Over the Line Part 6

Drake stood under the punt, waiting to catch it. As he reached up to grab it a Trumbull end hit him, the slippery ball eluded his wet fingers and bounced a few feet away. The other end, closing in, dove for the ball. There was a wet ma.s.s of muddy forms disputing possession. The referee dug down to the bottom of the heap.

Trumbull's ball on Canton's seventeen yard line!

The first real break in the game had favored Trumbull. Barley pounced upon Judd and hugged him happily. "Good boy, Judd ... we're going to score!" The team showed new spirit. Every man was on his toes. Only seventeen yards away from a touchdown! The stands began to come to life. "Yeah, Trumbull ... Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!"

Signals! Judd was conscious of them ... but he was also conscious that the signals had a direct relation to him. He knew, for instance, that the first play was going through left guard and that he was to form interference for the right half. The ball was pa.s.sed back. Judd automatically crossed in front of the right half and charged toward the Canton left guard ... but Canton had broken through ... and he found himself confronted with two determined-looking tacklers. He slipped and half fell into them and both opponents fell with him. The right half plunged on over them, Judd feeling a foot on the scruff of his neck as his face went down in the mud. The play netted a bare yard.

Signals! It seemed that he had scarcely gained his feet before he was whirled into another play. Barley was pepping up the team ... he was putting drive into them ... and he was calling Billings' number!

Judd took the ball and fell in behind his interference. He circled the end, running wide. A tackler attempted to reach him but slipped and went down in the gummy mire. He stuck out his hand and another tackler dropped away from him. He was conscious of the rain on his face ...

and it seemed that for every foot he advanced ... he slid two feet backward. Judd now found himself running alone. He turned in as he came to a strip of white along the edge of the field, catching a fleeting glimpse of umbrellas and huddled spectators ... then he saw the big form of Drake plowing toward him with arms outstretched.

Fear overtook Judd ... a fear which blotted out everything else from the daze of his thoughts. But in this instance, fear saved him. Judd made a supreme effort to avoid being tackled, and leaped past Drake just as Drake left his feet. Drake struck in a shallow puddle and rolled over and Judd fell across the goal line. He had scored a touchdown the first time that he was given the ball!

As quick to reclaim him as they had been quick to condemn him, his team-mates crowded about Judd and for the first time made him feel the glow of comrades.h.i.+p. Only Judd knew how unworthy of their praise he was. His touchdown had been a happy accident. His attempt to kick goal was blocked. Score, Canton 14; Trumbull 6.

Two minutes remained of the third quarter. Trumbull kicked off and the ball was downed on Canton's twenty-one yard line. Canton tried the Trumbull line for two downs and found that the line had stiffened.

Trumbull was holding desperately. Then Drake dropped back as if to kick. Barley called to Billings. "Get back. Watch out for a fake punt!"

Judd had hardly gotten back when the play started. Drake was a triple threat man. He made as if to pa.s.s to the left end, then plunged through the right side of the line. Barley tackled Drake but the big fullback shook him off and started into an open field with only Billings between him and the Trumbull goal, seventy some yards away.

Judd had been living in dread of such a moment. There flashed through his mind the temptation to make a seeming effort to tackle Drake and fail. It would be easy to let on that he had slipped in the mud. And there would be no danger of his getting hurt. He saw Drake preparing to straight arm. Then Judd saw a mental picture of Blackwell with his lame ankle, running toward the self-same Drake unflinchingly and bringing him to the ground. A sudden blast of courage came over him.

He ran at Drake swiftly and knocked Drake's arm aside; his arms closed about Drake's knees; the big fullback lurched to free himself, twisted his body in an adroit manner and managed to swing Judd about so that the weight of his body landed on his tackler's head. Judd experienced the same sensation that had come to Rudolph.

Barley, the first to his side ... spoke harshly to Drake. "Trumbull men always play fair ... this is the second man you've put out of the game!"

Drake laughed and denied the accusation.

A water boy came running up and dashed a pail of water on Judd's face.

The Trumbull players crowded about, crestfallen. Judd came to ... with an expression of pain on his face. He moved his left shoulder cautiously and winced as he did so. "Oh ... take me out ... take me out..." he whispered ... "My shoulder!"

Barley picked up Billings' head gear which had been knocked off in the tackle. The stands were cheering his name. But Judd was conscious only of pain. As they helped him to his feet ... he saw the coach on the field.

"I--I can't go on, sir," he said. "I--I'm hurt."

The coach examined Judd's shoulder. "It's just a wrench ... you're our only hope ... can't you stick?"

