CHAPTER VI
MILLS, HEAD COACH
"TO THE IN-FANTS OF 1905:
"GREETING!
"The class of 1904, an-i-mat-ed by the kind-li-est of sen-ti-ments, has,at an ex-pen-se of much time and thought, form-u-lat-ed the fol-low-ingRULES for the guid-ance of your todd-ling foot-steps at this the out-setof your col-lege car-eers. A strict ad-her-ence to these PRE-CEPTS willin-sure to you the ad-mi-ra-tion of your fond par-ents, the re-spect ofyour friends, and the love of the SOPH-O-MORE CLASS, which, in theab-sence of rel-at-ives, will, with thought-ful, tender care, stand everby to guard you from the world's hard knocks.
"ATTEND, INFANTS!
"1. R-spect for eld-ers and those in auth-or-ity is one of child-hood'smost charm-ing traits. There-for take off your hat to all SOPH-O-MORES,and when in their pres-ence al-ways main-tain a def-er-en-tial sil-ence.
"2. Tall hats and canes as art-i-cles of child-ren's attire areex-treme-ly un-be-com-ing, and are there-for strict-ly pro-hib-it-ed.
"3. Smok-ing, either of pipes, cig-ars, or cig-ar-ettes, stunts thegrowth and re-tards the dev-el-op-ment of in-tel-lect. Child-ren,be-ware!
"4. A suf-fic-ien-cy of sleep and plain, whole-some fare are strong-lyre-com-mend-ed.
"Early to bed and early to rise Makes little Freshie healthy and wise.
"Avoid late hours and rich food, es-pec-ial-ly fudge.
"5. That you may not be tempt-ed to trans-gress the pre-ceed-ing rule,it has been thought best to pro-hib-it the Freshman Din-ner, which inpre-vi-ous years has ruin-ed so many young lives. The hab-it of hold-ingthese din-ners is a per-nic-ious one and must be stamp-ed out. To thisend the CLASS OF 1904 will ex-ert its strong-est ef-forts, and you arehere-by warn-ed that any at-tempt to re-vive this lam-ent-able cust-omwill bring down up-on you severe chast-ise-ment.
"We must be cruel only to be kind; Pause and reflect, who would be dined.
"Heed and prof-it by these PRE-CEPTS, dear child-ren, that you may growup to be great and noble men like those who sub-scribe them-selves,
"Pa-ter-nal-ly yours,
"THE CLASS OF 1904.
"You are ad-ver-tis-ed by your lov-ing friends."
This startling information, printed in sophomore red on big whiteplacards, flamed from every available space in and about the campus thenext morning. The nocturnal bill-posters had shown themselves norespecters of places, for the placards adorned not fences and wallsalone, but were pasted on the granite steps of each recitation hall. Allthe forenoon groups of staid seniors, grinning juniors and sophomores,or vexed freshmen stood in front of the placards and read theinscriptions with varied emotions. But in the afternoon a cheering mobof the "infants" marched through the college and town and tore down oreffaced every poster they could find. But they didn't get as far fromthe campus as the athletic field, and so it was not until Neil and Pauland one or two other freshmen reported for practise at four o'clock thatit was discovered that the high board fence surrounding the field was amass of the objectionable signs from end to end.
"Oh, let them stay," said Neil. "I think they're rather funny myself.And as for their stopping the freshman dinner, why we'll wait and see.If they try it we'll have our chance to get back at them."
"R-r-revenge!" muttered South, who, with a lacrosse stick over hisshoulder and an attire consisting wholly of a pair of flapping whitetrunks, a faded green shirt, and a pair of canvas shoes, had come out tojoin the lacrosse candidates.
"King suggested our getting some small posters printed in blue with justthe figures ''05' on them, and pasting one on every soph's window," saidPaul, "but Livingston wouldn't hear of it. I think it would be a goodgame, eh?"
"Faculty'd kick up no end of a rumpus," said South.
