CHAPTER XIV
Fordham Plays a Slugging Game
For half an hour before the first section of the special pulledout, the Gridley Band played its liveliest tunes. A part of thetime the band played accompaniment to the school airs, which thecrowd took up with lively spirit.
There is a peculiar enthusiasm which attaches to the ThanksgivingDay game. This is due partly to the extra holiday spirit of theaffair. Then, too, there is the high tension that precedes thelast game of the season.
With a team that has won every game to that point, yet often withgreat difficulty, the tension of spirits is even higher.
As the first section of the special rolled in at the railway stationthe part of the crowd that was "going" began to break up intogroups headed for the different parts of the train.
Herr Schimmelpodt went, of course, to the car that carried theteam. The boys wouldn't have been satisfied to start or to travelwithout him. The big German had come to be the mascot of GridleyHigh School.
Just before the train started Herr Schimmelpodt waddled out tothe rear platform of the car.
In his right hand he brandished a massive cane to which the GridleyHigh School colors were secured.
"Now, listen," he bellowed out. "Ve come back our scalps notwigs! You hear dot, alretty?"
While the cheering was still going on, and while the band wascrashing out music, the first section pulled out, making roomfor the second section.
A run of a little more than an hour at good speed, and with noway stops, brought the Gridley invading forces to Fordham.
At the depot, the local team's second coach awaited the players.He had two stages at hand, into which the team and subs piled.A wagon followed, carrying the kits of the Gridley boys. Therewere two more stages for the band. All the other travelers hadto depend on the street-car service.
Finding the stages rather crowded, Dick nudged Darrin, then madefor the kit wagon.
"I really believe we'll have more comfort, Dave," proposed Prescott,"if we get aboard this rig and ride on top of the tog bags."
The suggestion was carried out at once.
"I'll drive along fast, if you want," proposed the driver, "andget the togs down to the grounds ahead of your team."
"If you please," nodded Dick. "Our boys will want everythingready when they reach the grounds."
So the two chums were quickly carried beyond the noise and confusion.A few minutes later the wagon turned in at the Fordham Athleticgrounds.
The Fordham High School boys were out in the field, practicing.As seen in their padded togs they were an extra-bulky lookinglot.
"Great Scott!" grunted Darrin, half disgustedly. "Each one ofthose Fordham fellows must weigh close to a ton."
"The more weight the less speed, anyway," laughed Dick good-humoredly.
"And, look! I wonder how old some of those fellows are," continuedDarrin. "I wonder if, in this town, men wait until they've madetheir fortunes and retired, before they enter High School. Why,some of these Fordham fellows must have voted for president thelast two times."
"Hardly as bad as that, I guess," smiled Prescott. "Still, theseFordham boys do look more like a college eleven than a High Schoolcrowd."
Dave continued to gaze over at the home team, and to scowl, untilthe wagon was halted before dressing quarters. Here the teamsterand another man made short work of carrying in all the tog-bags.
A few minutes later the other fellows arrived.
"Say, which team is it we're fighting to-day?" demanded Hudson."Harvard, or Yale?"
There was general grumbling comment.
"I think," insisted Tom Reade, "that the Fordham team wouldn'tlike to stand a searching hunt into the eligibility of some oftheir players."
"They've surely brought in some who are not regular, fair-and-squareHigh School students," contended Dan Dalzell.
There was much more talk of this sort, some of the Gridley boysinsisting that Fordham ought to be compelled to account for thesize and seeming age of some of the home players.
"We're up against a crooked line-up, or I'll give up," mutteredGreg Holmes.
"Now, see here, fellows," laughed Captain Dick. "I don't believein making any fuss beforehand. We'll just go ahead and take whatcomes to us."
"It would be too late to make a kick after we've played," criedsome one.
"You fellows," continued Dick, "make me think of what I heardMr. Pollock say to Wilcox, chairman of the campaign committeeback home."
"What was that?" demanded half a dozen.
"Why," chuckled Prescott, "Mr. Pollock said to Wilcox: 'Now, seehere, there's always a chance that the election will go our way.So never yell fraud until after the election is over.'"
"I guess that's the wisest philosophy," laughed Coach Morton,who had taken no part in the previous conversation.
"If that's the Fordham team," continued Dick, "it's one of prettysizable fellows. But we'll do our plain duty, which is to pileout on to the field and proceed to stroll through any line thatis posted in our way."
Just before the Gridley youngsters were ready to go out for preliminarypractice the big Fordham fellows came off the field.
