“_Block that kick! Block that kick! Block that kick!_” chanted Farview
imploringly, from across the trampled field.
Yet above the hoarse entreaty came Hop Kendrick’s confident voice: “All
right, Hillman’s! Make it go! Here’s where we win it! Kick formation!
Turner back!” And then: “25—78—26—194! 12—31—9—”
But it was Hop himself who dashed straight forward and squirmed ahead
over one white line before the whistle blew.
“Fourth down!” called the referee. “About four and a half!”
“Come on!” cried Hop. “Make it go this time! Hard, fellows, hard! We’ve
got ’em going!” He threw an arm over the shoulder of the new substitute.
Those near by saw the latter shake his head, saw Hop draw back and stare
as if aghast at the insubordination. Farview protested to the referee
against the delay, and the latter called warningly. Hop nodded, and
raised his voice again:
“Kick formation! Turner back!”
Then he walked back to where the substitute stood and dropped to his
knees.
“Place-kick!” grunted a man at Ned’s elbow. “Can’t miss it from there if
the line holds!”
Ned, in a perfect agony of suspense, waited. Hop was calling his
signals. There was a pause. Then: “16—32—7—”
Back came the ball on a long pass from Kewpie. It was high, but Hop got
it, pulled it down, and pointed it. Ned saw the kicker step forward.
Then he closed his eyes.
There was a wild outburst from all around him, and he opened them again.
The ball was not in sight, but a frantic little man in a gray sweater
was waving his arms like a semaphore behind the farther goal. Along the
space between stand and side-line a quartette of youths leaped crazily,
flourishing great blue megaphones or throwing them in air. Above the
stand blue banners waved and caps tossed about. On the scoreboard at the
far end of the field the legend read: “Hillman’s 10—Visitors 9.”
A moment later, a boy with a wide grin on his tired face and nerves that
were still jangling made his way along Summit Street in the direction of
school. Behind him the cheers and shouts still broke forth at intervals,
for there yet remained some three minutes of playing time. Once, in the
sudden stillness between cheers, he heard plainly the hollow thump of a
punted ball. More shouts then, indeterminate, dying away suddenly. The
boy walked quickly, for he had a reason for wanting to gain the security
of his room before the crowd flowed back from the field. At last, at the
school gate, he paused and looked back and listened. From the distant
scene of battle came a faint surge of sound that rose and fell and rose
again and went on unceasingly as long as he could hear.
Back in Number 16, Ned threw his cap aside and dropped into the nearest
chair. There was much that he understood, yet much more that was still a
mystery to him. One thing, however, he dared hope, and that was that the
disgrace of having failed his fellows had passed him miraculously by! As
to the rest, he pondered and speculated vainly. He felt horribly limp
and weary while he waited for Laurie to come. And after a while he heard
cheering, and arose and went to a window. There could no longer be any
doubt as to the final outcome of the game. Between the sidewalk throngs,
dancing from side to side of the street with linked arms, came
Hillman’s, triumphant!
[Illustration: “Turner. Guess he’s going to kick a goal for ’em.”]
And here and there, borne on the shoulders of joyous comrades, bobbed a
captured player. There were more than a dozen of them, some taking the
proceeding philosophically, others squirming and fighting for freedom.
Now and then one succeeded in getting free, but recapture was invariably
his fate. At least, this was true with a single exception while Ned
watched. The exception was a boy with red-brown hair, who, having
managed to slip from his enthusiastic friends, dashed through the throng
on the sidewalk, leaped a fence, cut across a corner, and presently sped
through the gate on Washington Street, pursuit defeated. A minute later,
flushed and breathless, he flung open the door of Number 16.
At sight of Ned, Laurie’s expression of joyous satisfaction faded. He
halted inside the door and closed it slowly behind him. At last,
“Hello,” he said, listlessly.
“Hello,” answered Ned. Then there was a long silence. Outside, in front
of the gymnasium, they were cheering the victorious team, player by
player. At last, “We won, didn’t we?” asked Ned.
Laurie nodded as if the thing were a matter of total indifference. He
still wore football togs, and he frowningly viewed a great hole in one
blue stocking as he seated himself on his bed.
“Well,” he said, finally, “what happened to you?”
Ned told him, at first haltingly, and then with more assurance as he saw
the look of relief creep into Laurie’s face. As he ended his story,
Laurie’s countenance expressed only a great and joyous amusement.
“Neddie,” he chuckled, “you’ll be the death of me yet! You came pretty
near to it to-day, too, partner!” He sobered as his thoughts went back
to a moment some fifteen minutes before, and he shook his head.
