THE DEFEATED ELEVEN.
Twelve boys of various ages and sizes, their faces expressing untold
disgust, sat around in the so-called “reading-room” of the Rockspur
Athletic Club. They were seated on the table, benches and chairs, and
a woe-be-gone, disheartened-appearing set of fellows they were. The
big Rochester kerosene lamp with a smoky chimney shed over them a
melancholy light that seemed quite befitting to their mood. Finally,
Sterndale looking around at his companions, and finding something
decidedly comical in their aspect, laughed aloud.
“Kill him!” cried Jotham Sprout.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” groaned Walter Mayfair.
“I’m too sus-sus-sore to laugh, anyway,” sighed Danny Chatterton.
“An’ Oi feel loike foightin’!” burst from Dennis Murphy.
“I’m so lame I can hardly draw my breath,” confessed Rob Linton. “I’m
lame from my head to my heels.”
“I have bruises and contusions and gashes all over me,” declared John
Smith.
“I raked my right arm from the wrist to the elbow when I made that
touchdown,” put in Leon Bentley, in a manner that called attention to
the accomplishment.
“That was the greatest fluke of the game,” said Sterndale. “It was a
streak of luck for the ball to roll right out of a scrimmage, in which
you were carefully taking no part, just so you could pick it up with a
clear field ahead of you and get over Highland’s line with it.”
“No fluke about it!” flared Leon. “No luck about it, either! I wasn’t
going into the thing pell-mell, like the rest of you fellows, and I had
my eyes open. That’s how it happened.”
“I noticed that you didn’t go into much of anything pell-mell,” yawned
Thad Boland, sleepily. “You kept out of danger.”
“Bah! What have you got to say about it? You wouldn’t know a good play
if you saw it, you big, lazy duffer!”
Thad pulled himself together somewhat and gave Leon a look.
“You better not get too gay with your mouth,” he drawled, “or I may
take a notion to shake you. It would be lots of trouble, but I can’t
swallow too much of your sass.”
Bentley did not care to arouse the lazy lad, for Boland had the
strength of a young giant, though it was on very rare occasions that he
saw fit to display it; so Leon lighted a fresh cigarette, contenting
himself by saying:
“You’re all jealous of me, but I don’t care.”
“Jealous of you!” came derisively from Rob Linton. “That would make a
cat laugh!”
“Well, what did you do in the game?” demanded Bent.
“Oh, I did something! Didn’t I tackle Dow and keep him from making a
touchdown?”
“But Hartford got one two minutes later.”
“The trouble with you, Bent,” said Rob, “is that you think you are the
only thing that ever happened.”
“The trouble with you,” retorted Leon, quickly, “is that you think you
are the whole menagerie.”
“Don’t sus-sus-see ha-how he can think so wh-when you’re round,”
chuckled Danny Chatterton. “He-he-his eyes must sus-sus-show him there
is another mum-mum-monkey in the show.”
Bentley did not relish the laughter that followed this, and he growled
and grumbled to himself, after which he smoked and sulked in silence.
“Ford hasn’t expressed his opinion of the game,” grinned Sprout, who
was chewing gum and eating peppermint candy at the same time, has fat
cheeks shaking as he wagged his jaws.
They looked at the mute, who seemed to understand on the instant what
had been said, and he made a gesture expressive of dejection and
disgust, slowly shaking his head.
“Misther Rinwood isn’t afther sayin’ a great dale,” observed Dennis
Murphy, a sly twinkle in his eyes.
Renwood was sitting astride a chair, his elbows on the back of it, his
chin resting on his hands. He grinned in a sickly manner, showing his
lips were battered and bruised, the under one being swelled till it
projected almost as far as his nose.
“My lips are too sore to make much talk,” he declared, rather thickly.
“And some of my teeth are so loose I’m afraid they’ll fall out when I
open my mouth.”
“Well, fellows,” said Sterndale, “we’re a sorry-looking crowd, but it’s
no use to mope over being defeated. That’s only one out of three with
Highland, and they took the first ball game last summer.”
“But they didn’t snow us under,” came quickly from Mayfair. “They
barely won by a fluke.”
