’ve stood behind me so many seasons previous. It’s a great thing
for a coach to feel that the school has confidence in him. There are
always moments of discouragement, and at such moments the loyalty of
the school is what helps most. Saturday will show whether our team is a
great team or merely a good team, fellows. But whether we win or lose
it will still be _the_ team just the same!”
In the midst of the cheering that followed, the Banjo and Mandolin
Club started “Fighting for Old Yardley,” and the Glee Club took it up
and presently the whole hall was singing:
“All together! Cheer on cheer!
Now we’re charging down the field!
See how Broadwood pales with fear,
Knowing we will never yield!
Wave on high your banner blue,
Cheer for comrades staunch and true;
We are here to die or do,
Fighting for old Yardley!”
The second verse followed, and by this time the instruments were quite
drowned out by the voices that roared the words of the song. At the
end Gerald arose and, with upheld hand, smilingly begged silence.
When, finally, the appeal was heeded he called on Mr. Bendix, and
the Physical Instructor made a rather dry little speech, fortunately
as brief as dry. Then someone called “Simms! We want Simms!” and the
meeting took up the cry with laughter and approval. Simms, very red
of face, shook his head in grinning embarrassment, but the demand
increased, and Gerald went across and held out his hand to the
quarter. Simms, however, thrust his own hands in his pockets and shook
his head vehemently. The meeting laughed, but persisted. Gerald
was seen to bend down and speak to Simms, and at last the quarter
rather indignantly jumped up and strode to the front of the platform.
The shouts died suddenly, and a couple of hundred of smiling faces
confronted him.
“I can’t make a speech, and you fellows know it,” said Simms
accusingly. “But Pennimore says I’ve got to say something to shut you
up. So I’ll just say that if you make half as much noise Saturday when
you cheer as you have to-night ragging me we can’t help winning!”
Simms nodded and strode back to his chair, while the audience laughed
and cheered and stamped. Then someone demanded, “Andy! We want Andy
Ryan!” and eventually Andy had to stand up at the back of the platform
and make a bow. But the cries of, “Speech, Andy! Speech!” fell on deaf
ears. The Glee Club leader consulted with the leader of the Banjo and
Mandolin Club while the turmoil continued, and the musicians began to
pick at their instruments. But evidently the meeting was not yet ready
for songs. “We want more speeches!” declared a voice in front. “A-a-ay!
More speeches!” agreed the hall at large. Feet began to stamp in time
to the refrain: “Speeches, speeches, we want speeches! Speeches,
speeches, we want speeches!” Suddenly a voice at the left of the room,
and it sounded a lot like Harry Merrow’s, cried, “Burtis! Burtis! We
want Burtis!”
A howl of approval thundered forth. The clamor took on new strength.
“Burtis! Burtis! We want Burtis!” declared the assembly. Feet stamped
wildly, and fellows at the back of the hall stood up in order to shout
louder. Gerald turned and searched with his gaze for Kendall, who,
sitting in the second row, had slunk down behind the broad back of Pete
Girard. “Burtis! Burtis! We want Burtis!” clamored the throng. Finally
Jensen and Marion, who were seated on either side of Kendall, strove
to drag him to his feet. The audience applauded them. Girard arose
and dragged his chair away, revealing Kendall, red of face, striving
mightily to escape publicity. Gerald spoke to him, and Kendall got
up and bowed awkwardly and sank into his seat again. But the school
was not satisfied. “Speech, Burtis! We want a speech!” “Kick us a
speech, Burtis!” Kendall, smiling wanly, was seen shaking his head at
Gerald, who was bending over him and evidently trying to persuade him
to say something. The turmoil continued, gathering in volume rather
than diminishing. Gerald had Kendall by his well arm now, and was
pulling him out of the chair. Reluctantly Kendall allowed himself to
be conducted to the front of the platform. Gerald, smiling, waved his
hand and stepped back. The hall quieted quickly, and a most appalling
silence succeeded the tumult. Kendall, no longer blushing, but
white-cheeked from fright, began to speak. None, however, save those
in the front rows could hear him, although the hall was so still that
one might have heard a pin drop. Finally, “Louder, please!” called a
distant voice. “You’re misjudging the distance!” There was a laugh at
that and even Kendall smiled rather tremulously, and when he went on
his voice had gained strength.
“I’ve been saying that I never made a speech before,” he said, “and so
you’ll please excuse me now. I――I hope we will win the game, and I’m
sure we fellows on the team will do the best we know how. Thank you.”
He bowed and turned. At that moment a small Prep at the back of the
hall piped up:
“How’s your arm, Burtis?”
Kendall turned back, looked in the direction of the voice and replied
quite naturally: “Getting along nicely, thank you.”
A howl of delight and laughter arose as Kendall, blushing again now,
fairly scuttled to his seat and disappeared from sight, while a deep
voice down front was heard to proclaim, “Anyway, he doesn’t kick with
his arm!” At which the laughter increased.
The demand for more speeches began again, but Gerald sprang to the edge
of the platform and asked for a cheer for Yardley. It came with a will.
Then the players were cheered one after another, beginning with Captain
Merriwell and ending with the last substitute, and Coach Payson was
cheered, and Andy Ryan, and, finally, “The team, fellows! A long cheer,
and get into it!”
Afterward the music began, and they went through the half-dozen songs
selected for the game, finally ending up with “The Years Roll On,”
every fellow on his feet, many of them a little choky as they sang.
More cheers then, somewhat indiscriminate, a scraping of settees and
feet, and the meeting was over.
Gerald and Kendall met in the corridor and walked back to Clarke
together. In front of Oxford some fifty or sixty fellows were still
singing and cheering, declaring at intervals that “We want a parade! We
want a parade!” When Gerald and Kendall reached the steps of Clarke,
Mr. Collins was doing his best to persuade the throng that it wanted
nothing of the sort, that what it really wanted to do was to go to its
rooms and behave itself. From the fact that the singing gradually died
away it may be inferred that Mr. Collins was right.
“Why did you make me get up there and try to talk?” demanded Kendall
aggrievedly as the two climbed the stairs.
“Good practice,” replied Gerald imperturbably. “It’s a handy thing to
know how to make a speech.”
“I guess I’ll never have to make many,” returned Kendall.
Gerald smiled knowingly. “You never can tell,” he said.