“Partner, this thing of understudying a football hero is mighty wearing.
I’m through for all time. After this, Ned, you’ll have to provide your
own substitute! I’m done!”
“How—why—how did you happen to think of it?” asked Ned, rather humbly.
“Weren’t you—scared?”
“Scared? Have a heart! I was frightened to death every minute I sat on
the bench. And then, when Mulford yelped at me, I—well, I simply passed
away altogether! I’m at least ten years older than I was this morning,
Neddie, and I’ll bet I’ve got gray hairs all over my poor old head. You
see, Murray as much as said that it was all day with you if you didn’t
show up. Kewpie was a bit down-hearted about it, too. I waited around
until half-past one or after, thinking every moment that you’d turn
up—hoping you would, anyhow; although, to be right honest, Neddie, I
had a sort of hunch, after the way you acted and talked, that maybe
you’d gone off on purpose. Anyhow, about one o’clock I got to thinking,
and the more I thought the more I got into the notion that something had
to be done if the honor of the Turners was to be—be upheld. And the
only thing I could think of was putting on your togs and bluffing it
through. Kewpie owned up that he’d been talking rot last night—that he
didn’t really think you’d be called on to-day. And I decided to take a
chance. Of course, if I’d known what was going to happen I guess I
wouldn’t have had the courage; but I didn’t know. I thought all I’d have
to do was sit on the bench and watch.
“So I went over to the gym and got your togs on, and streaked out to the
field, I guess I looked as much like you as you do, for none of the
fellows knew that I wasn’t you. I was careful not to talk much. Mr.
Mulford gave me thunder, and so did Murray, and Joe Stevenson looked
pretty black. I just said I was sorry, and there wasn’t much time to
explain, anyway, because the game was starting about the time I got
there. Once, in the third period, when Slavin was hurt, Mulford looked
along the bench and stopped when he got to me, and I thought my time had
come. But I guess he wanted to punish me for being late. Anyway, Boessel
got the job. When the blow did fall, Neddie, I was sick clean through.
My tummy sort of folded up and my spine was about as stiff as—as a
drink of water! I wanted to run, or crawl under the bench or something.
‘You’ve pleased yourself so far to-day, Turner,’ said Mulford. ‘Now
suppose you do something for the school. Kendrick will call for a kick.
You see that it gets over, or I’ll have something to say to you later.
Remember this, though: not a word to any one but the referee until after
the next play. Now get out there and _win this game!_’
“Nice thing to say to a chap who’d never kicked a football in his life
except around the street! But, gee, Neddie, what could I do? I’d started
the thing, and I had to see it through. Of course I thought that maybe
I’d ought to fess up that I wasn’t me—or, rather, you—and let some one
else kick. But I knew there wasn’t any one else they could depend on,
and I decided that if some one had to miss the goal, it might as well be
me—or you. Besides, there was the honor of the Turners! So I sneaked
out, with my heart in my boots,—your boots, I mean,—and Hop called for
a line play, and then another one, and I thought maybe I was going to
get off without making a fool of myself. But no such luck. ‘Take all the
time you want, Nid,’ said Hop. ‘We’ll hold ’em for you. Drop it over,
for the love of mud! We’ve got to have this game!’ ‘Drop it?’ said I.
‘Not on your life, Hop! Make it a place-kick or I’ll never have a
chance!’ ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘I mean I can’t drop-kick
to-day.’ I guess something in my voice or the way I said it put him on,
for he looked at me pretty sharp. Still, maybe he didn’t guess the
truth, either, for he let me have my way and let me kick.
“After that”—Laurie half closed his eyes and shook his head
slowly—“after that I don’t really know what did happen. I have a sort
of a hazy recollection of Hop shouting some signals that didn’t mean a
thing in my young life, and kneeling on the ground a couple of yards
ahead of me. I didn’t dare look at the goal, though I knew it was ahead
of me and about twenty yards away. Then there was a brown streak, and
things began to move, and I moved with them. I suppose I swung my
foot,-probably my right one, though it may have been my left,—and then
I closed my eyes tight and waited for some one to kill me. Next thing I
knew, I was being killed—or I thought I thought I was, for a second. It
turned out, though, that the fellows weren’t really killing me; they
were just beating me black and blue to show they were pleased.
“Of course, it was all the biggest piece of luck that ever happened,
Ned. Hop aimed the ball just right, and somehow or other I managed to
kick it. Maybe any one would have done just as well, because I guess it
was an easy goal. Anyway, the honor of the Turners was safe!”
