Walking felt good to Ned that morning. The air, brisk in spite of the
sunshine and the day’s stillness, cleared his head of the queer
cloudiness that had been there since awakening, and, turning into the
country road that led eastward toward the higher hills, he strode along
briskly. He had, he reflected, played rather a low-down trick on Laurie;
but that could be explained later, and Laurie wouldn’t mind when he
understood. When he had gone the better part of a mile into the country,
and the road had begun to steepen perceptibly, the sound of a motor
behind warned him to one side. But, instead of passing in a cloud of
dust, the automobile slowed down as it reached the pedestrian, and the
driver, a genial-looking man of middle age, hailed.
“Going my way?” he asked. “Get in if you like.”
Ned hesitated, and then climbed in beside the solitary occupant of the
car. The prospect of speeding through the sunlit morning world appealed
to him, and he thanked the driver and snuggled into the other corner of
the front seat.
“That’s all right, my boy,” answered the man, genially. “Glad to have
company. How far are you going?”
“Just—just up the road a ways,” replied Ned, vaguely. “I was out for a
walk, only this seemed better.”
“Well, it’s quicker, though it doesn’t give you quite so much exercise,”
was the response. “You sing out when you’ve had enough. Maybe you can
get a lift going back, if you’re not in too much of a hurry. Still,
there isn’t much travel on this road. Most folks go around by Little
Windsor. It’s longer, but the road’s a sight better. I go this way
because I can do it quicker. There are some fierce bumps, though. Yell
if you drop out!”
The car was a heavy one with good springs, and as long as Ned remained
in it the bad bumps didn’t materialize. His companion evidently liked to
talk, and Ned learned a good deal about him and his business, without,
however, finding it very interesting. The man asked few questions, and
so Ned merely supplied the information that he was from Hillman’s School
and that he liked to walk and that he had all the morning to get back
in. The car kept up an even, effortless speed of twenty-seven or -eight
miles an hour, and it was finding himself booming up the straight grade
over Candle Mountain that brought Ned to a sudden realization that if he
meant to get back to school by twelve o’clock without undue effort he
had best part company with his chatty acquaintance. So, at the summit of
the hill, he said good-by, repeated his thanks, and got out.
“Guess you’re about six miles from Orstead,” said the man. “It won’t
take you long to get back there, though, if you find a lift. Don’t
hesitate to stop any one you see; they’ll be glad to take you in.
Good-by!”
The gray automobile went on and was speedily dropping from sight beyond
the nearly leafless forest. Ned watched it disappear, and then set his
face toward home. The ride had certainly done him good, he told himself.
The prospect of being called on to kick a dozen goals wouldn’t have
dismayed him a mite at that moment. In fact, he suddenly realized that
he was going to be horribly disappointed if the chance to attempt at
least one goal from the field did not come to him, and he wondered why
he had felt so craven last night.
After a mile or so a small, dust-covered car overhauled him and went by
without a challenge from him. It was still only ten o’clock, and he had
two hours yet, and he had no intention of begging a ride. Taken
leisurely, the remaining miles would be covered without weariness and in
plenty of time. When he had accomplished, as he reckoned, about half the
distance to Orstead, his watch said seventeen minutes to eleven. The
forenoon had grown appreciably warmer, and so had Ned. Beside the road
was a little knoll carpeted with ashy-brown beech-leaves. Only a stone
wall, bordered with blackberry briars, intervened.
Ned climbed across the wall and seated himself on the slope of the
knoll. The land descended gently before him toward the river and the
town, but neither was in sight. Presently, removing his cap, he
stretched himself on his back and linked his fingers under his head. And
presently, because the blue, sunlit, almost cloudless sky was too
dazzling to gaze at long, he closed his eyes. And as he did so a
strange, delicious languor descended upon him. He sighed luxuriously and
stretched his legs into a more comfortable position. It was odd that he
should feel sleepy at this time of day, he thought, and it wouldn’t do
to stay here too long. He wished, though, that he didn’t have to get
anywhere at any especial time. It would be great to just lie here like
this and feel the sun on his face and—
At about that moment he stopped thinking at all and went sound asleep.
