AN EFFORT IN SELF-DENIAL
When Tommy opened his eyes the next morning, awakened by the ringing
of a bell, he found himself lying in an iron bed, between the
whitest of white sheets. It was a most comfortable bed, and he
stretched himself luxuriously as he looked about the pleasant room.
In an instant he found himself gazing straight into another pair of
eyes, whose owner was sitting up in a bed just opposite his own.
“I say,” said the stranger, “where did _you_ come from?”
“Wentworth, West Virginia,” answered Tommy, promptly.
“Never heard of it. What’s your name?”
“Tommy Remington. What’s yours?”
“I’m Jack Sexton. But, I say, I wouldn’t let myself be called
‘Tommy.’ That’s a kid’s name. Make ’em call you Tom.”
Tommy lay for a moment without replying. He had not thought of it
before, but the stranger was right. “Tommy” was unquestionably a
baby-name. Just then another bell rang.
“Hullo, there goes the second bell!” exclaimed Jack. “We’ve got to
hustle if we want to get any breakfast.”
He sprang out of bed, and Tommy followed him. He picked up a great,
soft towel, and vanished through a door at the farther end of the
room. In a moment Tommy heard a prodigious splashing of water.
“Hurry up,” called Jack. “Bring your towel and come in here, or
you’ll be late.”
Tommy picked up his towel and hurried into the other room. He paused
an instant at the door in amazement. Jack stood under a wide stream
of water, dancing fiendishly and rubbing his face and head.
“Come on in,” he sputtered. “It’s great fun.”
Tommy threw off his night-clothes, and in an instant was also under
the stream. The water made him shiver when it first touched him, but
his healthy vitality asserted itself, and that first shower-bath was
enjoyed to the uttermost. Then out again, with the great towels
around them, rubbing the skin until it glowed.
“Gee-crickety!” exclaimed Jack, casting an admiring glance at
Tommy’s neck and shoulders. “You’re a good un. Let’s feel your arm.”
Tommy obligingly held out his arm and made the biceps swell.
“Hard as a rock,” said Jack, fingering it with great respect. “You
must have been in training all your life.”
“In training?” repeated Tommy. “I don’t know. I’ve been digging coal
pretty near all my life.”
Jack gave a low whistle of astonishment.
“Digging coal? In a mine? Well, I’d dig coal for a year if I could
get a pair of shoulders like yours. You’re just the man we need for
guard.”
“For guard?” And Tommy remembered the three men with Winchester
rifles who watched the company’s safe at Wentworth on pay-days.
“Yes, for guard. You’re too big to play back of the line, you know.
Come on. I’ll introduce you to the captain.”
Tommy followed him, wondering bewilderedly what it was he was
expected to guard. Down the stairs they went, and into the cool,
airy dining-room, where some twenty boys were gathered, under
supervision of the house-master, Mr. Prime. Sexton introduced Tommy
to the other boys, and though he felt somewhat shy at first, this
wore off as the meal progressed. And such a meal it seemed to
him!—the spotless napery, the shining table-service, the abundant,
well-cooked food,—small wonder these boys seemed happy and brimming
over with animal spirits!
It was not until after the simple little service in Edith Chapel,
where the whole school gathered every morning to open the day’s
work, that he met Captain Blake; for Blake, being in the fourth
form, enjoyed the privilege of rooming in the great brick Upper
House, apart from a house-master’s supervision. Blake shook hands
with him, and then he and Sexton took him over to the gymnasium,
stripped off his shirt, and looked him over. Tommy stood patiently
while they examined him, and listened to Sexton’s enthusiastic
praise.
“He’ll do,” said Blake, at last, nodding emphatically. “We haven’t
another pair of shoulders and arms like that at Lawrenceville. The
only question is, does he know how to use them? Now, Remington, what
do you know about football?”
Tommy stared.
“I don’t know anything about it,” he said; “I never heard of it.”
“Well,” said Blake, smiling, “you won’t hear much else around here
till after Thanksgiving. It’s a game, and we’re going to teach you
how to play it. You bring him out this afternoon, Sexton, and we’ll
give him his first practice.” And Blake hurried away to attend to
some other of his multitudinous duties as captain of the school
eleven.
That morning Tommy had an interview with the head-master, who
questioned him closely about his studies and seemed much interested
in him. The boy felt that here was a man upon whose kindly sympathy
and encouragement he could rely.
“I think you will get along all right,” he said at last, “though it
will not be easy for you. But, with study, you should be able to
keep up with your classes. My friend Bayliss has written me much
about you,” he added. “He thinks a great deal of you, and you must
try not to disappoint him. Mr. King will arrange your studies,” he
concluded; and Tommy was turned over to the tutor.
