The football team continued to add victories, and as the fateful 20th of
November approached enthusiasm grew until, after the Whittier game,
which Hillman’s won by a field goal in the final hectic two minutes, it
became more a furore than enthusiasm. Ned, by that time, had settled
down to a realization that, no matter what progress he made this fall,
no matter how adept he became at kicking a football down the field or
over the cross-bar, he would not make the first team; that, in short, he
was being educated as next year material. There was no injustice in
this, and he realized it; for, aside from his proficiency as a kicker,
he was not in the class with the school team backs. He couldn’t worm his
way through a hole in the opposing line the way Slavin could, nor smash
through the defense the way Mason did, nor dodge and side-step in a
broken field like Pope. Once going, Ned was rather hard to stop, for he
displayed some of the slippery qualities of an eel; but it took him ten
yards to get his speed up, and the opponents had a discouraging way of
getting through and flooring him before the tenth yard was won! But he
had grown to love the game, and no one toiled more conscientiously.
There were times when Laurie devoutly wished that Ned hadn’t taken up
the game, for after a half-hour of Ned’s chatter Laurie found the
subject of football a trifle dull.
On the Wednesday before the Farview contest the Orstead High School team
came over for a practice game. At least, Hillman’s called it a practice
game and considered it such; but High School had blood in her eye and
was secretly determined to wreak all the vengeance possible. Once a
year, for the space of some three hours, Orstead High School swore
allegiance to Hillman’s and turned out at the field and rooted valiantly
for the Blue while she battled with Farview. But all the rest of the
time she was frankly hostile and derisive. This Wednesday afternoon the
hostility was apparent from the first. More than a hundred boys and a
scattering of girls followed their team to the Hillman’s field and
demanded revenge for the early-season defeat, while the High School
team, which had passed through a rather successful season and was not at
all the aggregation that the Blue had beaten 10 to 7, started right out
after it.
Coach Mulford began with his first-string players, and against them High
School was not dangerous, although there were anxious moments. The
second period ended with the score 7—0 in Hillman’s favor, only a
fumble by Slavin on High School’s eight yards saving the visitor from a
second touch-down. When the third quarter began, Coach Mulford put in
nearly a new eleven, only Kewpie Proudtree, Farley, Mason, and Pope
remaining over. Perhaps the High School coach had talked new strength
and determination into his charges during the intermission, for the
visitors started in on the second half in whirlwind fashion. The Blue
kicked off, and High School’s quarter got the ball on his
twenty-five-yard line and scampered back to the thirty-five before he
was laid low by Farley, the Blue’s left end. From there, with fierce
slams at Hillman’s right and two short forward passes over the center of
the line, High School reached the opponent’s thirty-two. There an
off-side penalty set her back, and, after two attempts at rushing that
produced but three yards, she kicked to the five-yard line. Kendrick
fumbled the catch, but recovered and was downed on his ten. Pope punted
on second down to mid-field, and from there High School started another
slashing advance that took her to the thirty-four yards before she was
halted.
On the side-lines, the High School supporters were shouting and
beseeching and banners were waving deliriously. A tow-haired full-back,
who had all along proved the visitor’s best ground-gainer, smashed
through the Hillman’s left for two yards; and then, on fourth down,
faking a kick, he set off on a romp around the adversary’s right.
Lightner, the second-string end, was effectually boxed, and the runner,
turning wide, was off down the field at top speed. Only Hop Kendrick
stood between him and the goal-line, and Hop waited on the fifteen
yards, wary and alert. The tow-haired boy’s feint to the right didn’t
fool him, and when the side-stepping to the left began, Hop was on him
with a clean dive and a hard tackle, and the two rolled to earth
together. But the ball was on the thirteen yards now, and it was first
down for High School, and the latter was not to be denied. A plunge off
tackle took the pigskin in front of the goal, though there was no gain.
Hillman’s piled up an attack at right guard. On third down, High School
called for kick formation, and the tow-haired terror dropped back.
From the side of the gridiron, Hillman’s rooters chanted: “Block that
kick! Block that kick!” But there was no kick to block, for the
full-back only backed away a pace or two when the pigskin reached him,
and then tossed to the corner of the field and to the eager hands of an
uncovered right end who had but to make three strides before he was over
the line. Hop got him then; but the damage was done, and the visitors
lining the gridiron were cheering and cavorting wildly. The kick was
from a difficult angle, but the tow-haired player made it, and the score
was tied.
The teams changed fields a minute later. Undismayed, Coach Mulford sent
in three new substitutes, one of them in place of Pope. Hillman’s got
the ball in mid-field on a fumble, and set off for the adversary’s goal;
but the new players were not able to make much headway, and Deering, who
had taken Pope’s place, punted. The effort landed the ball on High
School’s thirty-seven, and her quarter ran it back eight more before he
was stopped. Three tries at the line netted seven yards, and the visitor
punted to Hop Kendrick on his eighteen. This time Hop hugged the ball
hard and set off along the far side of the gridiron at a smart pace.
Fortunately for him, one High School end overran. The other challenged,
but missed his tackle. By that time a hasty interference had formed,
and, guarded by Mason and Lightner, Hop reached his forty before
misfortune overtook him. There a High School tackle crashed through the
interference and nailed him hard.
But that twenty-yard sprint had brought new vim to the Blue’s novices,
and new confidence, and from their forty yards they began a fast, hard
attack that placed High School with her back to the wall almost before
she realized it. If the substitutes lacked the experience and brawn of
the first-choice players, they at least had sand and speed. And they had
a quarter-back who was earnest and grim and determined, and who, sensing
that the opponent was weary, realized that speed, and a lot of it, was
the one thing that could save the day. And so Hop proved his right to
his nickname that afternoon. Hop he did, and so did his team. Signals
were fairly shot into the air, and there was no longer any time between
plays for High School to recover her breath. Twice, with plunges at the
right of the visitor’s line and runs outside her tackles, Hillman’s made
her distance and the pigskin rested on the thirty-six yards.