As the coach asked the question he took the head gear from Barley's hands and went to place it back on Billings' head. A piece of white paper fell out. The coach picked it up curiously. There was some writing on it.

"Here, sir! Give that to me! That's mine!" Judd's eyes flashed. It would not do for anyone to see what was written on it. If they did he would be humiliated forever.

"Please, sir!" as the coach began to unfold the paper. "If you'll give it back to me ... I'll stick in the game!"

Coach Little shook his head perplexedly and handed him back the paper.

Judd took it shame-facedly and tucked it quickly in his cap, turning away. His team-mates stared at him in incomprehensive amazement.

"He's gone nutty!" said Barley.

The players had no sooner lined up to resume play than the whistle blew for the end of the third quarter. The ball was on Canton's thirty-nine yard line and Canton's first down. Score--Canton 14; Trumbull 6.

On the sidelines a small commotion was evident. The great Bob Billings had arrived! He'd intended to see the entire game but had missed train connections at the junction. It had been his desire, however, to keep Judd from knowing of his contemplated presence. The subst.i.tutes crowded around the former Trumbull star in eager admiration. Bob sought out Coach Little.

"Mister Little ... my name's Bob Billings ... how's the game going?"

"Too much beef for us in weather like this ... the boys are putting up a great fight though!"

"How ... how's my kid brother doing?"

Coach Little looked out upon the field. The teams were changing ends and getting in position to take up play in the last quarter.

"I can't understand him. He scored our only touchdown on a great fifteen yard sprint. Then he stopped that big bull ... Drake ... just as it looked like Drake had a clear field. Drake fell on Judd after the tackle and hurt him ... He'd have quit the game then and there if it hadn't been for a piece of paper."

"A piece of paper?"

Coach Little laughed. "Yes ... I found it in his cap and gave it back to him without reading it on his promise to stay in the game. I suppose the kid's sweet on some girl and was more afraid of being embarra.s.sed than he was of being hurt!"

The great Bob's eyes clouded over, and his jaws tightened. "Poor Buddy!" he said, softly.

CHAPTER V

FOR A Sc.r.a.p OF PAPER

Out on the field Judd was having the biggest fight of his life. There surged up within him the desire to overcome the fears of the past. He remembered the morning that he took the pen and signed his name to the contract in Bob's room; remembered his coming back to Trumbull and re-entering school; remembered how he had made himself get out for football; remembered his mother's changed feelings toward his activities. He had fought this thing that he knew was not a part of him ... trying ... trying to shake it off ... but it clung to him hardest at just the times when he wanted to do the most ... when it was the most difficult to get away from ... and easiest to surrender.

The paper had seemed to Judd as the only outward evidence of his determination to keep up the good fight ... to conquer fear. He did not want to admit to anyone that he had broken faith with himself ...

he had gone so far now that there must be no turning back ...

regardless of consequences. And the piece of paper did mean something to Judd. It meant living up to his true self ... a self which had no use for babying; a self which never recognized failure ... a self which did not think of itself ... first.

Judd crouched in his defensive position, a hand holding his lame shoulder, eyes on the Canton backfield. There was a sudden s.h.i.+ft, the lines crashed and the big Drake came through again. But Judd, gritting his teeth, went forward to meet him and dropped Drake for a bare two yard gain.

"Good boy!" cried Barley, pulling Judd to his feet. "Right at 'em!"

Drake, dripping with mud and water, jogged back to his position. The quarterback said something in Drake's ear. Drake nodded and glanced at Billings derisively. The next moment he had the ball again and was circling the end.

Judd, muttering to himself, "I can! ... I can!" cut through the muddy turf. Barley spilled the interference and once more Judd tore into Drake, bringing the big fellow down. But Drake had gained five yards.

Third down and three to go! Canton tried a line play. Trumbull held.

Drake fell back to kick. Judd retreated to Trumbull's thirty yard line to play for the punt.

The pigskin came spinning through the heavy air toward him. He had run forward about five yards to get under it. He made the catch but slipped and fell as he started forward. As he got to his feet two Canton tacklers. .h.i.t him. When Judd got up he was conscious of a sharp pain in his right knee. Time out was taken while he paced about, testing his foot to the ground.

Barley, supporting him, said in a whisper: "Tough luck, old man.

You're putting up a great game. They wouldn't be in it if it wasn't for their man Drake ... we've got just seven minutes ... I'll tell you what I'm going to do ... I'm going to give you the ball practically every play and we'll hand them some of the same medicine they've been feeding us!"

"I--I don't believe I can do you much good," faltered Judd.