He found Mr. King a kindly though somewhat impatient young man, who
probed his attainments to the bottom and soon decided just what
classes he must join. His studies were scheduled, his text-books
arranged, and the real work begun without delay—a routine much like
that in all good preparatory schools.
Sexton carried him off immediately after lunch.
“I’ve got an extra suit,” he said, “I can lend you. I thought once
that I could make the team myself, but I’m not heavy enough.” And he
led the way to the gymnasium, where he opened a locker and produced
the suit. And presently Tommy found himself arrayed in canvas jacket
and great padded knickerbockers, long stockings, and shoes with
heavy leather cleats on the bottom. Then he was taken out into the
field, where he found some two dozen other boys similarly attired.
Blake nodded to them curtly.
“You give him his first lesson, Sexton,” he said. “Tell him what
it’s all about, and let him watch the other fellows awhile, until he
catches on a little.”
So Sexton told Tommy about the game: How it is played by two teams
each of eleven members, whose object it is to force the ball, an
oblong sphere of pigskin, down the field before them, until they
carry it past the end of the field, or gridiron. This is called
making a “touchdown,” and scores five points. How the ball is then
taken out into the field again and kicked, and if it passes between
the two uprights and over the bar which are fixed at the end of the
field, it is called a “goal,” and scores another point. How if the
ball is kicked over the bar from the field while it is in play, it
is called “kicking a goal from field,” and also counts five points.
Many other niceties of the game Sexton told him, which need not be
set down here, and when the candidates for the team were ready to
line up, he had a pretty good idea of what they were going to try to
do. He watched them take their places and kick off the ball, and was
soon shouting up and down the side-lines with the best of them. He
had never seen such a game, and it appealed to his every instinct
for good, hearty, honest strife and exertion.
“All right, Remington; come on out here,” called Blake, presently,
and Tommy ran out. “Now you’re to play left guard,” continued Blake.
“You stand right here next to the center. Now the minute you see the
ball snapped back, you push this man opposite you out of the way,
and charge ahead. If anybody else tries to tackle you, block him off
this way with your elbows”; and Blake suited the action to the word.
“Of course,” he added, “in a real game you wouldn’t be tackled
unless they thought you had the ball, but just now I’m going to
break you in a little, so that you’ll learn something about tackling
for yourself.”
“All right,” said Tommy, and took his place in the line.
“Now keep your eye on the ball, fellows,” cautioned Blake.
“One-six-eight-eleven.”
Tommy had no idea what the string of numbers meant, but he saw the
ball snapped back, and he threw himself forward with all his
strength. The man opposite him went down like a ninepin, and Tommy
caught a glimpse of a little fellow jumping at him with extended
arms, and wondered at his temerity. Somebody grasped him about the
knees, clung to him with tenacious grip, and down they went in a
heap. Two or three others fell over him, and then they slowly
disentangled themselves.
“Good work, Remington. Good tackle, Reeves,” commented Blake,
briefly; and Tommy saw it was the little fellow who had brought him
down with such apparent ease.
“Say, that was game!” said Tommy.
Little Reeves smiled.
“Oh, it was easy enough. You weren’t going fast. Why didn’t you
jump?”
“Jump?”
“Yes. Whenever you see a fellow coming at you, and you haven’t room
to dodge him, jump right at him. That will knock him over backwards,
and even if he hangs on to you, and you fall, too, you have gained
some ground, and maybe cleared the way for the man with the ball
who’s coming after you.”
“Thanks,” said Tommy, gratefully. “I’ve got a lot to learn, you
know. I’ll try it next time.”
“Hurry up, fellows; line up,” called Blake; and for the next hour
Tommy was hauled around and kneaded and rolled on the ground. Then
they gave him a lesson in falling on the ball,—it was wonderful how
elusive and slippery it turned out to be,—and at the end Blake was
pleased to commend him.
“You’ll do,” he said. “You’ll make a good guard after you learn the
game. Mind you’re out to-morrow afternoon. It isn’t every man has
such a chance.”
And Tommy retired to the gymnasium for a bath and a rub-down,
feeling very good indeed. When he had got back to his room, it
occurred to him that he ought to write a letter home, and he sat
down to this duty. But how far away New River valley and the
cramped, monotonous life there seemed! He had been away from it only
a day, but it seemed ages off, and he reflected with satisfaction
that he was going to escape it altogether. He shivered at the
thought that he might never have escaped it—that he might have
passed his whole life there, without knowing anything about the
great, glorious outside world. He addressed the letter to his
father, but it was really for his two old teachers that he wrote,
and he told something of his trip and of his great good fortune in
getting a chance on the team. He had an uneasy feeling that the
letter was not so loving as it should have been, but he tried to
make up for this with some affectionate words at the close.