When he awoke he was in shadow, for the sun had traveled around and past
the elbow of a near-by old and knotted oak whose brown-pink leaves still
clung to the twisted branches. Ned looked around him in puzzlement, and
it was a long moment before he could account for his surroundings. When
he had, he sat up very quickly and gave a startled look at his watch.
The thing was crazy! It said twenty-one minutes past two! Of course it
couldn’t be that late, he told himself indignantly. But even as he said
it he was oppressed by a conviction that it was. And a look at the sun
removed any lingering doubt!
He sprang to his feet, seized his cap, and stumbled across the wall,
and, again on the road, set out at a run toward home. But after a moment
he slowed up. “Was there any use in hurrying now? The game was already
in progress—had been going on for twenty minutes. The first quarter was
probably nearly over. What would they say to him, the fellows and Coach
Mulford and—Laurie? Somehow, what Laurie would think appeared far more
important than what any of the others might. He would have such a poor
excuse, he reflected ruefully! Went for a walk, and fell asleep by the
road! Gee, he couldn’t tell them that! He might tell Laurie; but the
others—”
He was jogging on as he thought things over. Even if he ran all the way,
and he couldn’t do that, of course, he wouldn’t get to school before
three. And then he would have to change into his togs and reach the
field. And by that time the second half would have started. Wouldn’t it
be far better to remain away altogether? He might easily reach his room
unseen, and then, when Laurie returned, he could pretend illness. He
might not fool Laurie; but the others, Coach Mulford and Dave Murray and
the fellows, would have to believe him.
If a fellow was ill, he couldn’t be expected to play football. He even
got as far as wondering what particular and peculiar malady he could
assume, when he put the idea aside.
“No use lying about it,” he muttered. “Got to face the music, Ned! It
was your own fault. Maybe Mulford will let me down easy. I wouldn’t like
to queer myself for next year. Gee, though, what’ll the school think?”
And Ned groaned aloud.
While he had slept, five vehicles had passed him, and as many persons
had seen him lying there asleep in the sun and idly conjectured about
him. But now, when he needed help to conquer the interminable three
miles that stretched between him and the town, and although he
constantly turned his head to gaze hopefully back along the dusty road,
not a conveyance appeared. Before long, since he had unwisely started at
too great a speed, he was forced to sit down on a rock and rest. He was
very nearly out of breath and the perspiration was trickling down
beneath his cloth cap. A light breeze had sprung up since he had dropped
asleep, and it felt very grateful as it caressed his damp hair and
flushed face.
Perhaps those three miles were nearer four, because when, tired, dusty,
and heart-sick, he descried the tower of the Congregational church above
the leafless elms and maples of the village, the gilded hands pointed to
twelve minutes past three. Even had he arrived in time, he reflected
miserably, he would never have been able to serve his team-mates and his
school, for he was scarcely able to drag one foot behind the other as he
finally turned into the yard.
The place appeared deserted, grounds and buildings alike, as Ned
unhesitatingly made his way across to the gymnasium. He had long since
decided on his course of action. No matter whether he had failed his
coach and his schoolmates, his duty was still plain. As late as it was,
he would get into his togs and report at the field. But when, in the
empty locker-room, he paused before where his football togs should have
been, he found only empty hooks. The locker, save for towels, was empty!
At first he accepted the fact as conclusive evidence of his
disgrace—thought that coach or manager or an infuriated student body
had removed his clothes as a signal of degradation! Then the
unlikelihood of the conclusion came, and he wondered whether they had
really been there. But of course they had! He remembered perfectly
hanging them up, as usual, yesterday afternoon. Perhaps some one had
borrowed them, then. The locker had been unfastened, probably, for half
the time he forgot to turn the key in it. Wondering, he made his way out
of the building, undecided now what to do. But as he reached the corner
a burst of cheers floated to him from the play-field. His head came up.
It was still his duty to report, togs or no togs! Resolutely he set out
on Summit Street, the sounds of battle momentarily growing nearer as he
limped along.
By the entrances many automobiles and some carriages lined the road.