“And I made the fluke,” acknowledged John Smith, smiling grimly at the
remembrance.
“But you saved us on the last game of the series by your great work in
the box,” Mayfair hastened to assert. “You made up for that first game,
old man.”
“And he did some splendid work in our game to-day,” said the captain of
the eleven. “If we’d all done as well as Smith, we might have won the
game.”
John flushed with pleasure, for such praise from Sterndale was most
agreeable. Leon Bentley looked through a cloud of blue smoke, his lips
curling scornfully, but he remained silent.
“That’s right, Sterndale,” agreed Dolph Renwood. “Smith was a perfect
whirlwind. Several times he did great work at interference, even
though he was playing back of the line. If he’d been in his old
position----”
Renwood stopped, and Harry Carter spoke up at once:
“I did the best I could, fellows. I know I made some bad blunders, but
I didn’t shirk, and----”
“You’re all right,” Dolph interrupted; “but you haven’t had the
practice, and you were given a hard position in the line. Now, if you
had been placed next to the end, with Smith on the end----”
“Are you digging at me?” asked Bentley, snappily. “I was playing next
to the end.”
“I am not digging at anybody,” calmly answered the quarter-back of the
team; “but I know we should have had Smith on that end.”
“There’s been too much shifting about,” said Leon. “You fellows took
in Boland and Carter, and then you tried Linton at right tackle till
you found Ford wouldn’t work beside Old Lightning. That made you shift
back, and finally you decided you couldn’t get along without me, after
all, which caused another change.”
“We’ve not had enough time for practice,” Sterndale asserted.
“You’ve had as much as Highland,” grinned Leon, lighting another
cigarette.
“No, not by a whole week.”
“That’s a lot!”
“It counts when all the practice a team gets is secured in two or
three weeks. College teams begin to practice months ahead.”
“And sometimes there are changes in the make-up of a college team one
day before a great game,” put in Renwood.
“I presume you know all about it,” purred Leon, with a sneer.
“Well, I know something about it. I’ve had a chance to see considerable
of Harvard’s training work, and some of the Harvard men are my friends.”
“For instance, Phil Winston, who is the Highland coach. I suppose he is
one of your friends.”
“I happen to know Winston,” confessed Dolph, “but that is all. We are
not friends.”
“Oh,” said Bentley, queerly, “I didn’t know but you were.” And the tone
and manner in which the words were spoken attracted attention.
Renwood gave Leon no further notice, but turned to the others, saying:
“I tell you what it is, fellows, we met with a big loss when Scott got
his back up and left the eleven. With that fellow in his old position
and Smith back on the end, I believe we might give Highland a hot game
a week from to-day.”
“It’s no use to talk about that,” said Sterndale, gloomily. “Scott
won’t come back.”
“That’s right,” nodded Leon. “I just saw him by accident a little
while ago, and he’s in high spirits because we got beaten. He says
he’ll never play again on any kind of a team with Renwood or Sterndale.”
“I’ve heard fuf-fellows make that kuk-kind of tut-talk before,” said
Chatterton, sprawling out on the top of the reading table.
“But he means it,” cried Bent. “When Scott gets his back up, he sticks
to a thing.”
“It’s too bad,” declared Renwood, tenderly touching his damaged lips.
“I don’t know of a man who can fill his place.”
“He’s changed his tune about Scott lately,” whispered Leon, giving
Jotham Sprout a nudge in the ribs with his elbow, upon which the fat
boy fell off the end of the bench and landed on the floor with a crash
that shook the building.
“Don’t you do that again!” gasped Bubble, sitting up and choking,
having swallowed his gum in the midst of the catastrophe. “I’d like to
know who you think you’re pushin’! I won’t set side of you no more!”
Then he proceeded to make himself comfortable on the floor.
“If you don’t want to ‘set’ beside me, you may ‘lay’ on the floor,”
grinned Bentley, looking around to see if anybody present took notice
of the pun.
“Egg-egg-eggs-actly,” cackled Chatterton. Then he quickly put up his
hands, crying: “Don’t sus-sus-shoot!”
“Somebody oughter hit you with a good, hard piece of iron,” slowly
declared Thad Boland. “You committed a crime.”
