KENDALL IS MISTAKEN
Kendall sat in a corner of the barge as it rattled its way through
clouds of dust back to Wissining. They had pulled his wrist into
place again, bandaged it and put it back in a sling. Every bump of
the barge’s weak springs made it throb painfully. But it was not his
injury that Kendall minded. It was the knowledge that he had failed his
fellows and the school. That was what hurt. He had lost the game, he
told himself miserably. It had needed only that goal from the field to
win, and he had missed it. He still wondered how it had happened. He
had dropped the ball as well as he knew how, had kicked at the right
instant, his instep had met it squarely, he was convinced that he
had made no miscalculation of the distance. And yet, by some unhappy
chance, the ball had barely cleared the bar underneath instead of
sailing over. Since the whistle had blown he had avoided the glances of
his teammates, was avoiding them now. He knew that by to-morrow they
would find excuses for him, the kinder-hearted ones at least, but now
they must all loathe him; and he didn’t want to read that loathing in
their faces. So he kept his eyes on the roadside all the way back to
school, only occasionally conscious of his aching wrist, and was very
unhappy and weary and sore.
Here and there some of the fellows were conversing jerkily in tired
voices, but there was no joking to-day, no bantering, no laughing, no
singing as the team went home. It seemed to them all that the tie had
been a defeat. For the moment they had lost sight of the fact that
Broadwood had outweighed them and that in playing their rival to a
tied score they had perhaps gained some glory after all. Yardley had
grown accustomed to victory on the gridiron, and anything less than a
victory spelled disgrace to them. They were thankful, each and every
one of them, that until the barge reached Yardley they would not have
to face their fellows. Now and then a lighter vehicle passed, and the
occupants leaned out and shouted and waved their flags as they went by.
But the players made no response. Perhaps one or two grinned stoically;
perhaps here and there a fellow’s face worked and his throat choked up.
To-morrow――even later this same evening――they would begin to see things
less pessimistically, but now, thoroughly tired, aching and sore, it
seemed to them that they were little better than pariahs. The bottom
had just dropped out of everything and they were left dangling in space!
When the barge rolled up the drive to the front of Oxford a crowd had
already gathered about the steps, a throng of nearly a hundred, and the
returning warriors were met with cheers that were hearty and loyal.
A look of dull surprise overspread some of the faces in the barge;
some of the fellows smiled a little; others grew frankly tearful. All
shouldered their way through the crowd and sought their rooms, avoiding
the hands that would have detained them and the questions that met
them. Afterward, as other vehicles returned and emptied their loads,
the gathering grew and the cheers became louder and louder, and when,
finally, some two hundred voices took up the strains of the school song
and sang it through proudly and lovingly and even exultantly, you’d
never have guessed that Yardley held herself defeated!
Number 28 was dark when Kendall reached it. Gerald was not there,
and he was very glad. He didn’t light the lights, but crossed to the
window-seat, after he had taken off his coat and cap, and threw himself
down among the cushions to think it all over again. Thinking, however,
made it no better. It seemed to him that he was disgraced; that even
his usefulness to the school was over. He hated to think of the morrow
when he would have to face the fellows and read the verdict in their
faces. He could imagine the whispers as he went by. “That’s the failure
that lost the Broadwood game for us!” Of course, there would be some
who wouldn’t let it make any difference. They’d be disappointed in him,
but they’d try not to let him see, and they’d be loyal still――Gerald,
for instance, and Harry and, yes, probably The Duke. And perhaps one or
two others. And maybe after a while he would get over it. Perhaps by
the time the Winter term began it would be half forgotten and he could
hold up his head again.
Once it occurred to him that had Fales kicked the goal after the
touchdown they would still have won a victory. But he was charitable
toward Fales. Fales had been worn out, almost ready to collapse, and it
was no wonder he had missed. Besides, Fales was not supposed to excel
at goal-kicking. With Kendall it was different. He was first of all a
kicker, he had been given his place on the team because they believed
he could be depended on to score from the field. And he had failed
at the one most important moment of the season! Kendall groaned and
turned his head as though to get away from his thoughts.
The world outside the windows got blacker and blacker. He knew that in
the next building they were gathering for the banquet and the election.
But he had no intention of going. He didn’t want to face them yet,
while as for eating, he didn’t care if he never saw food again! Now
and then a voice or a strain of whistling or a bar of song came up to
him as fellows passed under the window. Once there was a long burst of
cheering from commons. One of the Old Boys, perhaps a former football
hero, had entered the dining-hall probably. Well, they’d never cheer
him that way; never, unless――yes, there was another year coming, after
all. Perhaps they’d give him a chance to retrieve, to make up then!
