The Turner Twins Part 29

Ned added a wild shout of triumph to the din about him.

Fourth down, and still five yards to gain! Now Farview must either kick or try a forward, and realizing this the Blue's secondary defense dropped back and out. A Farview subst.i.tute came speeding on, a new left tackle. Then, amid a sudden hush, the quarter sang his signals: "Kick formation! 73-61-29-" The big full-back stretched his arms out.

"12-17-9!" Back sped the ball, straight and breast-high. The Blue line plunged gallantly. The stand became a pandemonium. The full-back swung a long right leg, but the ball didn't drop from his hands. Two steps to the left, and he was poising it for a forward pa.s.s! Then he threw, well over the up-stretched hands of a Hillman's player who had broken through, and to the left. A Maroon and White end awaited the ball, for the instant all alone on the Blue's goal-line. Ned, seeing, groaned dismally. Then from somewhere a pair of blue-clad arms flashed into sight, a slim body leaped high, and from the Hillman's side of the field came a veritable thunder of relief and exultation. For the blue arms had the ball, and the blue player was dodging and worming toward the farther side-line! Captain Stevenson it was who cleared the path for him at the last moment, bowling over a Farview player whose arms were already stretched to grapple, and, in a shorter time than the telling takes, Hop Kendrick was racing toward the distant goal!

Afterward Ned realized that during the ensuing ten or twelve seconds he had tried desperately to s.h.i.+n up the tall policeman; but at the time he had not known it, nor, or so it appeared, had the policeman, for the latter was shouting his lungs out! Past the middle of the field sped Hop, running as fleetly as a hare, and behind him pounded a solitary Farview end. These two left the rest of the field farther and farther back at every stride. For a moment it seemed that Hop would win that desperate race; but at last, near the thirty-five yards, he faltered, and the gap between him and his pursuer closed to a matter of three or four strides, and after that it was only a question of how close to the goal the Blue runner would get before he was overtaken and dragged down.

The end came between the fifteen- and twenty-yard streaks. Then, no more than a stride behind, the Farview player sprang. His arms wrapped themselves around Hop's knees, and the runner crashed to earth.

For a long minute the babel of shouting continued, for that eighty-yard sprint had changed the complexion of the game in a handful of seconds.

Hillman's was no longer the besieged, fighting in her last trench to stave off defeat, but stood now on the threshold of victory, herself the besieger!

Farview called for time. Two subst.i.tutes came in to strengthen her line.

Hop, evidently no worse for his effort, was on his feet again, thumping his players on the backs, imploring, entreating, and confident. On the seventeen yards lay the brown oval, almost in front of the right-hand goal-post. A field goal would put the home team one point to the good, and, with only a few minutes left to play, win the game almost beyond a doubt, and none on the Blue's side of the field doubted that a try at goal would follow. Even when the first play came from ordinary formation and Deering smashed into the left of Farview's line for a scant yard, the audience was not fooled. Of course, it was wise to gain what ground they might with three downs to waste, for there was always the chance that a runner might get free and that luck would bring a touch-down instead.

Yet again Hop signaled a line attack. This time it was Mason who carried the ball, and he squirmed through for two yards outside left tackle, edging the pigskin nearer the center of the goal. Then came a shout that started near the Blue team's bench and traveled right along the stand. A slight youngster was pulling off his sweater in front of the bench, a boy with red-brown hair and a pale, set face. Then he had covered the red-brown hair with a leather helmet and was trotting into the field with upraised hand.

Ned stared and stared. Then he closed his eyes for an instant, opened them, and stared again. After that he pinched himself hard to make certain that he was awake and not still dreaming on the knoll beside the road. The subst.i.tute was speaking to the referee now, and Deering was walking away from the group in the direction of the bench. The cheering began, the leaders waving their arms in unison along the length of the Hillman's stand:

"'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! 'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! 'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! Deering!"

And then again, a second later: "'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! 'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!

'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! Turner!"

Ned turned imploringly to the tall policeman. "What-who was that last fellow they cheered?" he faltered.

The policeman looked down impatiently.

"Turner. Guess he's going to kick a goal for 'em."

CHAPTER XXI-THE UNDERSTUDY

"_Block that kick! Block that kick! Block that kick!_" chanted Farview imploringly, from across the trampled field.