“You’re a regular brick,” said Ned, a bit huskily. “What—what happened
afterward? I didn’t stay.”
“Afterward Hop looked at me kind of queer and said, ‘I guess that’ll do
for you, Turner,’ and I beat it away from there as fast as I knew how,
and Mulford sent in some other poor unfortunate. There were only half a
dozen plays after that, and we kicked whenever we got the ball.”
“Do you think any one but Hop found out?” asked Ned, anxiously.
“Not a one. And I’m not sure, mind you, that Hop did. You see, he didn’t
_say_ anything. Only, he did call me ‘Nid’ at first, and then ‘Turner’
the next time. I haven’t seen him since. I guess I never will know,
unless I ask him. One thing’s sure, though, Ned, and that is that Hop
won’t talk.”
“You don’t think I’d ought to fess up?” asked Ned.
“I do not,” replied Laurie stoutly. “What’s the good? It wasn’t your
fault if you went to sleep out in the country. If any one’s to blame,
it’s me. I oughtn’t to have hoaxed them. No, sir; if Mulford or any one
says anything, just you tell them you fell asleep and couldn’t help
getting there late. But I don’t believe any one will ask questions now.
They’re all too pleased and excited. But, gee, Neddie! I certainly am
glad I made that goal instead of missing it. I’d be a pretty mean
feeling pup to-night if I hadn’t!”
“It was wonderful,” mused Ned. “You putting it over, I mean. With all
that crowd looking on, and Farview shouting—”
“Shouting? I didn’t hear them. I didn’t know whether there was any one
around just then! I had troubles of my own, partner! Know something?
Well, I think there’s the chap who kicked that goal.” Laurie raised his
right foot and displayed one of Ned’s scuffed football shoes. “I guess I
just sort of left things to him and he did the business. Good old Mister
Shoe!”
Ned jumped to his feet and pulled Laurie from the bed. “For the love of
lemons,” he cried, “get those togs off before any one comes in!”
“Gee, that’s so!” Laurie worked feverishly, while Ned stumbled over a
chair and turned the key in the lock.
“A fine pair of idiots we are!” exclaimed Ned, as he ripped Laurie’s
shirt off for him. “Suppose Hop or Kewpie had come in while we were
sitting here!”
Hillman’s spent the rest of the evening in celebration. In the
dining-hall the appearance of any member of the squad was the signal for
hand-clapping and cheers, and when Ned entered, followed by Laurie, the
applause was deafening. Ned showed himself to be a very modest and
retiring hero, for he fairly scuttled to his seat, and kept his head
bent over his plate long after the applause had died away. Then,
stealing an unhappy glance at Laurie, he found that youth grinning
broadly, and was the recipient of a most meaningful wink. After supper,
in the corridor, the twins ran squarely into Hop Kendrick. Ned tried to
pull aside, but Laurie stood his ground. Hop was plainly a very happy
youth to-night, although even when happiest he never entirely lost his
look of earnest gravity.
“Well, we did it, Nid!” he said joyfully, clapping that youth on the
shoulder. “That was a corking kick of yours, son!”
Ned stammered something utterly unintelligible, but Laurie came to the
rescue: “Ned says it was the way you pointed the ball that won that
goal, Hop,” he said casually. “He’s mighty modest about it.”
Hop shot a quick glance at the speaker, and Ned declared afterward that
there was a smile behind it. But all he said was: “Oh, well, pointing
isn’t everything, Nod. _Some one’s_ got to kick it!”
When he had gone on, Ned and Laurie viewed each other questioningly.
“Think he knows?” asked Ned. Laurie shook his head frowningly. “You’ve
got me, partner!” he answered.
And, because neither asked Hop Kendrick outright, neither ever did know!
There were songs and speeches and a general jollification after supper,
ending in a parade of cheering, singing youths who marched through the
town from end to end, and at last drew up outside Doctor Hillman’s porch
and shouted until that gentleman appeared and responded. The Doctor’s
words were few, but they hit the spot, and when there had been another
long cheer for him, and another long cheer for the team, and a final
mighty cheer for the school, the happy boys called it a day and sought
the dormitories.
Ned was just dropping off to sleep that night when Laurie’s voice
reached him through the darkness.
“Ned!” called Laurie.
“Huh?”
“Are you awake?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Listen. It’s a fortunate thing to be a twin.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then Ned’s voice came sleepily:
“’Cause if one twin can’t the other twin kin!”