JOY AND SORROW
Meanwhile down on the football field an anxious consultation was in
progress. Captain Blake and the manager of the team walked up and
down together, talking earnestly. From their clouded faces it was
easy to see how great their worry was. The players were grouped
together uneasily, and the other students stood about, exchanging a
curt word now and then, but for the most part silent. Gloom was on
every face, desperation in every eye.
“There come Reeves and Sexton,” some one remarked, at last. “Wonder
where they’ve been? Hullo, who’s that with them? By Jove, fellows,
it’s Remington! He’s going to play, after all!”
A sudden galvanic shudder ran through the group. They watched
Remington as he walked up to Blake, and strained their ears to catch
his words.
“Captain Blake,” he said, “I’m ready to take Banker’s place—that is,
if you want me.”
For an instant offended pride held Blake back. Then it melted away
in a rush of surprise and joy. Even from where they stood, they
could see his face light up.
“Want you, old man!” he said, and held out his hand. “I should say
we do want you!”
One of the boys had his cap off and was waving it over his head.
“Now, fellows, three cheers for Remington!” he cried. “Are you
ready? Hip—hip—”
There was a sudden rush of tears to Tommy’s eyes as that cheer
floated to him across the field. How sweet it sounded with his name
at the end! But Blake had no time for sentiment.
“Line up, men,” he called. “Hurry up. We’ve got some hard work
ahead.”
His face lighted up with satisfaction as he saw the way the boys
sprang into their places. It was the first time for days they had
shown such enthusiasm. In a moment came the signal, and the
scrimmage began. Tommy, recalling every bit of football he had ever
learned, put his whole soul into the game. He was going to do his
best to deserve that cheer. Blake gave them a long, hard practice,
but when it was over his face was more cheerful than it had been for
many days.
“We’ll be all right, I think,” he remarked to the manager. “I think
our line can hold ’em now without much trouble. And the boys have
got their old spirit back—did you notice?” The manager nodded.
“Still, don’t be too sure,” Blake added, with a captain’s
characteristic caution, “and don’t repeat that to any of the team. I
want to keep them working.”
Keep them working he did; and how Tommy enjoyed it! What a reception
he got at table! He was again admitted to the freemasonry of
fellowship which forms so precious a part of school and college
life. His heart grew warm from touching those of others, his life
grew bright and more complete. He went to his books with clearer
brain and keener zest. He was no longer afraid of falling behind.
And the old life of New River valley seemed farther away than ever.
His attitude toward the old life is worth a moment’s attention. As
the weeks passed he had found the work of writing letters to his
father and mother increasingly difficult. How could he hope to make
them understand his joys and sorrows, his hopes and ambitions, in
this new life which was so far beyond their horizon? If he had not
known that his letters would be read by Mr. Bayliss and Miss
Andrews he would have broken down altogether in the effort at
letter-writing. The task was the more unwelcome because it recalled
to him the squalid conditions of the old life—the grimy house, the
dingy beds, the dirty clothing, the ill-cooked food. He wondered how
any one could ever stand it—how he had stood it and prospered as
much as he had. He was never ashamed of his parents, though he never
spoke of them to his classmates; it was only the home that shamed
him, and he resolved to rescue the family from it and plant them in
cleaner soil.
A week is not a long time when it comes to whipping a football team
into shape for a great game, and that one passed all too quickly for
Blake. Rumors reached him of the perfect condition of the Princeton
freshmen eleven—of their great team work and perfect interference.
He gloomily watched his own men at practice on that last day, and
while he told himself he had done the best possible with them, he
fancied he could detect a hundred weaknesses, and was anything but
confident of the result. Still, they played good ball, he had a
strong line, his backs were swift and game—well, Lawrenceville would
have no reason to be ashamed of them. And just as he had hitherto
hidden any satisfaction he may have felt, now, like a good captain,
he concealed his doubts and affected a certainty of success he did
not feel.
