Left Tackle Thayer Part 16

Morgan's came back hard in that last quarter and soon had the Maroon-and-Grey on the defensive. A fumbled punt by Carmine, who had taken Marvin's place a minute before, was secured by a Morgan's end and the aspect of the game changed very suddenly. The Orange-and-Blue was now in possession of the ball on Brimfield's twenty-six yards, and it was first down. Coach Robey rushed Hall and Churchill back to the line-up, evidently well weighted down with instructions, and, after a conference with cl.u.s.tered heads, Brimfield faced the enemy again.

Morgan's adopted old-style football with a vengeance and hurled her backs at the line between tackles. Twice she was stopped, but on a third attempt Brimfield broke squarely in two where Thursby was subst.i.tuting Captain Innes and half the visiting team piled through. First down was secured on another attack at the same place and the ball was on the defender's sixteen yards. Two yards more came past right tackle and two through centre--Morgan's had discovered the weakness of Thursby's defence--and the ten-yard line was almost underfoot. A conference ensued. Evidently some of the enemy were favouring a field-goal, but the quarter still held out for all the law would allow and a line-s.h.i.+ft was followed by a quick toss of the ball to one side of the field. Luckily for the home team, however, it was Steve Edwards' side that was chosen, and Edwards, while he was not quick enough to prevent the catch, stopped the runner for a yard gain. It was third down then, with the ball out of position for a field-goal and ten yards to a touchdown and the Brimfield supporters, urging their team to "Hold 'em!" breathed easier.

"Fourth down! Five to go!" announced the referee.

"Stop 'em!" panted Marvin.

Then the Morgan's drop-kicker moved back to the twenty-yard line and well to the left of centre, and centre stood sidewise as though to make an oblique pa.s.s. It hardly seemed possible that Morgan's would attempt a goal from such an angle, but still there was but one down left and the Brimfield line, though it had yielded short gains, was not likely to give way to the enemy for the five yards necessary for a first down.

Captain Innes watched the Orange-and-Blue formation doubtfully, striving to guess what was to develop. In the end he scented a fake-kick and warned his line.

"Fake!" he shouted. "Fake! Watch that ball! Get that end, Steve! Hold 'em, hold 'em, Brimfield!"

And Brimfield held them. At least, Brimfield held all but one of them.

It was unfortunate that that one should have been the one who had the ball! Just what really happened was a matter of discussion for many days. It occurred so suddenly, with such an intricate mingling of backs and forwards, that Brimfield was unable then or later to fathom the play. Even from the side line, where Coach Robey and a dozen or more subst.i.tutes looked on intently, that play was puzzling. All that seemed clear then or afterwards was that the ball did actually go to the drop-kicker, that that youth swung his leg in the approved fas.h.i.+on, that one of the backs--some said the quarter, while others said one of the halves--ran back and took the pigskin at a hand-pa.s.s, and that subsequently a tackle who had played on the end of the line was seen tearing across the goal line well toward the other side of the field.

There had undoubtedly been a lateral pa.s.s, perhaps two, but the Morgan's players had so surrounded the play that the whole thing was as unfathomable as it was mysterious and as mysterious as it was unexpected. The one fact that stood out very, very clearly was that the enemy had scored a touchdown. And, although she afterwards failed to kick the goal, she had accomplished enough to humble Brimfield. In the two minutes remaining the home team played desperately, trying its hardest to secure the ball and get away for a run. But the visitors refused to yield possession and the whistle sounded a defeat for the Maroon-and-Grey.

"I think," said Manager Black to Quarter-back Marvin as they met at the entrance to the gymnasium, "I'll take a walnut sundae."

What Quarter-back Marvin replied to Manager Black was both impolite and forceful.

CHAPTER XII

PENNY LOSES HIS TEMPER

What annoyed Brimfield Academy most about that beating was the fact that Morgan's School was a stranger. Being defeated in early season was nothing to be sore about; it happened every year, sometimes several times; and the score of 6 to 3 was far from humiliating; but to be defeated by a team that no one had ever heard about was horribly annoying. Of course Tracey Black insisted to all who would listen that Morgan's, instead of being unknown to fame, was in reality a strong team with a fine record behind it and an enviable reputation in its own part of the world. But Tracey didn't convince anyone, I think, and the school continued to be disgruntled for the better part of a week, or possibly until the Varsity went away the following Sat.u.r.day and won a clean-cut victory from Benton Military Academy. Last year the two schools had played a no-score tie game and consequently the Maroon-and-Grey's victory this year was more appreciated.

Meanwhile Marvin had settled his wager at the village soda fountain and had listened with commendable patience to Tracey's "I-told-you-so"

remarks. All that Marvin said was, when Tracey had rubbed it in sufficiently: "There's just one thing you want to do, Tracey, and that is get a date with those guys for next year. I won't be here, but it'll do me a whole lot of good to hear that we have rammed that old touchdown down their throats with one or two more for good measure."

"Say, you're not sore or anything, are you?" laughed Tracey.

"Never you mind. I can take a licking as well as the next chap, but when a team works a sleight-of-hand gag on you, that's something different yet!"

"I'll bet anything!" said Steve Edwards, "that they had two b.a.l.l.s that day! If they didn't, I'm blessed if I can see how they got that one across the field there."

"Maybe that chap who made the touchdown had a string tied to it,"

suggested Still. "That wouldn't be a bad scheme, eh?"

"I don't know how they did it," said Marvin soberly, setting down his empty gla.s.s with a last fond look, "but if you take my advice, Tracey, you'll have it understood next year that there's to be no miracles!"

