ON THE ANXIOUS SEAT
The clock seemed to lag dreadfully as the hands made their way to
two-thirty, but they got there at last, and then the eager Garry and
his chums made a dash for the gymnasium where they found that a large
number of their classmates had already gathered.
The Lenox High first team had been rather severely crippled by the
graduation of some of its best players the preceding June. There were
several important positions to be filled, and the scrubs of last season
were on tiptoe as they figured their chances of selection.
Greb, in the position of left half, had been one of the most reliable
ground gainers of the eleven. Now he was gone, together with several
other scarcely less important players.
Both tackle positions would have to be filled, as well as that of right
end.
Garry and his friends, following the fortunes of Lenox High in a
general way during the preceding fall, had heard rumors that the scrubs
were pressing the regulars hard. Some of the boys brought in from the
bench during tight games had done remarkably good work, as good, some
said, as the first string players themselves.
But here was an unfortunate fact for Lenox. Graduation had taken toll
not only of some of the best regulars but of some of the finest players
on the scrubs as well, the boys who had worked their heads off in the
effort to secure places on the first team, only to leave school with
their ambitions ungratified.
This, while hard for Lenox, was fortunate for the aspiring boys just
entering the high school and eager to make the eleven. Since so much
new material was needed, there was more chance for the freshmen than
would ordinarily have been the case.
Still the captain, Ralph Wynn, was not particularly encouraging on
that point. While they were waiting for the coming of the coach, Wynn
talked to the would-be players on the subject that was of the intensest
interest to the freshmen at that moment.
"Some of you fellows may be first-rate material to work with," he
said, addressing the freshmen, who had grouped themselves together as
though for moral support. "In fact, we know some of you are from your
records on the grammar school elevens. But of course," he added, just
as some of the freshmen were beginning to throw out their chests a
little, "the old players have the first call. That's only fair. It's
common sense too. In the first place, they have had more experience and
training. It takes some time to break in raw material to new rules and
methods and trick plays.
"Then too, as a rule, the upper classmen are older and bigger and
heavier. They furnish more of the beef that is needed in hard games.
Lots of you boys are husky specimens, but you haven't filled out
as much as you will in a year or two. You'll all be pounds heavier
and inches taller next year, and therefore worth that much more to
the team. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, and where
newcomers show themselves quick to learn," he added, as the coach
entered the gymnasium, "they have a chance. But it takes a pretty good
fellow to get on the team the first year."
This was not particularly encouraging to Garry and his friends. Still
it left a loophole, and they looked with a gleam of hope at the coach
as he entered the room.
The coach was a tall, rangy young man named Al Garwin. He had a sleepy
manner and a drawling voice, which the boys soon came to find were only
a cloak for the fiery energy he possessed. He was one that mixed praise
and blame with a liberal hand. He could raise a player to the heights
one moment and drop him to the depths the next with no more personal
feeling than if the subject had been a puppet pulled by a string.
There was a sparkle in his half-closed eyes as he approached the boys,
regulars and aspirants, who looked at him with a touch of misgiving as
the arbiter of their fate.
"Hello, fellows," he greeted. "Going to pull Lenox up to the
championship again this year?"
There was a roar of assent that brought a smile to the lips of the
coach.
"All right," he said. "Now let's see who's going to do it."
A murmur of excitement ran through the group of aspirants. At last they
were to get a line on their chances.
But this was not to come in a hurry. Coach Garwin seated himself in
a convenient chair, crossed one long leg over the other in leisurely
fashion and ran his eye over a lengthy list that had been furnished him
by Ralph Wynn.
On this paper was a list of all the aspirants for the team with a brief
statement of the experience they had had--if any--on the gridiron.
The coach took so long at this that the boys fidgeted about uneasily.
"I should think he could have done that just as well before he came
here," Rooster whispered in Garry's ear. "I wish he'd hurry up and
make a choice and get the agony over with."
"Maybe after he's made the choice we'll wish he hadn't," replied Garry.
At last Coach Garwin straightened up, uncrossed his legs, and regarded
the boys intently.
"I'll have to ask you to answer to your names," he said. "I want to get
a good look at you fellows."
Something in his voice told the boys that he was interested. Each one
asked himself if the interest related to him. The prospect of action
made them eagerly alert.
As the coach called them each by name the boys stepped forward,
answering the brisk, keen questions fired at them as clearly as they
could.
Bill Sherwood was called and stood modestly before the coach, face red,
as Mr. Garwin looked him over.
"You played center on the Hill Street team," remarked the coach,
referring to his list. "I attended a couple of those games and noted
your work, Sherwood. You certainly have the beef. All right. I've got
my eye on you."
Rooster was also given a word of commendation for his record on the
gridiron, and Nick and Ted were each commended for his work on the Hill
Street eleven.
Tom Allison and Pete Maddern were each given a word of approbation.
"It's part of my work to keep my eye on the up and coming grammar
school elevens," Al Garwin drawled; "especially those that are apt to
graduate their members into Lenox High. It isn't often," he added with
a smile, "that we enter three ex-captains of grammar school teams at
the same time."
By this remark Garry knew that his own name and record had not been
overlooked. This was made a certainty a moment later when the coach
called his name and looked him over with quizzically uplifted eyebrows.
"Rather a swift worker, aren't you, Grayson?" he asked. "Worked your
raw team up to winning pitch in a single season. Not such a bad record."