Yet above the hoa.r.s.e entreaty came Hop Kendrick's confident voice: "All right, Hillman's! Make it go! Here's where we win it! Kick formation!

Turner back!" And then: "25-78-26-194! 12-31-9-"

But it was Hop himself who dashed straight forward and squirmed ahead over one white line before the whistle blew.

"Fourth down!" called the referee. "About four and a half!"

"Come on!" cried Hop. "Make it go this time! Hard, fellows, hard! We've got 'em going!" He threw an arm over the shoulder of the new subst.i.tute.

Those near by saw the latter shake his head, saw Hop draw back and stare as if aghast at the insubordination. Farview protested to the referee against the delay, and the latter called warningly. Hop nodded, and raised his voice again:

"Kick formation! Turner back!"

Then he walked back to where the subst.i.tute stood and dropped to his knees.

"Place-kick!" grunted a man at Ned's elbow. "Can't miss it from there if the line holds!"

Ned, in a perfect agony of suspense, waited. Hop was calling his signals. There was a pause. Then: "16-32-7-"

Back came the ball on a long pa.s.s from Kewpie. It was high, but Hop got it, pulled it down, and pointed it. Ned saw the kicker step forward.

Then he closed his eyes.

There was a wild outburst from all around him, and he opened them again.

The ball was not in sight, but a frantic little man in a gray sweater was waving his arms like a semaph.o.r.e behind the farther goal. Along the s.p.a.ce between stand and side-line a quartette of youths leaped crazily, flouris.h.i.+ng great blue megaphones or throwing them in air. Above the stand blue banners waved and caps tossed about. On the scoreboard at the far end of the field the legend read: "Hillman's 10-Visitors 9."

A moment later, a boy with a wide grin on his tired face and nerves that were still jangling made his way along Summit Street in the direction of school. Behind him the cheers and shouts still broke forth at intervals, for there yet remained some three minutes of playing time. Once, in the sudden stillness between cheers, he heard plainly the hollow thump of a punted ball. More shouts then, indeterminate, dying away suddenly. The boy walked quickly, for he had a reason for wanting to gain the security of his room before the crowd flowed back from the field. At last, at the school gate, he paused and looked back and listened. From the distant scene of battle came a faint surge of sound that rose and fell and rose again and went on unceasingly as long as he could hear.

Back in Number 16, Ned threw his cap aside and dropped into the nearest chair. There was much that he understood, yet much more that was still a mystery to him. One thing, however, he dared hope, and that was that the disgrace of having failed his fellows had pa.s.sed him miraculously by! As to the rest, he pondered and speculated vainly. He felt horribly limp and weary while he waited for Laurie to come. And after a while he heard cheering, and arose and went to a window. There could no longer be any doubt as to the final outcome of the game. Between the sidewalk throngs, dancing from side to side of the street with linked arms, came Hillman's, triumphant!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Turner. Guess he's going to kick a goal for 'em."]

And here and there, borne on the shoulders of joyous comrades, bobbed a captured player. There were more than a dozen of them, some taking the proceeding philosophically, others squirming and fighting for freedom.

Now and then one succeeded in getting free, but recapture was invariably his fate. At least, this was true with a single exception while Ned watched. The exception was a boy with red-brown hair, who, having managed to slip from his enthusiastic friends, dashed through the throng on the sidewalk, leaped a fence, cut across a corner, and presently sped through the gate on Was.h.i.+ngton Street, pursuit defeated. A minute later, flushed and breathless, he flung open the door of Number 16.

At sight of Ned, Laurie's expression of joyous satisfaction faded. He halted inside the door and closed it slowly behind him. At last, "h.e.l.lo," he said, listlessly.

"h.e.l.lo," answered Ned. Then there was a long silence. Outside, in front of the gymnasium, they were cheering the victorious team, player by player. At last, "We won, didn't we?" asked Ned.

Laurie nodded as if the thing were a matter of total indifference. He still wore football togs, and he frowningly viewed a great hole in one blue stocking as he seated himself on his bed.

"Well," he said, finally, "what happened to you?"