At noon of the great day came the Princeton team, accompanied by
nearly the whole class—resplendent in orange and black, now they
were away from the campus, where such decoration was forbidden, and
where, on their return, the sophomores would call them sternly to
account for their desecration of the college colors. They were
seemingly quite confident of victory, and poured into the field with
great halloo. Their team began at once a little preliminary
practice, displaying a verve and agility that sent a chill to more
than one Lawrenceville heart. But Captain Blake’s team got a hearty
greeting, just the same, when it came running out upon the field,
and for a time cheer followed cheer, until it seemed that they must
split their throats. But the throats of school-boys and college men
seem to be made of some unsplittable material, and in this case—as
in all similar ones—there was no damage done.
Then came an instant’s breathless silence as the two captains waited
for the referee to toss up a penny.
“Heads!” called Blake, as the coin spun in the air.
The referee stooped and looked at it.
“All right,” he said. “Heads it is. Choose your goal.”
Blake chose the north goal with the wind at his back, while
Lawrenceville cheered again at this first piece of good luck.
“Take your places, men,” called the referee, and the players peeled
off their sweaters and trotted out into the field, rejoicing that
the hour was come. “Are you ready, Princeton?”
“All ready, sir.”
“Are you ready, Lawrenceville?”
“All ready,” answered Blake.
The referee waited an instant, then placed his whistle to his lips
and blew a shrill blast. There was a swift rush, and the ball was
whirling through the air. The game was on.
What pen has ever adequately described a football game, with its
multitudinous features, its ever-changing tactics, its kaleidoscopic
advances and retreats, its thousand and one individual plays?
Certainly it shall not be attempted here.
It was evident after a few minutes of play that the teams were more
evenly matched than Blake had dared to hope and that the score would
be a close one. Blake’s face cleared as he realized that his
opponents were not so terrible as they had been pictured.
“Steady, fellows, steady,” he panted, in an interval between two
rushes. “Don’t you fumble that ball, Reeves. Watch your man there,
Remington.”
Indeed, Tommy found he had his hands full watching his man. Some
exaggerated story of his prowess must have got abroad, for the
Princeton captain had placed the biggest and strongest man on his
team against him. He was certainly bigger and heavier than Tommy,
and in the first few rushes had decidedly the better of it. But as
the game progressed Tommy saw with delight that his adversary was
growing weaker, while he himself was just warming up to the work.
After all, six years’ work in the mines will outweigh a few weeks’
training, every time. Before long, Blake rejoiced to see that Tommy
was holding his man, and that he even got past him once or twice;
but the first half ended without either side having been able to
score.
The members of both teams received some pretty severe lecturing in
the ten minutes’ intermission that followed, but, on the whole, the
atmosphere in the Lawrenceville quarters was much the more hopeful.
Princeton had entered the game quite confident of winning, and had
met with an unexpected check, which served to dash her spirits. She
had counted on carrying the ball down the field with a rush in the
first few minutes of play, but, so far, had been unable seriously to
threaten Lawrenceville’s goal. On the other hand, Lawrenceville had
made a better showing than she had hoped for, and was
correspondingly elated. Blake was especially happy, though he tried
not to show it.
As a consequence of this change of spirit, when the second half
opened, Princeton found herself pushed down the field for small but
decisive gains. In vain she attempted to stem the tide of that
advance. It seemed certain that Lawrenceville must score, and their
partisans cheered themselves hoarse. But Princeton made a stand on
her ten-yard line, rendered desperate by prospect of defeat,
succeeded in getting the ball, and, by a long punt down the field,
placed her goal out of danger. How Princeton cheered as that ball
sailed twisting through the air!
For a time after that it was nip and tuck in the middle of the
field, and, as the minutes passed, Blake knew that the time for play
was getting dangerously short. If anything was to be done, it must
be done without delay. He looked his men over with calculating eye.
Undoubtedly Remington was the only man for the play, for he seemed
quite fresh, despite the rough time he had been having with the man
against him. Blake looked at his bright eyes, firm-set lips, and
distended nostrils, and made up his mind on the instant. He took
advantage of the first opportunity, during a moment’s intermission
while one of the boys was rubbing a twisted ankle, to outline his
plan.
“Now, Remington,” he said in a whisper, “I’m going to let you run
with the ball. We’ll push it as far down the field as we can, then,
after the third down, Reeves, here, will pass it to you. Put all
your steam into your legs, old man. I’ll give the other boys the
word.”
