THE DEPARTURE.
The backs and substitute backs, together with Story, the quarter,
Captain Dutton, and one or two assistant coaches, including Stephen
Remsen, were assembled in Bancroft 6. The head coach was also present,
and with a long pointer in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other
was going through a sequence for the benefit of the backs, who had been
called a half hour ahead of the rest of the Eleven. The time was a half
hour after dinner.
On the blackboard strange squares and lines and circles confronted the
men in the seats. The head coach placed the tip of the pointer on a
diagram marked "No. 2. Criss-Cross."
"This is the second of the sequence, and is an ordinary criss-cross from
left half-back to right half-back. If you don't understand it readily,
say so. I want you to ask all the questions you can think of. The halves
take positions, as in the preceding play, back of the line behind the
tackle-guard holes. The ball goes to left half, who runs just back of
quarter. Right half starts a moment after the ball is put in play, also
going back of quarter and outside of left half and receiving the ball
at a hand pass from the latter, and continuing on through the hole
between left end and tackle. Right end starts simultaneously with left
half, taking the course indicated, in front of quarter and close to the
line, and interfering through the line for the runner."
[Illustration: 2nd PLAY]
"Left end blocks opposing end outward. Quarter clears the hole out for
the runner. Full-back does not start until the pass from quarter to left
half is made. He must then time himself so as to protect the second
pass. In case of a fumble the ball is his to do the best he can with
through the end-tackle hole. If the pass is safe he follows left half
through, blocking opposing left end long enough to keep him out of
the play.
"You will go through this play to-morrow and you will get your slips
to-morrow evening here. Now is there anything not clear to you?"
Apparently there was a great deal, for the questions came fast and
furious, the coaches all taking a hand in the discussion, and the
diagram being explained all over again very patiently by the head. Then
another diagram was tackled.
[Illustration: 3rd PLAY]
"The third of this sequence is from an ordinary formation," began the
head coach. "It is intended to give the idea of a kick, or, failing
that, of a run around left end. It will very probably be used as a
separate play in the last few minutes of a half, especially where the
line-up is near the side line, right being the short side of the field.
You will be given the signal calling this as a separate play
to-morrow evening.
"Full-back stands as for a kick, and when the signal is given moves in a
step or two toward quarter as unnoticeably as possible; position 2 in
the diagram. He must be careful to come to a full stop before the ball
is snapped back, and should time himself so that he will not have to
stay there more than a second. The instant the ball is snapped full-back
runs forward to the position indicated here by 3, and receives the ball
on a short pass from quarter. Left half starts at the same instant, and
receives the ball from full as he passes just behind him, continuing on
and around the line outside of right end. It is right half's play to
make the diversion by starting with the ball and going through the line
between left tackle and guard; he is expected to get through and into
the play on the other side. Left end starts when the ball is snapped,
and passing across back of the forwards clears out the hole for the
runner. Quarter interferes, assisted by full-back, and should at all
costs down opposing half. Right end helps right tackle throw in opposing
end. Much of the success of this play depends on the second pass, from
full-back to left half, and it must be practiced until there is no
possibility of failure. Questions, fellows."
After the discussion of the last play a half hour's talk on
interference was given to the rest of the Eleven and substitutes, who
had arrived meanwhile. Remsen and Joel left Bancroft together and
crossed the yard toward the latter's room. The sky was bright with
myriads of stars and the buildings seemed magnified by the wan radiance
to giant castles. Under the shadow of University Remsen paused to light
his pipe, and, without considering, the two found themselves a moment
later seated on the steps.
From the avenue the clang-clang of car gongs sounded sharp and clear,
and red and white and purple lights flitted like strange will-o'-wisps
through the half light, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the
common. The lights in the stores beamed dimly. A green shade in Pray's
threw a sickly shaft athwart the pavement. But even as they looked a
tall figure, weariness emanating from every movement, stepped between
window and light, book in hand, and drew close the blinds.