Above the stand the backs of the spectators in the top row of seats
looked strangely agitated, and blue flags waved and snapped. A fainter
cheer came to him, the slogan of Farview, from the farther side of the
field. He heard the piping of signals, and a dull thud of leather
against leather, then cries and a whistle shrilling; and then a great
and triumphant burst of cheering from the Blue side.
He hurried his steps, leaped the low fence beside the road, and came to
a group of spectators standing at the nearer end of the long, low grand
stand. He could see the gridiron now, and the battling teams in
mid-field. And the scoreboard at the farther end! And, seeing that, his
heart sank. “Hillman’s 7—Visitors 9” was the story! He tugged the
sleeve of a man beside him, a youngish man in a chauffeur’s livery.
“What period is it?” he asked.
“Fourth,” was the answer. The man turned a good-natured look on the
boy’s anxious face.
“Been going about four minutes. You just get here?”
Ned nodded. “How did they get their nine?” he asked.
“Farview? Worked a forward pass in the second quarter for about thirty
yards, and smashed over for a touch-down. They failed at goal, though.
That made ’em six, and they got three more in the last quarter.
Hillman’s fumbled about on their thirty, and that bandy-legged full-back
of Farview’s kicked a corking goal from field. Gee—say, it was some
kick!”
“Placement or drop?”
“Drop. Almost forty yards, I guess. There they go again!” The chauffeur
tiptoed to see over a neighbor’s head. Ned, past his shoulder, had an
uncertain glimpse of the Maroon and White breaking through the Blue’s
left side. When the down was signaled, he spoke again.
“How did Hillman’s score?” he asked.
“Huh? Oh, she got started right off at the beginning of the game and
just ate those red-legs up. Rushed the ball from the middle of the
field, five and six yards at a whack, and landed it on the other
fellow’s door-sill. Farview sort of pulled together then and made a
fight; but that big chap, Pope, the full-back, smashed through finally,
right square between the posts. After that he kicked the goal. Guess the
red-legs had stage-fright then, but they got over it, and our fellows
haven’t had a chance to score since. Pope had to lay off last quarter.
They played him to a standstill. Mason’s mighty good, but he can’t make
the gains Pope did. First down again! Say, they aren’t doing a thing but
eating us up!”
Ned wormed himself to the front of the group, and came to anchor at the
side of a tall policeman, close to the rope that stretched from the end
of the stand well past the zone line. By craning his neck he could look
down the length of the field. White-sweatered, armed with big blue
megaphones, Brewster and Whipple and two others, cheer leaders, were
working mightily, although the resulting cheers sounded weak where Ned
stood. The teams were coming down the field slowly but surely, the Blue
contesting every yard, but yielding after every play. The lines faced
each other close to the thirty now. Across the gridiron, Farview’s pæans
were joyful and confident, and the maroon-and-white flags gyrated in
air. Well back toward his threatened goal, Hop Kendrick, white-faced and
anxious, called hoarse encouragement. Ned clenched his hands and hoped
and feared.
A line attack turned into an unexpected forward pass, and a tall Farview
end came streaking down just inside the boundary. Hop was after him like
a shot; but Deering, who had taken Pope’s place, ran him out at the
fifteen-yard line. The Maroon and White went wild with joy. The teams
trooped in on the heels of the diminutive referee, and the ball was down
just inside Hillman’s fifteen. Ned looked the Blue team over. Save for
Corson and White, the line was made up of first-string men, but the back
field was, with the single exception of Mason, all substitutes:
Kendrick, Boessel, and Deering.
A plunge straight at the center gave Farview two more precious yards,
Kewpie, apparently pretty well played out, yielding before the desperate
attack. Three more yards were gained between Emerson and Stevenson on
the left. Third down now, and five to go! Evidently Farview was
determined on a touch-down, for on the nine yards, with an excellent
chance for a field goal, she elected to rush again. But this time the
Blue’s center held, and the Farview left half, when friend and foe was
pulled from above him, held the pigskin scarcely a foot in advance of
its former position. It was Hillman’s turn to cheer, and cheer she did.
Ned added a wild shout of triumph to the din about him.