Ned told him, at first haltingly, and then with more a.s.surance as he saw the look of relief creep into Laurie's face. As he ended his story, Laurie's countenance expressed only a great and joyous amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Neddie," he chuckled, "you'll be the death of me yet! You came pretty near to it to-day, too, partner!" He sobered as his thoughts went back to a moment some fifteen minutes before, and he shook his head.

"Partner, this thing of understudying a football hero is mighty wearing.

I'm through for all time. After this, Ned, you'll have to provide your own subst.i.tute! I'm done!"

"How-why-how did you happen to think of it?" asked Ned, rather humbly.

"Weren't you-scared?"

"Scared? Have a heart! I was frightened to death every minute I sat on the bench. And then, when Mulford yelped at me, I-well, I simply pa.s.sed away altogether! I'm at least ten years older than I was this morning, Neddie, and I'll bet I've got gray hairs all over my poor old head. You see, Murray as much as said that it was all day with you if you didn't show up. Kewpie was a bit down-hearted about it, too. I waited around until half-past one or after, thinking every moment that you'd turn up-hoping you would, anyhow; although, to be right honest, Neddie, I had a sort of hunch, after the way you acted and talked, that maybe you'd gone off on purpose. Anyhow, about one o'clock I got to thinking, and the more I thought the more I got into the notion that something had to be done if the honor of the Turners was to be-be upheld. And the only thing I could think of was putting on your togs and bluffing it through. Kewpie owned up that he'd been talking rot last night-that he didn't really think you'd be called on to-day. And I decided to take a chance. Of course, if I'd known what was going to happen I guess I wouldn't have had the courage; but I didn't know. I thought all I'd have to do was sit on the bench and watch.

"So I went over to the gym and got your togs on, and streaked out to the field, I guess I looked as much like you as you do, for none of the fellows knew that I wasn't you. I was careful not to talk much. Mr.

Mulford gave me thunder, and so did Murray, and Joe Stevenson looked pretty black. I just said I was sorry, and there wasn't much time to explain, anyway, because the game was starting about the time I got there. Once, in the third period, when Slavin was hurt, Mulford looked along the bench and stopped when he got to me, and I thought my time had come. But I guess he wanted to punish me for being late. Anyway, Boessel got the job. When the blow did fall, Neddie, I was sick clean through.

My tummy sort of folded up and my spine was about as stiff as-as a drink of water! I wanted to run, or crawl under the bench or something.

'You've pleased yourself so far to-day, Turner,' said Mulford. 'Now suppose you do something for the school. Kendrick will call for a kick.

You see that it gets over, or I'll have something to say to you later.

Remember this, though: not a word to any one but the referee until after the next play. Now get out there and _win this game!_'

"Nice thing to say to a chap who'd never kicked a football in his life except around the street! But, gee, Neddie, what could I do? I'd started the thing, and I had to see it through. Of course I thought that maybe I'd ought to fess up that I wasn't me-or, rather, you-and let some one else kick. But I knew there wasn't any one else they could depend on, and I decided that if some one had to miss the goal, it might as well be me-or you. Besides, there was the honor of the Turners! So I sneaked out, with my heart in my boots,-your boots, I mean,-and Hop called for a line play, and then another one, and I thought maybe I was going to get off without making a fool of myself. But no such luck. 'Take all the time you want, Nid,' said Hop. 'We'll hold 'em for you. Drop it over, for the love of mud! We've got to have this game!' 'Drop it?' said I.

'Not on your life, Hop! Make it a place-kick or I'll never have a chance!' 'What do you mean?' he asked. 'I mean I can't drop-kick to-day.' I guess something in my voice or the way I said it put him on, for he looked at me pretty sharp. Still, maybe he didn't guess the truth, either, for he let me have my way and let me kick.

"After that"-Laurie half closed his eyes and shook his head slowly-"after that I don't really know what did happen. I have a sort of a hazy recollection of Hop shouting some signals that didn't mean a thing in my young life, and kneeling on the ground a couple of yards ahead of me. I didn't dare look at the goal, though I knew it was ahead of me and about twenty yards away. Then there was a brown streak, and things began to move, and I moved with them. I suppose I swung my foot,-probably my right one, though it may have been my left,-and then I closed my eyes tight and waited for some one to kill me. Next thing I knew, I was being killed-or I thought I thought I was, for a second. It turned out, though, that the fellows weren't really killing me; they were just beating me black and blue to show they were pleased.