"I haven't heard that they are doing much about these things," answeredPaul. "If the sophs can stick things around why can't we?"
"You'd better ask the Dean," suggested Neil. "Hello, who's that chap?"
They had entered the grounds and were standing on the steps of thelocker-house. The person to whom Neil referred was just coming throughthe gate. He was a medium-sized man of about thirty years, with agood-looking, albeit very freckled face, and a good deal of sandy hair.The afternoon was quite warm, and he carried his straw hat in one verybrown hand, while over his arm lay a sweater of Erskine purple, a pairof canvas trousers, and two worn shoes.
"Blessed if I know who he is!" murmured South. They watched the newcomeras he traversed the path and reached the steps. As he passed them andentered the building he looked them over keenly with a pair of verysharp and very light blue eyes.
"Wow!" muttered Paul. "He looked as though he was trying to decidewhether I would taste better fried or baked."
"I wonder--" began Neil. But at that moment Tom Cowan came up and Paulput the question to him.
"The fellow that just came in?" repeated Cowan. "That, my boy, is agentleman who will have you standing on your head in just about twentyminutes. Some eight or ten years ago he was popularly known hereaboutsas 'Whitey' Mills. To-day, if you know your business, you'll address himas _Mister_ Mills."
"Oh," said Neil, "he's the head coach, is he?"
"He is, my young friend. And as he used to be one of the finesthalf-backs in the country, I guess you'll see something of him beforeyou make the team. I dare say he can teach even you something aboutplaying your position." Cowan grinned and passed on.
"Oh, go to thunder!" muttered Neil, following him into the building.
He found Mills being introduced by Devoe to such of the new candidatesas were on hand.
"You remember Cowan, I guess," Devoe was saying. "He played right-guardlast year." Mills and Cowan shook hands. "And this is Fletcher, a newman," continued the captain, "and Gale, too; they're both Hilltonfellows and played at half. It was Fletcher that made that fine run inthe St. Eustace game. Gale was the captain last year."
Mills shook hands with each, but beyond a short nod of his head and abrief "Glad to meet you," displayed no knowledge of their fame.
"Grouchy chap," commented Paul when, the coach out of hearing, they werechanging their clothes.
"Well, he doesn't hurt himself talking," answered Neil. "But he looksas though he knew his business. His eyes are like little blue-steelgimlets."
"Doesn't look much for strength, though," said Paul.
But when, a few minutes later, Mills appeared on the gridiron infootball togs, Paul was forced to alter his opinion. Chest, arms, andlegs were a mass of muscle, and the head coach looked as though he couldrender a good account of himself against the stiffest line that could beput together.
The practise began with ten minutes of falling on the ball. Thecandidates were lined out in two strings across the field, the old menin one, the new material in another. Neil and Paul were among thelatter, and Mills held their ball. Standing at the right end of theline, he rolled the pigskin in front of and slightly away from the line,and one after another the men leaped forward and flung themselves uponit, missing it at first as often as not, and rolling about on the turfas though suddenly seized with fits. Neil rather prided himself on hisability to fall on the ball, and went at it like an old stager, or so hethought. But if he expected commendation he found none. When the lastman had rolled around after the elusive pigskin, Mills went to the otherend of the line and did it all over again.
When it came Neil's turn he plunged out, found the ball nicely, andsnuggled it against his breast. To his surprise when he arose Mills lefthis place and walked out to him.
"Let's try that again," he said. Neil tossed him the ball and went backto his place. Mills nodded to him and rolled the pigskin toward him.Neil dropped on his hip, securing the ball under his right arm. Like aflash Mills was over him, and with a quick blow of his hand had sent theleather bobbing across the turf yards away.
"When you get it, hold on to it," he said dryly. Neil arose withreddening cheeks and, amid the smiles of the others, went back to hisplace trying to decide whether, if he could have his way
, the coachshould perish by boiling oil or by merely being drawn and quartered. Butafter that it was a noticeable fact that the men clung to the ball whenthey got it as though it were a dearly loved friend.