Fourth down, and still five yards to gain! Now Farview must either kick
or try a forward, and realizing this the Blue’s secondary defense
dropped back and out. A Farview substitute came speeding on, a new left
tackle. Then, amid a sudden hush, the quarter sang his signals: “Kick
formation! 73—61—29—” The big full-back stretched his arms out.
“12—17—9!” Back sped the ball, straight and breast-high. The Blue line
plunged gallantly. The stand became a pandemonium. The full-back swung a
long right leg, but the ball didn’t drop from his hands. Two steps to
the left, and he was poising it for a forward pass! Then he threw, well
over the up-stretched hands of a Hillman’s player who had broken
through, and to the left. A Maroon and White end awaited the ball, for
the instant all alone on the Blue’s goal-line. Ned, seeing, groaned
dismally. Then from somewhere a pair of blue-clad arms flashed into
sight, a slim body leaped high, and from the Hillman’s side of the field
came a veritable thunder of relief and exultation. For the blue arms had
the ball, and the blue player was dodging and worming toward the farther
side-line! Captain Stevenson it was who cleared the path for him at the
last moment, bowling over a Farview player whose arms were already
stretched to grapple, and, in a shorter time than the telling takes, Hop
Kendrick was racing toward the distant goal!
Afterward Ned realized that during the ensuing ten or twelve seconds he
had tried desperately to shin up the tall policeman; but at the time he
had not known it, nor, or so it appeared, had the policeman, for the
latter was shouting his lungs out! Past the middle of the field sped
Hop, running as fleetly as a hare, and behind him pounded a solitary
Farview end. These two left the rest of the field farther and farther
back at every stride. For a moment it seemed that Hop would win that
desperate race; but at last, near the thirty-five yards, he faltered,
and the gap between him and his pursuer closed to a matter of three or
four strides, and after that it was only a question of how close to the
goal the Blue runner would get before he was overtaken and dragged down.
The end came between the fifteen- and twenty-yard streaks. Then, no more
than a stride behind, the Farview player sprang. His arms wrapped
themselves around Hop’s knees, and the runner crashed to earth.
For a long minute the babel of shouting continued, for that eighty-yard
sprint had changed the complexion of the game in a handful of seconds.
Hillman’s was no longer the besieged, fighting in her last trench to
stave off defeat, but stood now on the threshold of victory, herself the
besieger!
Farview called for time. Two substitutes came in to strengthen her line.
Hop, evidently no worse for his effort, was on his feet again, thumping
his players on the backs, imploring, entreating, and confident. On the
seventeen yards lay the brown oval, almost in front of the right-hand
goal-post. A field goal would put the home team one point to the good,
and, with only a few minutes left to play, win the game almost beyond a
doubt, and none on the Blue’s side of the field doubted that a try at
goal would follow. Even when the first play came from ordinary formation
and Deering smashed into the left of Farview’s line for a scant yard,
the audience was not fooled. Of course, it was wise to gain what ground
they might with three downs to waste, for there was always the chance
that a runner might get free and that luck would bring a touch-down
instead.
Yet again Hop signaled a line attack. This time it was Mason who carried
the ball, and he squirmed through for two yards outside left tackle,
edging the pigskin nearer the center of the goal. Then came a shout that
started near the Blue team’s bench and traveled right along the stand. A
slight youngster was pulling off his sweater in front of the bench, a
boy with red-brown hair and a pale, set face. Then he had covered the
red-brown hair with a leather helmet and was trotting into the field
with upraised hand.
Ned stared and stared. Then he closed his eyes for an instant, opened
them, and stared again. After that he pinched himself hard to make
certain that he was awake and not still dreaming on the knoll beside the
road. The substitute was speaking to the referee now, and Deering was
walking away from the group in the direction of the bench. The cheering
began, the leaders waving their arms in unison along the length of the
Hillman’s stand:
“’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! Deering!”
And then again, a second later: “’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! ’Rah, ’rah, ’rah!
’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! Turner!”
Ned turned imploringly to the tall policeman. “What—who was that last
fellow they cheered?” he faltered.
The policeman looked down impatiently.
“Turner. Guess he’s going to kick a goal for ’em.”