Читать книгу The Secret Play - Ralph Henry Barbour - Страница 6

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Clearfield played Highland Hall Military Academy four days later and it is safe to say that practically the entire juvenile population of the town turned out to see the first football game of the season. Perhaps the weather had something to do with the size of the audience that filled the grandstand and overflowed on the field, for there was a zest and a snap to the air that hinted overcoats, and the sun played hide-and-seek behind the scudding gray clouds. Brent Field, as the High School athletic grounds are called, is only a scant block and a half from the river and when the wind is from the northwest, as it was this afternoon, the few scattered buildings between field and river afford but little protection.

Highland Hall had brought along most of its Fourth Year Class—the Academy regulations forbade members of other classes accompanying the teams away from school—and the forty-odd boys looked very fine and manly in their cadet-blue cape-coats, below which tan-gaitered legs twinkled. They assembled at one end of the stand and gave their team a lusty welcome when it trotted on the gridiron, waving their blue-and-blue banners proudly. The dark blue and light blue of the flags was repeated in the costumes of the players, and their sweaters held the letters H. H. M. A. cunningly arranged, the first H taking the form of a football goal and the other letters appearing in the space under the cross-bar. But, in spite of the neat attire of players and supporters, Highland Hall was no dangerous adversary. The fellows, as Fudge explained to Gordon, were allowed only two hours a day for recreation and were coached by the Commandant, a grave martinet of a man who knew more of military tactics than football. Fudge and Gordon were seated on the bench, after a ten-minute workout, and Fudge, who had more flesh than he needed, was still breathing hard from his exertions.

“That’s the coach over there,” he said, nodding across the gridiron. “He’s a terror, they say.”

“You have a cousin at Highland, haven’t you?” asked Gordon. “Is he here to-day?”

“No, he’s only in the Second Year Class, and they don’t let any but the Fourth Year fellows go away from school. They’re strict as anything. I’m glad they didn’t send me there. Dad wanted to, but ma and I were dead against it.” Fudge grinned reminiscently. “I told ma I didn’t think I was strong enough for it.”

“Fudge, you’re a fakir,” said Gordon cheerfully. Fudge was starting to deny this indignantly when Lanny White, returning from the center of the field where he had won the toss-up, summoned the players.

“All right, fellows,” said Lanny. “They kick-off and we take the west goal. Get into it, now, and let’s get the drop on them!”

“Now let’s see who’s who,” murmured Gordon as the team trotted out and spread over the west end of the field. “Haley, center; Cable and Kent, guards; Horsford and— Hello, Will Scott’s playing right tackle! What’s the matter with Wayland?”

“Sick; has tonsilitis or something. Who’s that going to play left end, Gordie?”

“Jim Grover; and Toll is right end, Cottrell, quarter, Lanny and Rob Hansard, halves, and Felker, fullback. I guess that’s about the way we’ll line up in the Springdale game, barring accidents; only, of course, Way will get in, and Morris Brent.” Gordon leaned forward and spoke along the bench. “Aren’t you going to play, Morris?”

Morris shrugged the shoulders under the purple sweater he wore. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe in the last quarter.”

Gordon nodded. “Hope so,” he said. And then, to Fudge: “Lanny’s not taking any chances with Morris, is he? There’s the whistle!”

Lanny got the kick-off and, unaided by interference, raced back nearly twenty yards before he was stopped. Clearfield set to work with the few plays she had ready, simple attacks from a tandem formation in which the runner relied more on speed and force than deception. Two first downs were gained and then a fumble necessitated a punt, and Felker, who was called on, booted the ball almost straight into the air and Clearfield not only lost possession of the pigskin but some eight yards besides.

Highland started in with a will. She used a wide open formation and on the first play attempted a double pass which, had it succeeded, would have netted much territory. But, perhaps more by good luck than good management, Jack Toll nailed the runner near the side line for a scant two-yard gain. A second attempt, a forward pass straight over the middle of the line, went better and Highland made her distance easily. An involved play in which quarter faked a kick and then passed to a halfback for a run around the short side, only resulted in the ball being taken in about where it had gone into play. A plunge at tackle on the left gained three yards and, with six to go on third down, Highland punted. The ball was well handled and well kicked and Cottrell got it behind his goal and touched it back. On her twenty yards Clearfield started her advance once more and carried almost to midfield before she was again forced to punt.

