CHAPTER XI
THE RESULT OF A FUMBLE
Sydney Burr had trundled himself out to the field and had drawn histricycle close up to the low wooden fence that divides the gridiron fromthe grand stand and against which the players on the benches lean theirblanketed backs. From there he had an uninterrupted view. It was aperfect afternoon. Overhead a few white clouds drifted lazily aboutagainst a warm blue sky. The sun shone brightly and mocked at lightovercoats. But for all that there was an October sparkle in the air, andonce in a while a tiny breeze from the north came across the yellowingfield and whispered that winter was not far behind.
Sydney had a rug thrown over his lower limbs and wore a warm whitewoolen sweater. There was quite a dash of color in his usually palecheeks, and his blue eyes flashed with interest as he watched the men atpractise. Near at hand a panting group of fellows were going through thesignals, the quarter crying his numbers with gasps for breath, thenpassing the ball to half-or full-back and quickly throwing himself intothe interference. Sydney recognized him as Bailey, the varsitysubstitute. Sydney knew almost all the players by sight now and thenames of many.
Near the east goal two lines of heaving, charging men were being coachedby Mills in breaking through. Stowell, the big, good-natured substitutecenter, was bending over the ball. Sydney could hear Mills'ssharp voice:
"Now draw back, defense, and lunge into them! Get the start on them!"
Then the ball was snapped and the two ranks heaved and pitched a momentbefore the offense broke through and scattered the turf with littleclumps of writhing players.
"That was good, Tucker, good!" cried Mills. "You did just as I told you.Now give the ball to the other side. Weight forward, defense, every oneof you on his toes. _Browning, watch that ball!_ Now get into them,every one! Block them!"
At the other end of the field six fellows were kicking goal and sixothers, stretched upon the turf, were holding the balls for them. Devoewas coaching. Sydney could see Neil, the farthest away of any, liftingthe leather toward the posts from a difficult angle on the twenty-yardline. Even as he watched, the ball sailed away from Neil's toe and wentfair over the cross-bar, and Sydney silently applauded. He set himselfto recognizing the other kickers. There was Gale, the tall and ratherheavy fellow in the crimson sleeves; and Mason, equally tall but allcorners and angles; and Smith, and Gillam, and Foster. Devoe seemed tobe laying down the law forcibly to Gale; he was gesticulating with hishands and nodding his head like a Chinese mandarin. Sydney could nothear what he was saying, nor could he see Gale's face; but in theattitude of the captain there was exasperation, and in that of Galesullen impatience.
Another group at signal practise drew nigh, and Sydney gave hisattention to it. Reardon, the second eleven quarter, sang his signals ina queer, shrill voice that was irresistibly funny. In front of Sydney heraised himself, wiped his palms on his stained trousers, grimaced at oneof the halves, and took a deep breath. Then--
"_Signal_!" he cried. "_7--8--4--6!_"
Eight half bounded by him, full-back fell in behind and took the ball,left half dashed after, and the group trotted away to line up again tenyards down the field. But presently the lines at the east goal broke upand trotted toward the benches, and Mills called the players in from allparts of the field. The water-pail was surrounded and the thirstyplayers rinsed out their mouths, well knowing the reprimand that awaitedshould they be rash enough to take even one swallow. Sweaters werehurriedly donned, Simson dealing them out from the pile on the ground,and the fellows sank on to the benches. Neil saw Sydney, and talked tohim over the fence until he heard his name called from the line-up.
"I think I shall make a touch-down to-day," said Sydney. Neil shook hishead, smiling:
"I don't know about that; you're not feeling so fit to-day, you know."
"Oh, that doesn't matter," answered the cripple. "You just watch me."
Neil laughed, and hurrying off, was fitted with his head harness andtrotted out to his place. Sydney was mistaken, as events proved, forhe--in the person of Neil Fletcher--failed to get over the second'sgoal-line in either of the short halves; which was also true of all theother varsity players. But if she didn't score, the varsity kept thesecond at bay, and that was a good deal. The second played desperately,being convinced that Mills would keep his promise and, if they succeededin scoring on their opponents, give them the honor of facing Harvard thefollowing Wednesday. But the varsity, being equally convinced of thefact, played quite as desperately, and the two teams trotted off withhonors even.
"Sponge off, everybody!" was the stentorian command from the trainer,and one by one the players leaned over while the big, dripping spongewas applied to face and head. Then sweaters were again donned and thefour laps around the field began, the men trotting by twos and threes,or, in the case of the injured ones, trailing along behind.
The next day, Wednesday, October 16th, Erskine played Dexter. Dexter isa preparatory school that has a way of turning out strong elevens, manyof which in previous years had put up excellent fights against Erskine.On the present occasion Erskine went into the game with a line largelycomposed of substitutes and a back-field by no means as strong aspossible. During the first half Dexter was forced to give all herattention to defending her goal, and had no time for incursions intoErskine territory. The home college ran up 17 points, Devoe missing onegoal. In the second half Erskine made further changes in her team. Cowantook Witter's place at right-guard, Reardon went in at quarter in placeof Bailey, and Neil, who had watched the first half greedily from theside-line, went in at left half.