Tommy went back to his place with a queer tingling at his heart.
Ordinarily the men in the line do not get a chance so to distinguish
themselves. It is the half-backs and the full-back who make the
so-called “grand-stand plays”—those long, zigzagging runs down the
field with the ball which raise the spectators out of their seats,
and send flags to waving and men to shouting. The average looker-on,
knowing little of the inwardness of the game, does not appreciate
the hard work which the men in the line are doing every minute of
the time—there is nothing showy about it, nothing spectacular; it is
merely downright hard work. So Tommy, knowing that this would be his
one chance, determined to make the most of it.
Lawrenceville, nerved by the thought of a final effort, made three
good gains, carrying the ball to Princeton’s twenty-five-yard line.
But the Princeton captain had seen Blake’s conferences with his men,
and suspecting that something was about to happen, passed the word
around to his players to be on their guard. They made a desperate
stand, and succeeded in holding Lawrenceville for the second and
third downs. Reeves pinched Tommy’s leg to remind him that his time
had come—as if he had any need of a reminder! He took a deep breath,
there came a quick signal from Blake, and in an instant he was off,
with the ball tucked snugly under his arm.
As he sprang forward, he saw the guard opposite him whirled
violently to one side, and he knew that the other members of the
team were clearing his way. He saw one of the Princeton backs before
him, but he, too, was thrown aside; and then Tommy saw that it was
Blake himself who was interfering for him. Away down the field in
front he saw the Princeton full-back sweeping toward him, and behind
him came the pounding of many feet. Whether they were friend or foe
he did not know, and he dared not glance around, but they seemed
ominously near. Dimly and confusedly he heard the cheering of the
crowd. Then the full-back was upon him. Tommy remembered the advice
little Reeves had given him, and sprang full at his opponent at the
instant he stooped to the tackle. Together they were hurled to
earth, Tommy clutching the ball with a grip only death would have
loosened. He tried to hitch himself along toward the goal-post just
ahead—so near he could almost touch it. He gained a foot—two feet—a
yard—with those desperate hands still clinging to his legs; and
then, just as a crushing avalanche of men fell on him, he stretched
the ball forward at full-arm length and called:
“Down!”
There was an anxious minute as the referee untangled the heap in
order to get at the ball. At the bottom he found Tommy still
grasping it tightly, and Blake gave a yell of triumph as he saw it.
“It’s a touchdown, fellows!” he cried. “It’s six inches over the
line!”
Tommy, gasping for breath, heard the words, and for an instant his
head fell forward in the sheer exhaustion of joy. Then it seemed
that a thousand hands were lifting him, and when he opened his eyes
a minute later, he found himself on the shoulders of a yelling mob
which was parading around the field. They paused for an instant to
watch Reeves kick the goal, and then started off again like madmen.
[Illustration: “THEN THE FULL-BACK WAS UPON HIM.”]
“Let me down, fellows!” cried Tommy, struggling against the hands
which held him by leg and ankle. “Let me down. They’ll line up again
in a minute.”
“No, they won’t,” yelled Sexton, who had charge of Tommy’s right
leg. “Time’s up! You got the ball over in the last minute of play,
old man.”
He had his cap off.
“Now three cheers for Remington!” he cried. “Are you ready?
Hip—hip—”
But there was no response, for suddenly across the field they saw
the head-master coming toward them.
“Does the old man want to congratulate him, too?” asked Sexton of
the boy next to him. “I never saw him at a game before.”
But as he came nearer, and they saw his face, they fell silent. In
his hand he held a sheet of yellow paper.
“Put him down, boys,” he said quietly, and Tommy was set on the
ground again. “You must come with me at once, Remington,” he added.
“I have bad news for you.”
Tommy glanced at the yellow paper and saw it was a telegram.
Instinctively he understood.
“What is it, sir?” he gasped. “An accident at the mine?”
“Yes, an accident at the mine.”
So the old life was going to ruin the new life, after all!
“And father is hurt?”
“Very badly hurt,” said the head-master, tenderly. “You must start
home at once.”
“But he is not dead?” cried Tommy.
“No, not dead—yet.” And he led the boy away, too crushed to question
farther.