This time Felker did better, although the ball covered but a scant twenty-five yards. Highland, failing to gain at center, returned the kick and the ball was Clearfield’s on her forty-five yards. Rob Hansard got away around right end for a first down and on the next play repeated the performance for four more. Lanny made the distance off left tackle. The Blue-and-Blue was proving weak at her wings and Lanny wisely continued the assault at those positions. Both he and Hansard got around without much difficulty until the ball was on the opponent’s twenty-yard line. Then Lanny was nailed for a five-yard loss, and Cottrell, faking a forward pass, tossed the ball to Felker and that youth banged his way straight through the middle of the enemy’s line for twelve yards. From there, in three plays, Clearfield took the ball over, Hansard securing the touchdown. Cable missed the try-at-goal.

The first quarter ended after the kick-off, the score 6 to 0.

The second period saw one more score for the home team. Highland fumbled on her forty yards and Cottrell picked up the ball and tore off fifteen yards before he was stopped. A fake forward pass with the ball going to Lanny failed to gain, but Felker smashed through for four and Hansard barely gained first down by sliding off right tackle. Felker fumbled but Lanny recovered for a two-yard loss and then skirted the opponent’s left end for a touchdown in the corner of the field. The punt-out placed the ball directly in front of goal and just back of the fifteen-yard line, and this time Bert Cable had no difficulty in negotiating the extra point. For the rest of the period Clearfield played on the defensive and kicked frequently, and the half ended with the ball in Highland Hall’s possession on her own forty-three yards.

Dick watched the game from the grandstand in company with Louise Brent, who, like most of the High School girls, was an ardent football lover. Between the halves, however, Louise abandoned the game long enough to announce the progress of the Fund.

“It was forty-three dollars and sixty cents this noon, Dick,” she said. “That isn’t bad, but I thought we’d have lots more by this time. The girls have done heaps better than the boys. They’ve given almost two-thirds of the total. Do you think the boys really dislike Mr. Grayson; many of them, I mean?”

“No, but most of the younger fellows don’t have much spending money, Louise, and I suppose they think they need sodas and candy and such things more than Mr. Grayson needs a new desk!” Dick smiled at his companion’s expression of disapproval. “They’ll fall into line in the end, though, I guess. Gordon told me last night that most of the fellows he has been after have only given twenty-five or fifty cents.”

“Well, you’ve done beautifully,” said Louise.

“I’ve bullied the chaps,” laughed Dick. “Anyway, it’s easier to get money from the seniors. They’ve got more, in the first place, and then they’re more willing to give it up. Some of the younger boys have it in for Mr. Grayson for one reason or another, I suppose. We’ll get the full amount finally, I think. It would be a lot easier if we didn’t have to be so secret about it. We could call a meeting some day at recess and pretty nearly get the whole amount, I’ll bet. But it would surely get around if we did that and Mr. Grayson would hear of it.”

“Yes, and half the fun will be in surprising him,” said Louise. “We’re going to take Miss Turner into the secret and she will let us into Mr. Grayson’s office the night before his birthday. Won’t it be exciting?”

“Terribly,” agreed Dick. “Imagine us tiptoeing in there in the dark, you carrying the desk and May the revolving book-case and Nell the—the arm-chair——”

“No, don’t let her take the arm-chair,” begged Louise. “She’ll be sure to set it down and go to sleep in it. What are you going to carry?”

“I thought I’d take the small chair,” replied Dick gravely. “I’m very unselfish, you see. I leave the larger honors to the rest of you.”

“Yes, larger and heavier,” laughed the girl. “There they come again! Do you know, I sort of half wish Highland Hall would score, Dick? They’re such nice-looking boys, and their uniforms are so stunning!”

“They’ve certainly got us beaten on appearance,” said Dick. “Hello, Lanny’s sending the same fellows back.”

“Shouldn’t he?”

“There’s no law against it, only, with a lead of thirteen points, it seems to me it would be a good chance to let some of the subs smell gunpowder. I guess he knows what he’s doing, though.”

“I do hope he has a successful season,” said Louise. “I like Lanny, and he always works so hard at everything that he deserves to win.”

“He’s pretty well handicapped just now. The team really does need a coach, and the Athletic Committee didn’t make any kind of a popular hit with the school when it decided against paying for one the other night. The fellows blame Mr. Grayson for that, by the way, and I suppose that’s one reason why they don’t subscribe more liberally to the Fund. There’s a wretched kick-off for you!”

“Did Bert Cable do that, Dick? I thought he usually kicked splendidly.”

“He does the best he can considering that he doesn’t think it worth while to cock the ball any,” replied Dick dryly. “Bert evidently thinks that pile of sand out there is to look at. If he’d tee the ball up properly and— Good work, Clearfield!”

