ROB PLAYS A TRUMP
Mountfort came along that afternoon with a big, well-drilled confident
team. Hopkins put his best line-up against it. But his best wasn’t
nearly good enough. That fact was evident almost from the kick-off,
when Riverport, having won the toss, chose its goal and gave the ball
to Mountfort.
There was a long high punt and Mountfort came charging down under it
so swiftly and earnestly that Miller, who had caught the ball on his
twelve yards, was downed almost before he could take a step. Miller
tried the center of the Mountfort line and made little impression. A
split play, with the ball going through left tackle, netted four yards.
Then Law dropped back for a kick. The defence crumpled like paper and
the best he could do was to fall on the ball for a safety, scoring 2
for Mountfort. After that it was nip and tuck for a while, with the
play ranging inside the thirty-five yard-lines and neither side getting
near enough to make a score look imminent.
Each team was weaker on defence than on offence, but Mountfort had the
better of her adversary here as in all other departments of the game.
Toward the end of the first half Miller tried an open game and got off
one forward pass that netted twenty yards and an on-side kick that was
recovered on the latter’s fifteen yard-line. The audience, comprised
almost entirely of Riverport sympathizers, demanded a touchdown and the
team tried its best to oblige. But two downs only brought eight yards
and the third lost the ball, Mountfort solving the play――a straight
plunge at center, before it was well under way.
Mountfort punted to the center of the field and her fast ends brought
down their man without trouble. A minute later time was called and the
first half ended with Mountfort in the lead, 2 points to 0. Riverport,
however, was not dismayed. She meant to go in in the last period
and win the game. And every one in the local camp expected her to.
Mountfort hadn’t showed anything but the straightest kind of straight
football and if Riverport could hold her as she had done in the first
half――barring the moment when that kick had been spoiled――there was no
good reason, or so it seemed, why Riverport should not at least score
something better than a miserable 2. But you never can tell what will
happen in a second half.
It was Riverport’s kick-off and Law sent a beauty down the field.
A Mountfort back took it and started across toward the side-line.
Riverport swung toward him. The back passed to another back and the
latter streaked up the opposite side of the field with the ball cosily
snuggled under his arm. It was an old trick, but it caught Riverport
napping. The runner had almost a clear field before the ruse was
discovered. Reid, right tackle, made a dive for him and missed, and
only Miller stood between him and a touchdown. Behind him raced friend
and foe alike, but he had little to fear from the rear. Miller made a
desperate effort to edge him toward the side-line, failed and made a
leap at him. The runner dodged, whirled, shook off Miller’s grasp and
romped between the uprights for a touch-down. The Mountfort captain
kicked an easy goal and the score stood 8 to 0.
After that Mountfort took chances and opened up a bag of tricks that
utterly confused and overwhelmed her adversary. There were forward
passes galore; short ones, long ones, expected ones, unexpected
ones; forward passes from close formation, forward passes from kick
formation; forward passes at the most unlikely times. And they worked
time and again, worked because Riverport had not been taught a proper
defence against them, because she was bewildered and confused and
because, saddest thing of all, she was tired and played out almost to
a man. Hopkins replaced man after man, and Grove took Miller’s place
and tried heroically to bring order out of chaos. But the Mountfort
quarter gave Riverport no time to recover herself. He worked his team
faster and faster until in the last five minutes of play such speed had
never been seen in the second half of a contest on Riverport Field. And
Riverport, out-played and out-generalled, weary, sore and dazed, went
down in defeat to the final overwhelming score of 25 to 0!
[Illustration: “IT WAS A SILENT AND VERY DISGUSTED THRONG OF
SPECTATORS.”]
It was a silent and very disgusted throng of spectators that straggled
back up the slope to the school. They were much too surprised as yet
to talk. The talk came later, in dining-hall at supper-time, in the
rooms afterwards. The consensus of opinion was that the Riverport
School Football Team was “pretty punk.” Not a lovely phrase that, but
it was very generally used and seemed to satisfy the requirements of
the occasion. Of course there were all sorts of theories advanced
to account for the day’s Waterloo, and fellows who didn’t know a
touch-back from a nose-guard explained the whole trouble beautifully.
In 32 Holden there was little discussion for the reason that Rob
wouldn’t discuss, while Malcolm, as he had never played football,
modestly refrained from offering opinions. All Rob would say, and he
said it in an exasperatingly mysterious manner, was:
“Wait! The hour is at hand!”
With Malcolm’s assistance, Evan got Rob down on his bed and buried him
under pillows――and then sat on the pillows. But all his reward was a
stifled: “Wait! The hour is at hand!”
The school was pretty well disgusted with the football situation, and
the disgust increased when on the following Monday the Second Team tore
up the First and scored a touch-down and a field-goal. Certainly the
fact that the First’s line-up contained five substitutes had something
to do with the Second’s easy conquest, but didn’t account for it
entirely. The fact is that the First Team was suffering from something
very much like nervous prostration. On Tuesday the feeling against
the team was manifested on the field. Some forty boys marched down
in procession and shouted derisive, unkind remarks during practice.
Hopkins came in for more attention than he relished, while Prentiss
lost his temper on several occasions. The Second held the First to
a no-score tie throughout the two periods of scrimmaging, in spite
of the fact that the First had all its best players back. Whenever
the Second gained a yard the audience cheered wildly; when the First
gained it was accorded hoots of derision. Nothing of the sort had
ever happened before at Riverport and the school that evening was
in a state of unwonted excitement. There was talk of a mass-meeting
to protest against the present conduct of football affairs, but the
project fell through because none of the upper class fellows would
consent to issue the call. They took the stand that while the situation
was pretty discouraging it was the school’s duty to stand by the team,
that only harm could result from embarrassing the management. So the
mass-meeting degenerated into a procession which marched through the
yard at nine o’clock carrying placards and hooting derisively. One
of the placards read: “We Want a Football Team”; another, “Riverport
0, Mountfort, 25”; another, “Try Jamaica Ginger”; another, “Wanted,
A Nurse. Apply to Manager R. S. F. A.” After circling the yard the
procession marched around to the rear of Holden and serenaded Hopkins
and Prentiss. I use the word serenaded for want of a better; music
is music even if it contains discords. Then there were “three long
groans for the eleven!” given with a will, and demands for a speech by
Prentiss. The latter made the mistake of losing his temper and emptied
a pitcher of water from the window. As the serenaders were momentarily
expecting some such delicate attention no one was dampened. Neither
was their ardor. The concert, which had been on the point of ending,
took a new lease of life and continued until faculty took a hand and
threatened trouble for the disturbers.
Neither Evan nor Rob took part in the demonstration, while as for
Malcolm he studied calmly through it all. Rob had been hand and glove
with the ring-leaders earlier in the evening and had himself decorated
the placards carried in the procession, but for some reason known only
to himself he had refrained from joining the parade. When Evan dropped
off to sleep that night Rob was writing busily at the table, and
although Evan didn’t know what he was up to he was fairly certain from
the concentration displayed that it had nothing to do with studies. And
Evan was right. The result of Rob’s labor appeared on the notice board
in Academy Hall the next morning.
“A Meeting will be held this evening at 7:15 in 8 First House
to consider the formation of an Independent Foot-ball Eleven.
All are asked to attend, whether players or not.
“HOWARD WELLINGTON.
“ROBERT LANGTON.”