"Poor devil!" sighed Remsen. "Three hours more of work, I dare say,
before he stumbles, half blind, into bed. And all for what, Joel? That
or--that?" He pointed with his pipe-stem to where Jupiter shone with
steady radiance high in the blue-black depths; then indicated a faint
yellow glow that flared for an instant in the darkness across the yard
where a passer had paused to light his pipe.
"We can't all be Jupiters, Remsen," answered Joel calmly. "Some of us
have to be little sticks of wood with brimstone tips. But they're very
useful little things, matches. And, after all, does it matter as long
as we do what we have to do as well as we can? Old Jupiter up there is a
very fine chap undoubtedly, and if he shirked a minute or two something
unpleasant would probably occur; but he isn't performing his task any
better than the little match performed his. 'Scratch--pouf' and the
match's work's done. But it has lighted a fire. Can you do better,
Mr. Jupiter?"
Remsen made no reply for a moment, but Joel knew that he was smiling
there beside him. A little throng of students passed by, humming softly
a song in time with their echoing footsteps, and glanced curiously at
the forms on the steps. Then Remsen struck a match on the stone.
"'Scratch--pouf!'" he said musingly, relighting his pipe. In the act of
tossing the charred splinter away he stopped; then he laid it beside him
on the step. "Good little match," he muttered. Joel laughed softly.
"March," asked Remsen presently, "have you changed your mind yet about
studying law?"
"No; but sometimes I get discouraged when I think of what a time it will
take to arrive anywhere. And sometimes, too, I begin to think that a
fellow who can't talk more readily than I ought to go into the hardware
business or raise chickens for a living instead of trying to make a
lawyer out of himself."
"It isn't altogether talk, March," answered Remsen, "that makes a good
lawyer. Brains count some. If you get where you can conduct a case to a
successful result you will never miss the 'gift o' the gab.' Talking's
the little end of the horn in my profession, despite tradition.
"I asked for a reason, March," he went on. "What do you say to our
forming a partnership? When you get through the Law School you come to
me, if you wish, and tell me that you are ready to enter my office, and
I'll answer 'I'm very glad to have you, Mr. March.' Of course we could
arrange for a regular partnership a year or so later. Meanwhile the
usual arrangement would be made. It may be that you know of some very
much better office which you would prefer to go to. If you do, all
right. If you don't, come to me. What do you say?"
"But--but what good would I do you?" Joel asked, puzzled at the offer.
"I'd like it very much, of course, but I can't see--"
"I'll tell you, March. I have a good deal of faith in your future, my
boy. You have a great deal of a most valuable thing called application,
which I have not, worse luck. You are also sharp-witted and level-headed
to a remarkable degree. And some day, twenty or thirty years from now,
you'll likely be _hard_-headed, but I'll risk that. By the time you're
out of college I shall be wanting a younger man to take hold with me.
There will be plenty of them, but I shall want a good one. And that is
why I make this offer. It is entirely selfish, and you need not go
searching for any philanthropy in it. I'm only looking a bit ahead and
buttering my toast while it's hot, March. What do you say? Or, no, you
needn't say anything to-night. Think it over for a while, and let me
know later."
"But I don't want to think it over," answered Joel eagerly. "I'm ready
to sign such a partnership agreement now. If you really believe that I
would--could be of use to you, I'd like it mightily. And I know all
about your 'selfishness,' and I'm very grateful to you for--for
buttering your toast."
Later, when they arose and went on, Remsen consented to accompany Joel
to his room, bribed thereto with a promise of hot chocolate. They found
Outfield diligently poring over a Greek history. But he immediately
discarded it in favor of a new book on the Royal Game which lay in his
lap hidden under a note book.
"You see," he explained, "old Pratt has taken a shine to me, and I
expected him to call this evening. And I thought at first that you were
he--or him--which is it? And of course I didn't want to disappoint the
old gentleman; he has such a fine opinion of me, you know."
While Outfield boiled the water and laid bare the contents of the
larder, Joel told him of Remsen's offer. A box of biscuits went down
with a crash, and Outfield turned indignantly.
"That's all very fine," he exclaimed. "But where do I come in? How about
Mr. West? Where does he get his show in this arrangement? You promised
that if I studied law, too, Joel, you'd go into partnership with _me_.