For a moment he felt better. But then the thought that if he failed
to win his scholarship this year he wouldn’t be likely to get back
again sent his spirits down once more. And so for another hour he lay
there in self-abasement and self-accusation and got a little tearful
at times and felt pretty miserable. And finally, tired out physically
and mentally, he fell asleep and only awoke when someone thumped on the
door and called his name loudly. He sat up, with a wince as his injured
arm was jolted, and rubbed his eyes.
“Burtis! You in there?” demanded the caller imperatively. The knob
rattled, but Kendall had turned the key and the door denied admittance.
For a brief instant Kendall clung to his desire for seclusion. But
then, as there came a kick which threatened to drive a panel in, he
answered:
“Hello! Who is it, please?”
“Simms! Open the door, you silly chump! What time do you think it is?”
Kendall crossed the room in the darkness and turned back the key. The
door was pushed open, admitting a flood of light from the corridor.
Simms stared in at him.
“What the dickens are you doing?” he demanded. “Been asleep?”
“Yes, a little while,” answered Kendall.
“Well, find your cap and come on. We’re half through dinner! We’ve been
looking for you for an hour.”
“I――I don’t think I want to go over there, thanks,” murmured the other.
“I――my arm’s pretty sore, and I’m tired――――”
“What of it? Don’t you think the rest of us are tired, too? And sore?
Gosh, I haven’t a bone in my body that isn’t yelping! Besides, we’ve
got to elect a new captain pretty soon.”
“You won’t need my vote,” Kendall demurred. “I’d vote for Crandall if
I was there. You could tell them that, couldn’t you?”
“Crandall! Well, say――――” Simms paused and chuckled. “Just the same
you’d better come, Burtis. They sent me for you, and I can’t go back
without you. Get your cap, like a good fellow.”
“They sent for me? Who, Simms?”
“Why, the lot of them, the whole push, of course,” replied the quarter
impatiently.
“Do you mean――that they――really want me?” faltered Kendall.
“Really want you? Say, what’s the matter with you, old man?” Simms
looked curiously into the other boy’s face. Then he whistled softly.
“So that’s it, eh?” he asked, as though of himself. He put one hand
on Kendall’s shoulder. “Look here, Burtis,” he said affectionately,
“you’ve got some fool notion in your head, haven’t you? Feeling sore, I
guess, about that goal you didn’t make. Is that it?”
“Why――why, of course, I feel pretty rotten about it,” answered the
younger boy. “And I thought――perhaps the other fellows――――” His voice
dwindled away into silence.
Simms laughed cheerfully. Then his fingers closed reassuringly on
Kendall’s shoulder. “Poppycock, Burtis! Poppycock, my son! No one’s
holding that against you! How could they? Great Scott! haven’t we all
made mistakes to-day? You don’t think _you_ lost the game, do you?
Well, you didn’t! No more than I did, or Merriwell or Fales or any
of the rest of us――alone! We all had a hand in it, Burtis. Besides,
Payson’s been giving us a whole earful of guff about what a little
band of heroes we are! Why Payson says we never had any show for that
game, by rights! Says we only tied ’em because we didn’t know we were
licked!” Simms’s voice dropped. “Burtis, don’t be a silly chump. Get
your cap and come along. There’s a seat by me you can have. Come and
see for yourself whether we want you there!”
It seemed too good to be true, and as he turned away to dash a sponge
across his face his eyes got leaky again, and it took him a long time
to get through with the towel and find his cap. Then he was following
Simms down the stairs and along the walk and through the entrance to
Whitson, alive with students awaiting the result of the election. As
the two pushed their way through, the fellows fell back for them,
cheering and shouting, laughing and joking. Kendall followed the
quarter as in a daze. The big door opened, and he saw the long table
spread in the middle of the hall and lined on each side with the
fellows. There was Merriwell at the head and John Payson at the foot,
turning at the sound of the opening door, and Perky Davis, and, yes,
Andy Ryan, too, and all the other fellows between, talking and laughing
as though Yardley had really won!
Kendall faltered at the door, but Simms dragged him on. “Got him,
fellows!” he announced, pushing Kendall forward into the flood of light
about the table. “Found him sound asleep, and almost had to kick the
door in!”