Kent, the purple-legged right guard had broken through and smeared Highland’s play behind her line, and an approving cheer arose from the stand. Highland tried an end run and made four yards and then attempted a forward pass which failed. With almost ten yards to go, she got a fine long punt away and her ends raced up the field under it and, undisturbed by the wretched attempt at interference put up by the Clearfield backs, nailed Cottrell in his tracks. For six of the ten minutes constituting the third period Highland, playing desperately, held her opponent away from her goal line. Then a fumble by Lanny worked to Clearfield’s advantage, for Chester Cottrell recovered the ball as it trickled back, dodged a plunging Highland forward, put an end out with a straight-arm and suddenly found himself clear. That run began on Clearfield’s thirty-seven yards and would certainly have resulted in a touchdown had not Cottrell, in evading a tackle by the opposing quarter, slipped one foot across the side line. Although Cottrell kept on and landed the ball under the cross-bar, and although Clearfield expressed its delight with much shouting, the referee called the ball back and put it in play on Highland’s twenty-three yards. The Blue-and-Blue won the admiration of friend and foe alike then, for she disputed every inch of the ground and Clearfield won her first down only after the hardest work and by a margin so slim that the linesmen had to trot in with the chain and measure the distance. Lanny’s attempt on the next play to circle the opponent’s left wing failed and Felker could make only three yards through the line. With seven to go on the third down, Lanny and Cottrell put their heads together and Lanny called in Morris Brent.

The ball was then almost opposite the center of the goal and on the ten-yard line. Morris dropped back to kicking position, swung one sturdy leg experimentally and held up his hands. Highland, shouting, “Block it! Block it!”, poised, ready to break through. Then back shot the ball. Morris barely caught it as it tried to pass over his head. Before he could get back into position the Blue-and-Blue was on him. Wisely, he made no effort to kick, for the ball would surely have been blocked, but instead ran back and desperately attempted a forward pass to Grover. The ball, however, grounded and there was a minute of time during which Highland tried to persuade the referee that the pass was illegal, that Morris had purposely grounded the ball to save a loss of territory. But the official decided that the play had been fair and the teams lined up on the twenty-one yards and again Morris walked back. The chance of scoring by drop-kick was pretty slim now, for the kicker was near the thirty-yard line and Highland had just demonstrated her ability to break through. But Morris did it. The pass was straight and breast-high and the ball left his toe quickly and surmounted the upstretched hands of the leaping enemy. There was an instant of doubt as the pigskin seemed to hesitate at the bar, but it went over, although by inches only, and Clearfield’s thirteen points became sixteen.

As the teams lined up again for the kick-off Morris retired once more, receiving an ovation as he walked to the bench. Nelson Beaton took his place for the few seconds remaining. Then the whistle blew and the third period was at an end.

When the teams faced each other again on Clearfield’s thirty yards substitutes were much in evidence. Jones was in place of Grover, Arthur Beaton for Haley, Tupper for Hansard and Kirke for Cottrell, and Felker was back at full. Highland Hall, too, had run new men on. Clearfield started rushing again and was soon past the center of the field. Kirke, the substitute quarter, got his signals mixed then and there was a ten-yard loss, and Clearfield kicked. Highland caught the ball on her twenty-five-yard line and came back twelve, the Purple’s ends showing up poorly. In the next scrimmage Beaton, Clearfield’s substitute center, received a blow on the head and retired in favor of Pete Robey. Pete had been trying for guard position and the duties of center rush were none too familiar to him, and, in spite of Lanny’s coaching, he was very weak on defense. Twice Highland made big gains through him before the secondary defense came to his assistance. Near the middle of the field Highland was forced to punt and Tupper fumbled on his twelve yards, recovered, tried to advance by a run across the field and was finally stopped for no gain. A fake-kick play with Felker taking the ball for a try around left end resulted in a loss and Felker kicked on second down. Highland signaled fair-catch and held the ball on Clearfield’s thirty-seven yards. A forward pass went diagonally to the right end and that youth plunged through half the Clearfield team before he was forced out near the twenty-yard line. The blue-coated adherents of the visiting team cheered lustily and implored a touchdown.

A wide end run gained a scant three yards and took the ball well over to the Clearfield side of the gridiron. Another forward pass was tried but was incompleted, and, with seven to go on third down, the Highland right tackle fell out of the line and walked back to about the thirty yards, while the quarterback knelt in front of him and patted the turf.

“I hope he makes a goal,” declared Louise Brent, in the grandstand.

“He won’t this time,” answered Dick, as Highland arranged her men to protect the kicker. Louise looked a question. “Highland has two downs yet,” he continued, “and that angle is almost impossible for anyone but a Brickley. They’ve made our fellows spread out and open their line and they’ll either snap the ball to that fellow who pretends he is going to place-kick and he will try a forward or the ball will go to one of those backs for a run straight through the middle. At least, that’s the way I size it up. We’ll see now.”