Later, passing down the line in front from end to end, the head coachthrew the ball swiftly at the feet of one after another of thecandidates, and each was obliged to drop where he stood and have theball in his arms when he landed. When Mills came to Neil the latter wasstill nursing his resentment, and his cheeks still proclaimed thatfact. After the boy had dropped on the ball and had tossed it back tothe coach their eyes met. In the coach's was just the merest twinkle, avery ghost of a smile; but Neil saw it, and it said to him as plainly aswords could have said, "I know just how you feel, my boy, but you'll getover it after a while."
The coach passed on and the flush faded from Neil's cheeks; he evensmiled a little. It was all right; Mills understood. It was almost asthough they shared a secret between them. Alfred Mills, head footballcoach at Erskine College, had no more devoted admirer and partizan fromthat moment than Neil Fletcher, '05.
Next the men were spread out until there was a little space betweeneach, and the coach passed behind the line and shot the ball through,and they had an opportunity to see what they could do with a pigskinthat sped away ahead of them. By careful management it is possible infalling on a football to bring almost every portion of the anatomy inviolent contact with the ground, and this fact was forcibly brought hometo Neil, Paul, and all the others by the time the work was at an end.
"I've got bones I never knew the existence of before," mourned Neil.
"Me too," growled Paul. "And half a dozen of my front teeth are achingfrom trying to bite holes in the ground; I think they're all loose. Ifthey come out I'll send the dentist's bill to the management."
A few minutes later Neil found himself at left half in one of the sixsquads of eleven men each that practised advancing the ball. They linedup in ordinary formation, and the ball was passed to one back afteranother for end runs. Mills went from squad to squad, criticizingbriefly and succinctly.
"Don't wait for the quarter to pass," he told Paul, who was playingbeside Neil. "On your toes and run hard. Have confidence in yourquarter. If the ball isn't ready for you it's not your fault. Trythat again."
And when Paul and Neil and the full-back had plowed round the left endonce more--
"Quarter, don't hold that ball as though your hand was frozen; keep yourhand limber and see that you get the belly of the ball in it, not oneend; then it won't tilt itself out. When you get the ball from centerrise quickly, put your back against guard, and throw your weight there.And it's just as necessary for you to have confidence in the runner asit is for him to have faith in you. Don't fear that you'll be too quickfor him; don't doubt but that he'll be there at the right instant. Keepthat in mind and you'll soon have things going like clock-work. Now oncemore; ball to left half for a run around right end."
When practise was over that day the new candidates were unanimous in theopinion that they had learned more that afternoon under Mills than theyhad learned during the whole previous week. Neil, Paul, and Cowanwalked back to college together.
"Yes, he's a great little coach," said Cowan, "and a nice chap when youget to know him; no frills on him, you know. And he's plumb full ofpluck. They say that once when he played here at half-back he got theball on Robinson's forty yards and walked down the field and over theline for a touch-down with half the Robinson team hanging on to hislegs, and said afterward that he thought he _had_ felt some one tuggingat him!" Neil laughed.
"But he doesn't look so awfully strong," he objected.
"Well, I guess he was in better trim then," answered Cowan. "Besides,he's built well, you see--most of his weight below his waist; when achap's that way it's hard to pull him over. I remember last year in thegame with Erstham I got through their tackle on a guard-backplay, and--"
But Neil had already heard that story of heroic deeds, and so lent adeaf ear to Cowan's boasting. When they reached Main Street a windowfull of the first issue of the college weekly, The Erskine Purple, mettheir sight, and they went in and bought copies. On the steps of thelaboratory building they opened the inky-smelling journals and glancedthrough them.
"Here's an account of last night's election," said Cowan. "That's quickwork, isn't it? And you can read all about Livingston's brilliantcareer, Gale. By the way, have you met him yet?"