“Hello, Burtis, you old top!” shouted Girard.
“Everything’s eaten up, Burtis!” cried Marion.
Kendall found himself pushed into a chair between Simms and Adler.
Everyone was talking at him, laughing at him, it seemed, and, wonder
of wonders, every face was kindly! If an expression of doubt crept now
and then into Merriwell’s countenance as he glanced at the newcomer,
Kendall didn’t see it. Nor did he discern that Coach Payson was viewing
him in a half-puzzled way. For a space, in fact, he saw very little.
Eager hands passed him things and piled his plate high and Kendall
pecked at the viands, too happy to really eat.
But after a while he began to hear what was going on about him. They
were still talking over the game, but the former despondency was
all gone. Rather, they were slightly boastful now! Plant, in high
spirits, was explaining loudly what would have happened if one tiny,
infinitesimal thing――Kendall couldn’t make out just what it was――had
been different. “Why, in that case, we’d have knocked the green
sawdust out of ’em!” declared Plant. And he appealed to Mr. Payson
for confirmation. The coach smiled and nodded. Holmes was already
predicting the horrible fate that awaited Broadwood next year. “Next
year” seemed the keynote now. Simms and Adler talked in front of
Kendall, and had a hot discussion over some unimportant happening of
the day, and threatened each other with fruit knives. There was much
noise and confusion, all very jolly and happy. Kendall drank a cup
of coffee and nibbled a banana that someone thrust at him, settled
contentedly back in his chair, stretched his tired legs under the table
and began to see the world through a wonderful mellow, golden haze.
Then, it must have been a half-hour later, when the last spoon had
been laid reluctantly aside, although many diners were still sipping
their second or third cups of black coffee, Captain Merriwell arose and
hammered the table for attention. One by one the voices died away and
the captain made his speech. He thanked them all for the bully way in
which they had stood by him and the school, for the great game they had
put up to-day; and he thanked Coach Payson for his patience and hard
work and――――
But the rest was lost in the sound of cheers and the tinkling of silver
against goblets and the thumping of feet.
And now it remained to choose a captain for next year, Merriwell
went on. It was customary for the retiring captain to make the first
nomination, but he wasn’t going to do that to-night. He was going to
let them make their selection without any suggestion from him, knowing
that whoever they chose would be the right man! And nominations were in
order!
More cheering then, and some laughter, and finally a quieter mood,
while the fellows glanced curiously around the table and waited.
Cousins pushed back his chair and stood up, smiling as the fellows
began to clap.
“I can’t make a speech, fellows, and I don’t need to. We’ve got plenty
of fellows on this team who would make good captains, and for my part I
say it’s hard to choose (Applause and cries of “That’s right!”). But in
my opinion I think there’s one in especial that deserves the position.
He’s played three full years on the team, he’s a fellow we all like――I
might say love――and――well, I think he’s the captain we want. Fellows,
I place in nomination Howard Crandall.”
Lots of cheering then, and lots of kindly looks toward the blushing
Crandall. Simms and Fales, who sat on his other side, had their heads
together. Then Simms started up, but Stark was ahead of him. Stark was
saying nice things about Pete Girard, and Pete was struggling to throw
a napkin at him and repeating, “Sit down, you big chump! I don’t want
to be captain!” much to the amusement of the table. But Pete got his
meed of applause when Stark finished, and then Simms sprang up.
“Fellows, we’ve had good names put before us. Crandall, bless his old
hide, would make a good captain! So would Girard, if he could keep
awake! (Sit down, Pete!) Either one of them would do to lead us――I mean
the rest of you fellows, because some of us will be out of it next
year――to lead you to victory. But, fellows, there’s one here who hasn’t
been named yet, and I know you’re waiting for it. We’ve got a fellow
here who would make the sort of captain we want, the sort we love to
follow, the sort that Chase was in the old days before we came here,
and that Vinton was, and that Merriwell has been. He hasn’t served his
three years, fellows, but that can’t be helped. It isn’t his fault,
it’s our misfortune. He’s only been two seasons on the team, but in
that time he’s yanked one game out of the fire for us and saved us from
defeat in the other! And, fellows――――” Simms paused and seemed debating
with himself. Then: “Fellows, when the rest of us were feeding our
faces here to-night and jollying up, this chap was staying away because
he thought he’d failed us to-day and that we didn’t want him here!
Fellows, I nominate for the captaincy of the Yardley Hall Football Team
for the Season of 1911, Mr. Kendall Burtis!”