Sterndale stood up.
“We must do something, fellows,” he said. “There is no question about
that. Unless the team is strengthened greatly, Highland will have
another easy time when we meet them next Saturday. If they win that
game, it settles the series, and there’ll be no need to play the third
game.”
“If necessary,” said Redwood, “and if you fellows think it best, I’ll
go to Scott and see if I can’t get him to come back onto the team. I
should hate to do anything of the sort, but I’m willing to do ’most
anything that is honest so that we may win the next game.”
Leon Bentley groaned, softly and derisively.
“That sounds first rate,” he muttered, “but you can’t fool some people.”
The words were spoken loudly enough for some of the boys to understand
them, but Dolph, who was at the farther side of the room, did not catch
them distinctly.
“What’s that you say, Bentley?” he demanded, sharply.
“I say that sounds first rate, but you can’t get Scott if you go down
on your knees to him.”
“Perhaps that was what you said,” admitted Renwood; “but it didn’t
sound like it. I’m not going down on my knees to Scott, but I am going
to speak to him, no matter what he may do.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Renwood,” said Sterndale, scowling a little. “If
anybody says anything to that fellow, it is my place to do so. I have
not yet decided that I’d take him back onto the eleven if he came and
asked to play.”
“Of course you wouldn’t!” exclaimed Leon, promptly, showing
satisfaction. “The team is all right just as it is, if it gets the
right kind of practice work.”
“Perhaps you mean that I have not been giving it the right kind of
practice?” Dolph cried. “Perhaps you know more about coaching a team
than I do!”
“I didn’t say that, either,” grinned Bentley.
“You seldom say anything point-blank to a man’s face, but you insinuate
and insinuate, and you talk behind his back.”
“Look here, Mr. Renwood,” Leon angrily snapped, “I don’t fancy that!
I’ve always used you all right, and you have no reason for making that
kind of talk. I won’t stand any more of it, either.”
Renwood shrugged his shoulders and turned to Sterndale, with whom he
began to talk earnestly.
“Ginger!” cried Carter, starting up as the town clock in the Baptist
church tower began to strike. “It’s nine o’clock! I told mother I’d be
back before this. I’ve got some groceries to take home, and the stores
will be closed. Good-night, fellows.”
He was hurrying out when Bentley also arose and remarked that he was
going home, following Harry down the stairs. As Carter came out upon
the street, Leon overtook him and grasped his arm.
“Look here, Cart,” he said, “can’t you see through this little game?”
“What game?” asked the boy addressed, turning sharply and shaking off
the hand of his follower, whom he did not like. “What do you mean?”
“Why Renwood’s game, of course. It’s plain enough. He doesn’t want
Rockspur to win, for all that he makes the bluff that he does. He has
Sterndale on a string, and he’s the real manager and captain of the
eleven. It was through him that all the shifting about on the team has
come, and now he wants to make another shift. He’s sore because I made
that touchdown, so he’s going to try to push me off. He’ll try to get
Scott back into your place; then where will you be? He is going to keep
this thing up just so that the team will be unsettled all the time, and
that will fix us so that we’ll never win a game. Now, Carter, are you
going to stand it? That’s the question.”
Leon had tried to appear very earnest and sincere, but he made very
little impression on the listening youth.
“I don’t take any stock in that stuff, Bentley,” declared Harry,
promptly. “I know I’m not as good a man as Scott on the team, which
makes me willing to get off any time Sterndale wants to fill my place.”
“Yah!” snarled Leon, showing his yellow teeth. “You’re just like all
the rest; you’ll let Dick Sterndale wipe his feet all over you. I’m
sick of the whole crowd; but I’m just as good a man as anybody on that
team, and I’ll show Dolph Renwood up if he comes any sneaky business
to throw me down!”
Then, lighting a fresh cigarette, and hearing other boys descending the
stairs from the club-room, he hurried away, muttering to himself.
“Those nasty things he is smoking are turning his head,” said Carter,
to himself. “If he doesn’t stop using so many of them, he’ll go daffy,
for I can see that he’s getting worse and worse every day.”