"We had mighty good material to work with," said Garry loyally. "And if
anybody deserves credit for the work of our team, it's Mr. Phillips,
our teacher in English. He coached us and taught us all we knew."
"Which seems to be considerable," soliloquized the coach, looking Garry
over with more minute attention. His glance wandered to Tom Allison and
Pete Maddern and then back again to Garry.
"You three boys good friends?" Garwin asked.
"I hope so!" Garry's reply was instant and hearty.
"Off the gridiron you can bet we are!" exclaimed Pete, and Tom Allison
added a hearty assent.
"That's lucky. Because you'll probably have some work to do together.
But this time you'll be fighting alongside and not against each other."
As the coach bent frowningly over his list the three ex-captains
exchanged elated glances.
"Looks like business," Garry telegraphed in dumb show, and the others
nodded.
Mr. Garwin made some hurried notations on his paper and then rose
purposefully from his seat, calling the boys around him.
"I've filled in the positions on the first and second teams," he
declared, waving the slip toward them. "Roughly, of course. You boys
have got to work your heads off to show me that you are capable of
filling the positions I have marked out for you and to keep them
once you've got them. My selection has been guided of course by the
records of you fellows. But those I don't name to-day need feel no
discouragement, because there's a chance for you all. As I said, this
list is tentative."
"Gee!" whispered Rooster, "I'm tingling all over."
Then utter silence fell on the gymnasium as Al Garwin spoke again.
"Of course our first team--that is, the vacancies on it--will all be
filled by our scrubs of last year," he began.
Garry, who had cherished a wild hope of getting a position on the
regulars--any position--felt his heart sink. A swift glance at his
friends told him that they were equally disappointed.
"As our quarterback and captain," the coach continued, "we shall still
have Ralph Wynn."
There was a spontaneous cheer from the boys, for besides being a
brilliant player on the gridiron Ralph was an all-round good fellow and
was firmly established in the esteem and affection of his schoolmates.
Coach Garwin held up his hand, and again silence descended upon the
boys before him.
"We lost two of our linemen by graduation," the coach went on, "Jim
Cooney and Tom Andrews, and we've never had a better guard or tackle on
the Lenox team."
There was a disconsolate murmur from those who had known the missing
players, and Nick Danter grinned at Garry.
"Sounds as if they'd died instead of just graduating," Nick remarked.
"Mournful enough," assented Garry, and again turned his attention to
the coach.
"We will fill these positions from last year's second team," Coach
Garwin continued. "McCarty, you will play right guard, and Payne, you
will take Andrews' position at left tackle. Those shoes will be hard
to fill and I don't want you to rattle around in them. See that you
justify my choice."
The two boys, grinning from ear to ear with glee, promised to do their
best.
"Lucky dogs!" muttered Ted. "But there doesn't seem to be much
nourishment for us in all this."
"I'm going to move Fred Walker up to center," stated Garwin. "Painter,
from the scrubs, will take his place. Now there remains just one
position to be filled, and since that's an important one I'm going to
lend it--not give it, get that?--to a player whose work on the scrubs
last year was worthy of the first string."
"Benny Knapp!" came from the old players in chorus.
"Come up, Benny, old boy, and stop your blushing," called a wag from
the throng.
Benny Knapp, a rangy, muscular lad with red hair and a great quantity
of freckles, looked hesitantly at Coach Garwin.
"You mean me, sir?" he queried.
"Sure, I mean you, Benny," replied the coach, his eyes twinkling. "Why
so modest all of a sudden? Think you can fill Freddie Greb's place?"
"Gee, nobody could!"
The compliment to Greb was so spontaneous and so honest that the boys
broke into fresh cheering, mingled with laughter.
"Well then," amended the coach, "will you try to fill Greb's place?"
"You bet your life, Mr. Garwin!" the boy replied enthusiastically. "I'm
only too glad to get the chance."
"All right, then. Benny Knapp at left half. Now we've got our first
team--that is, if they make good. Suppose you line up, boys, and let's
have a look at you."
The fortunate members on whom the choice had fallen lined up for
inspection.
"All right," pronounced the coach, turning from what appeared to be a
satisfactory inspection of his new team. "Now we can turn our attention
to the scrubs. And don't let any of us forget that the scrub of to-day
may be the regular of to-morrow."
Garry saw Rooster, Ted, Nick and Bill stiffen as the glance of the
coach swept over them. He had a sudden realization of what it would
mean should any of his friends fail to make the second team, now that
they had failed of the first.
"I'd about as soon be dropped myself as to have one of the gang left
out," he said to himself, and then listened with an almost painful
attention as the coach began to name the boys for the vacancies on the
scrubs.
Bill Sherwood was the first to be called.
"Our center graduated in June and I'm going to put you in that
position, Sherwood, because you're one of the biggest fellows that we
have left to choose from," said Garwin.
Bill's chest swelled visibly. Coach Garwin went on rapidly.
"We are minus ends, and I'm going to give those positions to two boys
who made a good record for themselves on the Hill Street team. Nick
Danter, you will take right end and you, Ted Dillingham, will go to
left."
Garry began to breathe more easily. Here were three of his chums
accounted for anyway. Of the five of them only Rooster and himself had
not been called.
And then a sudden thought came to him that threw him into a cold sweat.
Suppose of all his chums they should be the only ones not chosen!