Paul shook his head. "No, and I'm bearing up under it as well as can beexpected."
"You're not missing much," said Cowan. "Hello, here's the footballschedule! Want to hear it?" Paul said he did, Neil muttered somethingunintelligible, and Cowan read as follows:
"E.C.F.B.A.
"SCHEDULE OF GAMES
"Oct. 12. Woodby at Centerport. " 16. Dexter at Centerport. " 23. Harvard at Cambridge. " 26. Erstham at Centerport. Nov. 2. State University at Centerport. " 6. Arrowden at Centerport. " 9. Yale at New Haven. " 16. Artmouth at Centerport. " 23. Robinson at Centerport."
"By Jove!" said Cowan. "We've got seven home games this year! That'sfine, isn't it? But I'll bet we'll find Woodby a tough proposition onthe 12th. Last year we played her about the 1st of November, and shedidn't do a thing to us. And look at the game they've got scheduled fora week before the Robinson game! That'll wear us out; Artmouth will putjust about half of our men on the sick-list. And--Hello!" he said,dropping his voice; "talk of an angel!"
A youth of apparently nineteen years was approaching them. He was ofmoderate height, rather slimly built, with dark eyes and hair, andclean-cut features. He swung a note-book in one hand, and was evidentlyin deep thought, for he failed to see the group on the steps, and wouldhave passed without speaking had not Cowan called to him. Housed fromhis reverie, Fanwell Livingston glanced up, and, after nodding to Cowanand Neil, turned in at the gate.
"I suppose you want congratulations," said Cowan. "Well, you can havemine."
"And mine," added Neil. "And Gale here will extend his as soon as he'sproperly introduced. Mr. Gale--Mr. Livingston."
"Victory--Defeat," added Cowan with a grin. The two candidates for thefreshman presidency shook hands, Paul without enthusiasm,Livingston heartily.
"Congratulations, of course," murmured the former.
"Thank you," answered the president. "You're very generous. After all, Idare say you've got the best of it, for you'll have the satisfaction ofknowing that if the fellows had chosen you you would have done muchbetter than I shall. However, I hope we'll be friends, Mr. Gale."Livingston's smile was undeniably winning, and Paul was forced toreturn it.
"You're very good," he answered quite affably. "I hope we will."Livingston nodded, smiled again, and turned to Cowan.
"Well, they tell me you fellows are in for desperate deeds this year,"he said.
"How's that?" asked Cowan.
"Aren't you in on the sophomore councils? Why, I'm told that if thefreshmen don't give up the dinner plan I'm to be kidnaped."
"How'd you hear--" began Cowan. Then he paused with some confusion. "Whotold you that rot?" he asked with a laugh.
"Oh, it came in a roundabout way," answered Livingston. "I dare say it'sjust talk."
"Some freshman nonsense," said Cowan. "I guess we'll do our best to keepyou fellows from eating too much, but--" He shrugged his big shoulders.Livingston, observing him shrewdly, began for the first time sinceintelligence of the supposed project had reached him to give credence toit. But he laughed carelessly as he turned away.
"Oh, well, we have to keep you fellows amused, of course, and if youlike to try kidnaping you may."
"I wish the sophs would try it," said Neil warmly. Cowan turned to him.
"Well, if they did--_if_ they did--I guess they'd succeed," he drawled.
"Well, if they do--_if_ they do," answered Neil, "I'll bet they won'tsucceed."
"You'd stop us, perhaps?" sneered Cowan.
"Easily," answered Neil, smi
ling sweetly; "there are only a hundred orso of you."
"There's no one like a week-old freshman for self-importance," Cowansaid, laughing in order to hide his vexation.
"Unless it's a third-year sophomore," Neil retorted.
"Oh, well," Paul interposed, "it's all poppycock, anyhow."
"That's all," said Livingston.
"Of course," agreed Cowan.
Neil was silent.