It was Dexter's kick-off, and she sent the ball fully forty yards.Reardon called to Neil to take it. That youth got it on his ten yards,and by fine dodging ran it back to the eighteen-yard line. From there itwas advanced by straight line-plunging to Erskine's forty yards, and itseemed that a procession down the field to another touch-down had begun.But at this point Fate and Tom Cowan took a hand. Cowan was taken backof the line for a plunge through tackle. With right half and full linedup in tandem behind him he was given the ball and shot through easilyfor several yards. Then, his support gone, he staggered on for fiveyards more by sheer force of weight with two Dexter backs dragging athim, and there, for no apparent cause, dropped the pigskin. The Dexterquarter-back, running in to stop Cowan, was on it in a twinkling, hadskirted the right end of the _melee_ and was racing toward Erskine'sgoal. It had happened so quickly and unexpectedly that the runner wasfifteen yards to the good before pursuit began. Devoe and Neil took upthe chase, but it was a hopeless task, and in another minute the littleband of crimson-adorned Dexter supporters and substitutes on theside-line were yelling like mad. The Dexter quarter placed the ballnicely behind the very center of the west goal, and when it was takenout none but a cripple could have failed to kick it over the cross-bar.As Dexter's left-end was not a cripple her score changed from a 5 toa 6.
But that was the end of her offensive work for that afternoon. Erskinepromptly took the ball from her after the kick-off, and kept it untilNeil had punctured Dexter's line between left-guard and tackle and wadedthrough a sea of clutching foes twelve yards for a touch-down. Devoeonce more failed at goal, and five minutes later the game came to an endwith the final score 22 to 6. Dexter was happy and Erskine disgruntled.
In the locker-house after the game Mills had some sharp things to say,and didn't hesitate to say them in his best manner. There wasabsolutely no favoritism shown; he began at one end of the line and wentto the other, then dropped back to left half, took in quarter on theway, and ended up with full. Some got off easy; Neil was among them; andso was Devoe, for it is not a good policy for a coach to endanger acaptain's authority by public criticism; but when it was all over no onefelt slighted. And when all were beginning to breathe easier, thinkingthe storm had passed, it burst forth anew.
"Cowan, I don't see how you came to drop that ball," said Mills, infresh exasperation. "Why, great Scott, man, there was no one touchingyou except a couple of schoolboys tugging at
your legs! What was thematter? Paralysis? Vertigo? Or haven't you learned yet, after two yearsof football playing, to hang on to the ball? There's a cozy nook waitingon the second scrub for fellows like you!"
Cowan, his pride already sorely wounded, found the last too much for histemper.
"No one can help an occasional accident," he blurted. "If I did fumble,there's no reason why you should insult me. Lots of fellows have fumbledbefore and got off without being walked on. I've played my position fortwo years, and I guess I know how to do it. But when a fellow is singledout as a--a scapegoat--"
"That will do, Cowan," interrupted Mills quietly. "You've lost yourtemper. We don't want men on this team who can't stand criticism--"
"Criticism!" sneered Cowan, looking very red and ugly.
"Yes, criticism!" answered Mills sharply, "and scolding, too, my friend.I'm here to turn out a team that will win from Robinson and not to caterto any one's vanity; when it's necessary, I'm going to scold and saysome hard things. But I've never insulted any fellow and I never will.I've had my eye on you ever since practise began, Cowan, and let me tellyou that you haven't at any time passed muster; your playing's beenslovenly, careless, and generally mean. You've soldiered half the time.And I think we can get along without you for the rest of the season."
Mills, his blue eyes sparkling, turned away, and Stowell and White, whofor a minute past had been striving to check Cowan's utterances, nowmanaged to drag him away.
"Shut up!" whispered White hoarsely. "Don't be a fool! Come out ofhere!" And they hauled him outside, where, on the porch, he gave ventanew to his wrath until they left him finally in disgust.
He slouched in to see Paul after dinner that evening, much to Neil'simpatience, and taking up a commanding position on a corner of thestudy-table, recited his tale of injustice with great eloquence. Paul,who had spent the afternoon with other unfortunates on the benches, wasfull of sympathy.
"It's a dirty shame, Tom," he said. "And I'm glad you waded into Millsthe way you did. It was fine!"
"Little white-haired snake!" exclaimed Cowan. "Drops me from trainingjust because I make a fumble! Why, you've fumbled, Paul, and so'sFletcher here; lots of times. But he doesn't lay _you_ off! Oh, dear,no; you're swells whose names will look well in the line-up for theRobinson game! But here I've played on the team for two years, and nowoff I go just because I dropped a ball. It's rank injustice!
"I suppose he thinks I've got to play football here. If he does he'saway off, that's all. I could have gone to Robinson this fall and hadeverything I wanted. They guaranteed me a position at guard or tackle,and I wouldn't have needed to bother with studies as I do here, either."The last remark called a smile to Neil's face, and Cowan unfortunatelyglanced his way and saw it.
"I dare say if I was willing to toady to Mills and Devoe, and telleverybody they're the finest football leaders that ever came down thepike, it would be different," he sneered angrily. "Maybe then Millswould give me private instruction in goal-kicking and let me black hisboots for him."