Now, didn't you?"
"But it was all in fun," protested Joel, distressedly. "I didn't
suppose you meant it, you know."
"Meant it!" answered Outfield indignantly. "Of course I meant it. Don't
you expect I appreciate level-headedness and sharp-wittedness and
applicationousness just as much as Remsen? Why, I had it all fixed. We
were to have an office fitted with cherry railings and revolving
bookcases near--near--"
"A good links?" suggested Remsen smilingly.
"Well, yes," admitted Outfield, "that wouldn't be a half bad idea. But
now you two have gone and spoiled it all."
"Well, I tell you, West," suggested Remsen, "you come in with us and
supply the picturesque element of the business. You might look after the
golf cases, you know; injuries to bald-headed gentlemen by gutties;
trespassing by players; forfeiting of leases, and so forth. What do
you say?"
"All right," answered Outfield cheerfully. "But it must be understood
that the afternoons belong to the links and not to the law."
So Stephen Remsen and Joel March sealed their agreement by shaking
hands, and Outfield grinned approval.
One afternoon a few days later Outfield pranced into the room just as
dusk was falling brandishing aloft a silver-plated mug, and uttering a
series of loud cheers for "Me." Joel, who had returned but a moment
before from a hard afternoon's practice, and was now studying in the
window seat by the waning light, looked languidly curious.
"A trophy, Joel, a trophy from the links!" cried West. "Won by the great
Me by two holes from Jenkins, Jenkins the Previously Great, Jenkins the
Defeated and Devastated!" He tossed the mug into Joel's lap.
"I'm very glad, Out," said the latter. "Won't it help you with the
team?"
"It will, my discerning friend. It will send me to New York next month
to represent Harwell. And Lapham says I must go to Lakewood for the open
tournament. Oh, little Outie is some pumpkins, my lad! It was quite the
most wonderful young match to-day. Jenkins led all the way to the
fifteenth hole. Then he foozled like a schoolboy, and I holed out in one
and went on to the Cheese Box in two."
"I'm awfully glad," repeated Joel, smiling up into the flushed and
triumphant face of his chum. "If you go to New York it will be after the
big game, and, if you like, I'll go with you and shout." Outfield West
executed a war-dance and whooped ecstatically.
"Will you, Joel? Honest Injun? Cross your heart and hope to die? Then
shake hands, my lad; it's a bargain! Now, where's my chemistry?"
The days flew by and the date of the Yates game rapidly approached. The
practice was secret every afternoon, and the coaches lost weight eluding
the newspaper reporters. Prince disappointed Joel by returning to the
Varsity with his ankle apparently as well as ever, although he was
generally "played easy," and Joel often took his place in the second
half of the practice games.
And at last the Thursday preceding the big game arrived, and the team
and substitutes, together with the trainer and the manager and the head
coach and two canine mascots, assembled in the early morning in the
square and were hustled into coaches and driven into town to their
train. And half the college heroically arose phenomenally early and
stood in the first snow storm of the year and cheered and cheered for
the team individually and collectively, for the head coach and the
trainer, for the rubbers and the mascots, and, between times, for
the college.
The players went to a little country town a few miles distant from the
seat of Yates University, and spent the afternoon in practicing signals
on the hotel grounds. The next day, Friday, was a day of rest, save for
running through a few formations and trick plays after lunch and taking
a long walk at dusk. The Yates Glee Club journeyed over in the evening
and gave an impromptu entertainment in the parlor, a courtesy well
appreciated by the Harwell team, whose nerves were now beginning to make
themselves felt. And the next morning the journey was continued and the
college town was reached at half past eleven.
The men were welcomed at the station by a crowd of Harwell fellows who
had already arrived, and the Harwell band did its best until the team
was driven off to the hotel. There for the first time the men were
allowed to see the line-up for the game. It was a long list, containing
the names, ages, heights, and weights of thirty-six players and
substitutes, and was immediately the center of interest to all.
"Thunder!" growled Joel ruefully, as he finished reading the list over
Blair's shoulder, "it's a thumpin' long ways down to _me!_"