Bert Wilson on the Gridiron Part 9

He had hardly commenced to gnaw the meat, however, when Burton released the cord that held the sliding door open. With a crash it slid closed, and the great beast was a prisoner once more!

The lion whirled like lightning and dashed himself madly against the restraining bars, but the cage had been built with an eye to emergencies, and stood the strain without any sign of weakening. Finally the lion's ragings subsided, and the head trainer concluded it was safe to descend and complete the work. He expressed himself accordingly, and everybody swarmed down to the ground, and surrounded the cage, taking care, however, to keep at a respectful distance.

"All right, boys, get busy," sang out Mr. Burton. "Let's get this cage up against the wagon as soon as we can. We're behind our schedule as it is."

Long poles were thrust under the cage, and with a good deal of heaving and tugging the lion was lifted through the air and his temporary cage placed alongside the animal wagon. When it had been securely fastened, the door was opened, and Leo was at liberty to enter his old abode. At first he seemed disinclined to do so, but after much coaxing and prodding he was persuaded. The door of his old cage was slammed shut, and the capture had been effected.

"Well!" exclaimed the trainer, drawing a long sigh of relief, "that's a good job well done. And I want to thank you lads," he continued, turning to where our three friends were standing; "the circus owes you a big debt of grat.i.tude, and that's a fact. If ever any of you should be out of a job, there'll always be one waiting for you with our outfit."

"Thanks," smiled Bert, speaking for his comrades and himself, "if we ever do, we'll let you know. We've had quite an adventure out of this, anyway."

"I should say you had!" said Mr. Burton; "the chances are you'll never be in another lion hunt as long as you live."

After a few more words the trainer turned away, and the party proceeded in the direction of the town. At its outskirts our three comrades said farewell and made off toward college.

On the way they discussed the exciting happenings of the previous day and night, but as they reached the campus Bert said: "Well, fellows, I hadn't noticed it much before, but now I come to think of it, I'm mighty tired. I think I'll turn in and sleep until about supper time."

The others also expressed themselves as "all in," and sought their beds, where slumber was not long in coming.

CHAPTER VIII

ON THE TOBOGGAN

"MISFORTUNES never come singly," groaned Tom.

"It never rains but it pours," added d.i.c.k gloomily.

"O, cut out the croaking, you fellows," admonished Bert. "Or, if you're dead set on proverbs, remember that 'it's no use crying over spilt milk.' We're up against it good and plenty, but that's all the more reason to get together and try to kill the 'jinx.'"

There certainly was room for disquietude, if not despair, in the present condition of the football team. The "Blues" were in the throes of a "slump." And that misfortune, dreaded like the plague by all coaches and trainers, had come on them suddenly, like "a bolt from the blue." From the heights of confidence they had fallen to the depths of hopelessness.

The superb machine, evolved and developed with infinite pains, now seemed headed straight for the sc.r.a.p-heap.

Only the Sat.u.r.day preceding they had been lined up against Dartmouth--always a fierce proposition--and to the delight of Hendricks had "run rings around them." They had played with a dash and fire that made them seem simply unbeatable. The ball had been in the enemy's territory three-fourths of the time and, after the first quarter, it was simply a question as to the size of the score. When at last the game was over, they had run up thirty-two points, and the ball had never once been within twenty yards of their own goal. The criticisms on the game in the Sunday papers had dwelt upon the impregnable defense and slas.h.i.+ng attack of the "Blues." On the same Sat.u.r.day the "Greys" and "Maroons"

had also met redoubtable antagonists, and although they won, the scores were small and the playing by no means impressive. The general consensus was that on the form already shown, the "dope" favored the Blues in the great games yet to come. While admitting the wonderful work of some of the men who had starred in their positions, special stress was laid upon the smoothness and accuracy of the team work as a whole.

This of course was balm to the coach, all whose efforts had been directed toward making individual work subordinate to the development of a coherent system of team play, and he began to see the reward of the untiring labors that he had given without stint for the six weeks preceding. Reddy went about his work with a complacent smile, and the boys themselves were jubilant at the way they were rounding into form.

Then suddenly the blow fell, to be succeeded by others no less paralyzing.

"Have you heard the news?" exclaimed Drake, as he burst in upon Bert and d.i.c.k on Monday evening, as they were preparing their lessons for the following day.

"What is it?" they cried in chorus.

"Axtell and Hodge have been conditioned and forbidden to play until they get up with the rest of the cla.s.s," was the answer.

"No," said Bert incredulously.

"Sure thing," affirmed Drake. "I had it straight from the boys themselves not five minutes ago. They sure are in the doleful dumps."

The three friends looked at each other in a perplexity and anxiety that they made no effort to conceal.

"But it will break up the team," cried d.i.c.k. "They're two of our very best men."

"You're right there," gloomed Drake. "There isn't a fiercer tackler than Axtell on the eleven, and Hodge is the heaviest man in the line. We haven't any too much beef at best, and man for man, the 'Greys' average five pounds heavier."

"Just when we were getting into such dandy shape, too," groaned d.i.c.k.

"Why in thunder didn't they keep up in their work," demanded Drake fiercely. "They must have known they were falling behind, and there's too much at stake for them to take any risk."

"There, there," soothed Bert. "Don't you suppose they're feeling worse about it than any one else?"

Just then there was a knock at the door and Axtell and Hodge themselves stalked in.

"I see you've heard about it," said Hodge, falling heavily into a chair.

"I wish you fellows would take me out and kick me around the campus."

"Same here," echoed Axtell despondently. "I'll pay for all the shoe leather you wear out doing it."

"O, brace up, fellows," said Bert cheerily. "Things will come out all right yet. How bad is it anyway?"

"It isn't so bad with Axtell," replied Hodge. "He's only got a condition in Latin, and he can probably work that off in a week. But I'm stuck on mathematics and Greek both, and I've got about as much chance as a snowfall in June of making them up before the big games."

"I wonder if there's no chance of getting the faculty to let you put off making them up until after the games," pondered Bert thoughtfully.

"Such a chance," said Drake sardonically. "That stony-hearted crew hasn't any sporting blood. They'll insist that every t must be crossed and every i dotted before they'll take off the conditions."

"I'm not so sure of that," replied Bert. "There's Benton. He used to be a star at left end, and I don't think he's forgotten how he used to feel about such things. I can't any more than fail anyway, and I'm going to take a hack at it. You fellows stay right here and I'll run over and see him."

He found the professor at home, and received a cordial greeting.

"I see you boys trounced Dartmouth last week," he said genially. "I've seldom seen a better game."

This gave Bert his opening.

"We hope that isn't a circ.u.mstance to what we'll do to the 'Greys' and 'Maroons,'" he replied. "That is, we did hope so up to this afternoon."

The professor looked at him sharply.

"Why not now?" he asked.

And then Bert told him of the conditions of Hodge and Axtell, and the hope he entertained that some way might be found to make them up after the big games instead of before. He spoke with all the earnestness he felt, and the professor listened sympathetically.

"It's too bad," he a.s.sented. "I'm afraid, though, there's no remedy. The rules of the college are like those of the Medes and Persians, not to be broken, even"--and his eyes twinkled--"for so important a thing as a football game. Those matters anyway are in the province of the Dean. You might see him if you like, but I fear that it is a forlorn hope."