So far the Blue had attempted but three forward passes, of which only
one had succeeded. Now, from position, Hop threw straight over the
center, and somehow Lightner was there and pulled it down, although the
enemy was clustered around him thick. That seven-yard gain was made ten
when Deering was poked through the center, ten a little more, for the
ball was down on High School’s twenty-four-yard line. The game that had
been proclaimed a practice event for the purpose of seasoning the
substitutes against Saturday’s contest had developed within the last
half-hour into a battle to the death. Outside the gridiron the opposing
factions hurled defiant cheers at each other and rooted as they had not
rooted all the season. On the field the rivalry was even more intense,
and black looks and hard knocks were the order.
High School, sparring for time, administered to a breathless right
guard, and then drew into a bunch for a whispered conference, while
Hillman’s supporters hooted derisively. Deering gained three and Boessel
two more. High School ran two substitutes on, and, after the next play,
two more. An old-fashioned criss-cross sent Mason around his own right
end for eight yards and planted the ball just short of the ten-yard
line. Mason gave place to Beedle. A slide off tackle centered the
pigskin and gained a scant yard. Deering struck center for a yard loss,
and Lightner was caught off-side. The ball went back to the seventeen
yards.
High School was playing desperately and her line had stiffened. Beedle
gave way to Ned after that second down, and Ned had his instructions.
The ball was in front of High School’s goal, and from the seventeen
yards a field goal was an easy proposition if the opponents could be
held away from the kicker. Perhaps Hop Kendrick didn’t realize why Ned
had been sent in, or perhaps he thought better of his own judgment.
Since by the rules Ned could not communicate the instructions from the
coach until after the following play, he could only look his surprise
when Hop failed to call him back to kicking position. Farley, captain in
Stevenson’s absence, seemed to be on the point of protesting, and even
took a step toward the quarter-back; but he evidently reconsidered, for
he returned to his position at the end of the line, and the starting
signal followed.
The play was a fake attack on the right, with Boessel carrying the ball
to the left inside of tackle, and it worked to perfection. High School,
over-anxious, stormed to the defense of her threatened right side, and
Boessel, with Ned hanging at his flank as far as the five-yard line,
where the earth suddenly rose up and smote him, romped over the line for
the last and deciding touch-down, while the Blue cohorts went fairly
wild with delight.
On the side-line, Coach Mulford turned to Joe Stevenson. “What do you
think of Kendrick?” he asked, smiling.
“I’d kiss him if I had him here,” answered Joe, grinning joyously. “I
call him one sweet little quarter, Coach!”
“Well, this was his day, all right,” mused the other; “I hope he will
show up as well Saturday. Now we’ll see whether Turner can kick a goal.
He’s been doing some good work in practice, but he looks scared to death
and will probably miss it by a mile.”
And Ned _was_ scared, too. He tried to steady his nerves by assuring
himself that, whether he made it or missed it, the Blue had won the
game, and that consequently a failure made little difference. But the
silence of his schoolmates and the “booing” of the visiting rooters
affected him badly. To Hop, holding the ball from the turf, it seemed
that Ned would never have done pointing it. And so it seemed to the
onlookers. Never was a kicker more deliberate. But at last Hop heard a
faint “Down!” and drew his fingers from beneath the oval and waited an
anxious moment. Then there was a clean, hard _thud_, and the
quarter-back, watching its flight, saw the pigskin rise lazily, end over
end, and go straight and high over the bar.
And he might have heard Ned’s loud sigh of relief, had not the pounding
of the charging enemy and the cries of the Hillman’s horde drowned it.
Another kick-off and four plays ended the contest, and High School,
after cheering half-heartedly, went off disgruntled and silent.
On his way to the field-house, Ned, trotting along with Hop, encountered
Polly and Mae in the throng, and paused to speak. “Bully game, wasn’t
it?” he said. Then, seeing Mae’s High School banner, he added: “High
School put up a dandy fight, Mae.”
“Indeed she did,” agreed Mae. “I thought once she was going to win,
too.”
Polly was laughing. “Poor Mae didn’t know which team she wanted to win,”
she explained. “When High School gained she waved her flag, and when
Hillman’s gained she waved it just the same. She was waving it all the
time! That was a lovely goal you made, Nid.”
“Thanks. I—well, I was so scared I didn’t know whether to kick the ball
or bite it! I’m mighty glad it went over, though.” He nodded and hurried
on in the wake of Hop, who, being a very earnest young gentleman and
completely absorbed in the business of football, considered girls far
outside his scheme of things.
Three quarters of an hour later, Laurie arose from his recumbent
position on the window-seat of Number 16 East Hall, and delivered an
ultimatum in quiet but forceful tones. “Ned,” he said, “I saw that game
from about the middle of the first quarter to the bitter end. Nothing
escaped my eagle gaze. I can even tell you exactly how many times that
High School umpire consulted his rules book when he thought no one was
looking. I know how much dirt there was in Frank Brattle’s left ear when
they dragged him out. I know—”
“Well, what of it? What’s your chief trouble?” growled Ned.
“Knowing all this and more, much more, Neddie, I refuse to listen any
longer to your reminiscences. You’ve been through the game three times
since you landed up here, and there’s a limit to my endurance. And
you’ve reached that limit, Neddie—you really have. I’m going down to
George’s, where I may hear something besides touch-downs and passes and
goals. When you recover, Neddie, come on down.”
“Oh, go to the dickens!” muttered Ned, as the door closed softly.