Clint regretted that defeat, but it didn't affect his spirits any. As a matter of fact, Clint had reached a state of second team patriotism that precluded his being heart-broken about anything save a humiliating beating of the second. And most of the other members of Mr. Boutelle's const.i.tuency felt the same way. It was regrettable to have the school team worsted, but the main thing in life was the glory of the second. If Coach Robey had suggested that Clint should throw in his lot with the 'varsity just then Clint might have felt flattered but he would probably have gently and firmly declined the promotion. "Boots," in short, had in a bare fortnight endowed his charges with an enthusiasm and _esprit de corps_ that was truly remarkable. "Anyone would think," said Amy one day when Clint had been singing the praises of the second team, "that you dubs were the only football players in school. Ever hear of the 'varsity team, Clint? Of course I may be mistaken, but I've been given to understand that they have one or two fairly good men on the 'varsity."

Clint grinned. "That's what _they_ tell you, Amy!"

"Well, of all the sw.a.n.k!" exclaimed the other incredulously.

"What's that?"

"Side, swell-headedness, dog, intolerable conceit--er--"

"That'll do. You talk like a dictionary of synonyms."

"You talk like a blooming idiot! Why, don't you know that the second team is nothing on earth but the 'goat' for the 'varsity?"

"Yes, and the 'goat' b.u.t.ts pretty hard sometimes," chuckled Clint.

Amy threw up his hands in despair. "You fellows are so stuck on yourselves," he said finally, "that I suppose you'll be expecting Robey to discharge the 'varsity and let you play against Claflin!"

"He might do worse, I dare say," returned Clint carelessly.

"Might do--Here, I can't stand this! I'm going out! Where's my cap?" And Amy fled.

Clint didn't see a great deal of Amy those days except during study hour, for Amy was busy with the Fall Tennis Tournament. Besides playing in it he was managing it, and managing it entailed much visiting in the evenings, for the tournament insisted on getting horribly mixed up every afternoon owing to the failure of fellows to play when they were supposed to, and it was one of Amy's duties to hunt up the offenders and threaten them with all sorts of awful fates if they didn't arise at some unseemly hour the next morning and play off the postponed match before Chapel. Clint went over to the courts one afternoon before practice in the hope of seeing his room-mate perform. But Amy was das.h.i.+ng around with a score-sheet in hand and the matches in progress were not exciting.

"Who's going to win?" asked Clint when Amy had subsided long enough to be spoken to. "Or, rather, who's going to get second place?"

"Second place? Why second place?" asked Amy suspiciously.

"Just wondered. Of course, as you're running the thing you'll naturally get first place, Amy. I was curious to know who you'd decided on for second man."

Amy laughed. "Well, it will probably be Holt, if he can spare enough time from football practice to play. He's had a match with Lewis on for two days now. They've each won a set and Holt can't play in the afternoon and Lewis refuses to get up early enough in the morning. And there you are!"

"Why don't you award the match to yourself by default?" inquired Clint innocently.

"To myself? How the d.i.c.kens--Oh, get out of here!"

Clint got out and as he made his way across to the second team gridiron he heard Amy's impa.s.sioned voice behind him.

"Say, Grindell, where under the Stars and Stripes have you been? Lee has been waiting here for you ever since two o'clock! You fellows certainly give me a pain! Now, look here--"

Clint chuckled. "Funny," he reflected, "to get so excited about a tennis tournament. Now, if it was football--"

Clint shook his head over the vagaries of his friend and very soon forgot them in the task of trying to keep the troublesome Robbins where he belonged, which, in Clint's judgment, was among the second team subst.i.tutes. That was a glorious afternoon for the second team, for they held the 'varsity scoreless in the first period and allowed them only the scant consolation of a field-goal in the second. "Boutelle's Babies," as some waggish first team man had labelled them, went off in high feather and fancied themselves more than ever.

Clint smiled at himself all the way to his room afterwards. He had played good football and had thrice won praise from "Boots" that afternoon. Even Jack Innes had gone out of his way to say a good word.

He had clearly outplayed Saunders, the 'varsity left tackle, on attack and had held his own against the opposing end on defence. More than that, he had once nailed the redoubtable Kendall well behind the line, receiving an extremely hard look from the half-back, and had on two occasions got down the field under the punt in time to tackle the catcher. Yes, Clint was very well satisfied with himself today, so well pleased that the fact that he had bruised his left knee so that he had to limp a little as he went upstairs didn't trouble him a mite. He hoped Amy would be back from that silly tennis tournament so that he might tell him all about it. But Amy wasn't back, as he discovered presently.

What met his eyes as he opened the door from the staircase well, however, put Amy quite out of his mind for awhile.

The door of his own room was closed, but the doors of 13 and 15 were open, and midway between them a rather startling drama was being enacted. The partic.i.p.ants were Penny Durkin, Harmon Dreer and a smaller boy whose name afterwards transpired to be Melville. Melville was no longer an active partic.i.p.ant, though, when Clint appeared unnoted on the scene and paused across the corridor in surprise. It was Penny and Harmon Dreer who held the centre of the stage.

"What are you b.u.t.ting in for?" demanded Dreer angrily. "I'll cuff the kid if I want to. You get out of here, Penny."

"You weren't cuffing him," replied Penny hotly. "You were twisting his arm and making him cry. Now you let the kid alone, Dreer. If you want to try that sort of thing you try it on me."

"All right!" Dreer stepped forward and shot his closed fist into Penny's face. The blow missed its full force, since Penny, seeing it coming, dodged so that it caught him on the side of the chin. But it was enough to send him staggering to the wall.

"You keep out of it, you skinny monkey!" shouted Dreer. "All you're good for is to make rotten noises on that beastly fiddle of yours! Want more, do you?"