Every afternoon, after that, Tommy donned his canvas suit, and soon
began to have a fair idea of the game. Blake put his strongest man
opposite him, and the remainder of the boys would throng the
side-lines to see Remington and Smith fight it out. Both were
unusually strong for their age,—Smith had been reared on a great
cattle-ranch in the West,—and as it was nip and tuck between them,
both grew stronger and better players, while Blake contemplated them
with satisfaction, and congratulated himself on possessing the best
pair of guards that had ever played together on a Lawrenceville
team. But of a sudden his satisfaction was rudely blasted.
Tommy had been practising faithfully for three weeks or more, when
he suddenly became aware that he was falling behind in his studies.
He had not noticed it at first, so absorbed was he in his new
surroundings; but one morning, at the recitation in history, he
found that he did not at all understand what the lesson was about,
for the reason that he had quite forgotten the events which led up
to it. When the recitation was over, he went up to his room and did
some hard thinking. It was evident at the outset that he could not
afford any longer to spend the best part of every afternoon on the
football field. These other boys had an immense advantage—all their
lives they had been unconsciously absorbing knowledge which he must
work out for himself. Their associations had always been with books
and with educated people, and in consequence they were so far ahead
of him that the only way he could keep up was by extra study. He
knew that if he once fell very far behind he would never catch up
again.
So that day after lunch, instead of hurrying into his football
clothes, Tommy mounted resolutely to his room, opened his history at
the very first, and went to work at it. It was not an easy task. He
could hear the shouts of the boys from the field, and the bright
sunshine tempted him to come out of doors; but he kept resolutely at
work. Presently he heard some one running up the stairs, and Sexton
burst into the room, and stopped astonished at sight of Tommy
bending over his book.
“Oh, say,” he protested, “you can’t do that, you know, Remington.
Blake is waiting for you before he begins practice. Hurry up and get
into your football togs.”
But Tommy shook his head.
“I can’t do it, Jack,” he said. “I’m falling too far behind. Why,
to-day, in history, I didn’t know what Mr. Knox was talking about.”
Sexton laughed.
“Well, what of it?” he asked. “Neither did I. Don’t let a little
thing like that worry you.”
Tommy shook his head again.
“It don’t matter with you so much,” he said. “You’ve got other
things. But I’ve got only this. If I fail here, I’m done.”
Sexton grew suddenly grave, for he saw the case was more serious
than he had thought.
“You don’t mean to say that you’re going to give up football
altogether?” he asked incredulously.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to.”
“Don’t say that,” he protested. “Blake’ll excuse you from practice
for a day or two till you catch up. I’ll tell him you’re feeling a
little stale. How’ll that do?”
“A day or two won’t do any good, Jack,” said Tommy, resolutely. “You
don’t know how much I’ve got to learn before I’ll be up with you
fellows.”
Sexton paused a moment to consider how best to rally his forces.
“Now, see here, Remington,” he began, “you’re looking at this thing
all wrong. Suppose you do fall behind in your studies for a while.
The tutors won’t be hard on you, because they know how you’re needed
on the team, and you can make it all up again later in the year by a
little extra work. There’ll be a dozen of the fellows ready to help
you. But if you drop out of the team now, just when the games are
coming on, it’s all up with you at Lawrenceville. The only fellow
who can possibly play in your place is Banker, and you know how weak
he is. It’s Lawrenceville’s honor that’s concerned, old man, and if
you quit now, half the fellows in the place will cut you dead.”
“Surely it won’t be so bad as that,” protested Tommy. “You won’t cut
me, will you, Jack?”
Sexton’s face grew red.
“No, I won’t cut you,” he said. “But lots of the fellows will.
They’ll make it as hard for you as they can.”
Tommy’s lips went together. His fighting spirit was aroused.
“Let them,” he said. “I’ve made up my mind. I can’t see but one
thing to do, and I’m going to do it. Tell Blake I’m sorry.”
Sexton’s face grew stern, too, and he got up from his seat.
“Is that final?” he asked. “Remember, Blake won’t send for you a
second time. He’s not that kind.”
“I’m sorry,” was all that Tommy could say.
Sexton stood looking at him a moment longer, and then went out and
closed the door behind him.
Tommy, shutting all thought of the trouble from his mind as well as
he could, turned again to his history. That evening, when he went
down to dinner, it was with the comfortable consciousness that he
was ready for the next day’s lesson. But his satisfaction was of
short duration. As he took his seat at table, instead of the hearty
welcome he had grown accustomed to, there was a frigid silence. One
or two of the boys nodded to him as he looked up and down the board,
but very distantly. Tommy felt a lump rise in his throat as he
gulped down his food, and began to understand what his new
resolution was going to cost him. Then his mouth tightened, and he
looked around defiantly, as though daring them to do their worst.