As Dick ended the ball shot back from center into the hands of the second back from the line and that youth put down his head and sprang straight ahead and went through for all of five yards before the secondary defense stopped him. Once more Highland Hall cheered loudly, and, almost before they had ceased, the Blue-and-Blue had added another three yards by an attack on right tackle and had gained her first down and shifted the ball a good twelve feet nearer the center of the field. The play was just inside the home team’s ten-yard line now and Clearfield supporters were hoarsely commanding the defenders of the east goal to “Hold ’em!” The time-keeper trotted on to announce two minutes left as the Highland quarterback piped his signals again. A half was sent hurtling against the left of Clearfield’s line for a scant yard, and a plunge at center, with quarterback carrying the ball, netted but two more. Again the tackle stepped back, this time apparently for a drop-kick, since the quarter did not accompany him, and again the defenders spread their line. The angle to the goal was by no means impossible now and the watchers held their breaths as the teams crouched.

“Block this!” implored Lanny. “Block this kick!”

“Watch for a fake!” counseled Kirke shrilly from between his goal-posts. Then came the signals, a halfback moved slightly forward, the ball shot back to the outstretched hands of the waiting tackle and the teams sprang together. The tackle’s long leg swung, and a few of the opponents who were cut off from sight of the ball, leaped into the air, but there was no thud of ball against shoe, for the tackle stepped nimbly to the right, poised the pigskin and hurled it straight and hard across the battling lines to where an undetected back had stolen around and behind the goal line. Though frenzied hands strove to intercept the ball, it settled into the catcher’s hands and stayed there while he was hurled to the ground two yards back of goal.

Perhaps the blue flags weren’t waved then as the cape-coated squad sprang to their feet and hurled joyous shrieks to the sky! And perhaps that crafty back wasn’t thumped and hugged when he was at last pulled to his feet! For Highland had done what she had never done before in ten years of Clearfield contests; she had crossed the Purple’s goal-line!

Disgustedly, Clearfield lined up under her goal as the ball was taken out for the try, and still more disgustedly she saw it pass a minute later straight over the bar, while Highland Hall shouted and waved riotously. Over at the score-board the small sophomore who officiated there smeared out the figure 6 after “Highland Hall” and, protest in every movement, chalked up a big white 7.

Clearfield tried to take revenge in the remaining sixty-odd seconds and fought desperately, but the time was too short and the last whistle blew with the ball in Highland’s possession near her thirty yards.

“I’m glad they scored,” said Louise a trifle defiantly as Dick put his crutches under his arms preparatory to descending the stand. “They deserved to, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” Dick agreed doubtfully. Then he repeated the word ungrudgingly. “Yes, they did deserve to, Louise. Any team deserves to win who is smart enough to take advantage of its opponents’ mistakes. And that is what Highland Hall did.”

“That,” responded Louise, as they waited for the aisle to clear, “sounds as if you thought the others didn’t really earn that score, Dick.”

“I didn’t mean it to. Highland earned her touchdown, all right. Profiting by the other fellow’s mistakes is more than half the game.”

“But I thought our boys played a very good game,” objected Louise loyally.

“Far be it from me to dispute you,” replied Dick, with a smile.

“But didn’t they?” she insisted. “Of course, Dick, I don’t know very much about such things, but I want to learn. Didn’t they play well?”

“Clearfield,” answered Dick, “was at least twenty-four points better than Highland Hall, Louise. She won by the score of sixteen to seven. As Mr. Grayson says, I invite your consideration.”

“Oh!” said Louise. “What was the matter, Dick?”

“Well,” replied the other, as he stumped cautiously down the steps, “it’s the general who watches the battle through a pair of field glasses who sees best what’s going on. Clearfield needed a general. It was a good fight on Clearfield’s part, but there was an unnecessary loss of lives!”

“Oh, you mean we needed a coach!”

“Badly,” said Dick.

“Then—then why don’t you do it?” exclaimed Louise. “Dick! Why don’t you?”

“Oh, you mustn’t think that just because I can criticize I could have managed that game any better,” laughed Dick. “Almost anyone can be a critic, but football coaches are a scarce article, Louise.”

“Just the same, I believe you could, Dick! And I think it’s funny Lanny hasn’t thought of it!”

“I don’t,” Dick replied. “I’d think it funny if he did, considering that I’ve never played it and have to toddle around on a pair of sticks!”

“That has nothing to do with it,” replied Louise convincedly. “I shall speak to him about it right away. Isn’t it perfectly fine that I thought of it?”