Neil closed his book and leaned back in his chair, a little disk of redin each cheek.
"Now, look here, Tom Cowan, let's have this out," he said quietly."You're hitting at me, of course--"
"Oh, keep out, chum," protested Paul. "Cowan hasn't mentioned you once."
"He doesn't need to," answered Neil. "I understand without it. But letme tell you, Cowan, that I do not toady to either Mills or Devoe. I dotreat them, however, as I would any one who was in authority over me. Idon't think merely because I've played the game before that I know allthe football there is to know."
"Meaning that I do?" growled Cowan.
"I mean that you've got a swelled head, Cowan, and that when Mills saidyou hadn't been doing your best he only told the truth, and what everyfellow knows."
"Shut up, Neil!" cried Paul angrily. "It isn't necessary for you topitch into Cowan just because he's down on his luck."
"I don't mind him," said Cowan, eying Neil with hatred. "He's sore aboutwhat I said. I dare say I shouldn't have said it. If he's Mills'sdarling--"
Neil pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet with blazing eyes.
"Kindly get out of here," he said. "I've had enough of your insults.This is my room; please leave it!" Cowan stared a moment in surprise,hesitated, threw a glance of inquiry at Paul's troubled and avertedface, and slid from the table.
"Of course you can put me out of your room," he sneered. "For thatmatter, I'm glad to leave it. I did think, though, that part of the shopwas Paul's, but I dare say he has to humor you."
"The room's as much mine as his," said Paul, "and I want you to stay init." He looked defiantly over at his friend. Neil had not bargained fora quarrel with Paul, but was too incensed to back down.
"And I say you sha'n't stay," he declared. "Paul and I will settle theproprietorship of the room after you're out of it. Now you get!"
"Maybe you'll put me out?" asked Cowan with a show of bravado. But heglanced toward the door as he spoke. Neil nodded.
"Maybe I will," he answered grimly.
"Cowan's my guest, Neil!" cried Paul. "And you've no right to put himout, and I sha'n't let you!"
"He'll go out of here, if I have to fight him and you too, Paul!" Paulstared in wonderment. He was so used to being humored by his roommatethat this declaration of war took his breath away. Cowan laughed withattempted nonchalance.
"Your friend's a bit chesty, Paul," he said. "Perhaps we'd better humorhim."
"No, stay where you are," said Paul. "If he thinks he's boss of me he'smistaken." He glared wrathfully at Neil, and yet with a trifle ofuneasiness. Paul was no coward, but physical conflict with Neil wassomething so contrary to the natural order that it appalled him. Neilremoved the gorgeous bottle-green velvet jacket that he wore in theevenings, and threw open the study door. Then he faced Cowan. Thatgentleman returned his gaze for a moment defiantly. But something inNeil's expression caused his eyes to drop and seek the portal. Helaughed uneasily, and with simulated indifference laid his hand onPaul's shoulder.
"Come on, old chap," he said, "let's get out before we're torn to bits.There's no pleasure in staying with such a disagreeable fire-eater,anyhow. Come up to my room, and let him cool off."
Paul hesitated, and then turned to follow Cowan, who was strollingtoward the door. Angry as he was, deep in his heart he was glad to avoidconflict with his chum.
"All right," he answered in a voice that trembled, "we'll go;but"--turning to Neil--"if you think I'm going to put up with this sortof thing, you're mistaken. You can have this room, and I'llget another."
"I'd suggest your rooming with Cowan," answered Neil, "since you're sofond of him."
"Your friend's jealous," laughed Cowan from the hall. Paul joined him,slamming the door loudly as he went.
Neil heard Cowan's laughter and the sound of their steps as they climbedthe stairs. For several moments he stood motionless, staring at thedoor. Then he shook his head, donned his jacket, and sat down again. Nowthat it was done, he was intensely sorry. As for the quarrel with Cowan,that troubled not at all; but an open breach with Paul was something newand something which, just at this time especially, might work for ill.Paul was already so far under Cowan's domination that anything tendingto foster their friendship was unfortunate. Neil was ashamed, too, ofhis burst of temper, and the remainder of the evening passedmiserably enough.
When Paul returned he was cold and repellent, and answered Neil'sattempts at conversation in monosyllables. Neil, however, was glad tofind that Paul said nothing further about a change of quarters, and inthat fact found encouragement. After all, Paul would soon get over hisanger, he told himself; the two had been firm friends for three years,and it would take something more than the present affair toestrange them.
But as the days passed and Paul showed no disposition to make friendsagain, Neil began to despair. He knew that Cowan was doing all in hispower to widen the breach and felt certain that left to himself Paulwould have forgotten his grievance l
ong ago. Paul spent most of his timein Cowan's room when at home, and Neil passed many dull hours. One thingthere was, however, which pleased him. Cowan's absence from the fieldworked a difference from the first in Paul's playing, and the latter wasnow evidently putting his heart into his work. He made such a goodshowing between the day of Cowan's dismissal and the following Wednesdaythat he was scheduled to play right half against Harvard, and wasconsequently among the little army of players and supporters thatjourneyed to Cambridge on that day.