"Hullo!" piped Dave, as the Gridley boys strolled out to the gridiron."You ought to feel happy, Dick. There's a big section of WestPoint over on the grand stand."
Nearly two hundred young men in black and gray cadet uniformsof the United States Military Academy pattern sat in a solid blockat one point on the grand stand.
"No, they're not West Pointers," sighed Dick. "See here, thosefellows, of course, are students at the Fordham Military institute.They wear the West Point uniform. And that's the military schoolthat Phin Drayne went to."
"The sneak!" grunted Dave. "I wonder if he's over in that bunch,now."
"I'm not even enough interested to wonder," returned Prescott."He's where he can't do us any harm, anyway."
"But, if the Fordham boys put anything over us, I'll bet Draynehas things timed so that the military boys will do a big andnoisy lot of boasting."
"They will, anyway, if we allow them a chance," answered Dick."Now, spread out, fellows," he called, raising his voice.
In the next moment the ball was in lively play.
The first time that a fumble was made a jeering chorus soundedamong the military school boys.
"I expected it," growled Darrin.
"We don't care, anyway," smiled Dick. "Let 'em hoot! I don'tdraw the line until they throw things."
"If they knew Phin Drayne as we do, they'd throw him first," grimacedDarrin.
A minute later another hoot went up. It was plain that the militaryschool boys had been primed for this.
But the gray-clad youths, it was very soon evident, were not theonly ones who had come out to make a noise. Half of the Fordhamcrowd present joined in the volleys of derision that were showereddown on the practicing boys from Gridley.
"It's nothing but a mob!" declared Darrin, his eyes flashing.
"Careful, old fellow," counseled Prescott coolly. "They're tryingto get our nerve before the game begins. Don't let 'em do it."
This excellent instruction Dick contrived to pass throughout histeam. Thereafter the Gridley boys seemed not to hear the harshwitticisms that were hurled at them from all sides of the field.
Just in the nick of time the Gridley Band began playing. Thatstopped the annoyance for a while, for Fordham had neglected toprovide a band.
Yet when the Gridley High School song was started by the band,and the Gridley boosters joined in the words, the answer fromFordham came in the form of a "laughing-song," let loose withsuch volume that the Gridley offering to the merriment was drownedout.
"I hope we can give this rough town a horrible thumping---that'sall," muttered Dave, his eyes flashing.
"Don't let them capture your 'goat,' and we will," Dick promised,as quietly as ever.
The plain hostility of the home crowd was wearing in on more thanone of the Gridley boys. Dick felt o
bliged to call his eleventogether, and to give them some quiet, homely but forcible advice.Coach Morton followed, with more in the same line.
Yet it came as a welcome relief to the Gridley youngsters whenthe referee and the other officials came to the field and gamewas called.
Dick Prescott won the toss, and took the kickoff.
That, of course, sent the ball into Fordham ranks. In an instantthe solid Fordham line emitted a murmur that sounded like a bear'sgrowl, then came thundering down upon the smaller Gridley youngsters.
There was a fierce collision, but Gridley held on like a herdof bulls. The ball was soon down.
For five minutes or so there was savage playing. Fordham playeda "slugging" game of the worst kind. Several foul tackles werequickly made by home players, yet so quickly released that thereferee could not be sure and could not inflict a penalty. Slyblows were struck when the lines came together.
The average football captain would have claimed penalties, andfought the matter out.
But Dick Prescott let matters run by. He was waiting his opportunity.
So hard was the "slugging," so overbearing and ruthlessly unfairwas the Fordham charge that, at the end of five minutes, Gridleywas forced to make a safety, losing two points at the outset.
"Yah!" sneered an exultant voice from the ranks of the militaryschool. "That's the fine Captain Prescott we've heard about!"
Tom Reade, in togs, was standing among the Gridley subs at theside line.
Tom recognized, as did all the Gridley boys, the voice of PhinDrayne.
"Yes!" bellowed Tom, facing the gray-clad group. "And that lastspeaker was a fellow who was expelled from Gridley High Schoolfor selling out his team!"
It was a swift shot and a bull's-eye. The Fordham Institute boyshad no answer ready for that. Half of them turned to stare atPhin Drayne, whose guilty face, with color coming and going inflashes seemed to admit the truth of Reade's taunt.
"Dick," growled Darrin, as they moved forward, after the safety,to Gridley's twenty-five yard line, "these Fordham fellows aresimply ruffians. They're fouling us every second, and they'llsmash half our fellows into the hospital."
"We'll see about that!"
Dick Prescott's voice was as quiet and cool as ever, but therewas an ominous flash in his eyes.