The Half Back - Ralph Henry Barbour
The halves were twenty-five minutes long, and in that first twenty-five
minutes St. Eustace scored but once, though near it thrice that many
times. Allen, St. Eustace's right half-back, had plunged over the line
for a touch-down at the end of fifteen minutes of play and Terrill had
missed an easy goal. Then the grand stand was silent save for one small
patch, whereon blue flags went crazy and swirled and leaped and danced
up and down as though possessed of life. And over the field sped, sharp
and triumphant, the St. Eustace cheer. And the score stood: St. Eustace
5, Hillton O.
The first half ended with the leather but ten yards from the north goal,
and a great murmuring sigh of relief went up from the seats and from
along the side-lines when the whistle sounded. Then the Hillton players,
pale, dirty, half defeated, trotted lamely off the field and around the
corner of the stand to the little weather-beaten shed which served for
dressing room. And the blue-clad team trotted joyfully down to their
stage, and there, behind the canvas protections were rubbed down and
plastered up, and slapped on the back by their delighted coach
and trainer.
In the Hillton quarters life was less cheerful during the ten minutes of
intermission. After the fellows had rubbed and redressed, Remsen talked
for a minute or two. There was no scolding, and no signs of either
disappointment or discouragement. But he cautioned the team against
carelessness, predicted a tied score at the end of fifteen minutes, and
called for three-times-three for Hillton, which was given with reviving
enthusiasm. A moment later the team trotted back to the field.
"Touch her down,
Touch her down,
Touch her down again!
H-I-double-L-T-O-N!"
chanted the wearers of the crimson; and--"St. Eustace! St. Eustace! St.
Eustace!" shouted the visitors as they waved their bright blue banners
in air. The whistle piped merrily, the ball took its flight, and it was
now or never for old Hillton!
Stephen Remsen joined the string of substitutes and found a seat on the
big gray blanket which held Browne and Clausen. From there he followed
the progress of the game.
Outwardly he was as happy and contented, as cool and disinterested, as
one of the goal posts. Inwardly he was railing against the fate that had
deprived Hillton of both the players who, had they been in the team,
could have saved the crimson from defeat. Wesley Blair joined him, and
with scarce a word they watched St. Eustace revert to her previous
tactics, and tear great gaping holes in the Hillton line, holes often
large enough to admit of a coach and four, and more than large enough to
allow Allen or Jansen to go tearing, galloping through, with the ball
safe clutched, for three, five? or even a dozen yards!
No line can long stand such treatment, and, while the
one-hundred-and-fifty-pound Greer still held out, Barnard, the big
right-guard, was already showing signs of distress. St. Eustace's next
play was a small wedge on tackle, and although Barnard threw himself
with all his remaining strength into the breach he was tossed aside like
a bag of feathers and through went the right and left half-backs,
followed by full with the ball, and pushed onward by left-end and
quarter. When down was called the ball was eight yards nearer Hillton's
goal, and Barnard lay still on the ground.
Whipple held up his hand. Thistelweight--a youth of some one hundred and
forty pounds--struggled agitatedly with his sweater and bounded into the
field, and Barnard, white and weak, was helped limping off. For awhile
St. Eustace fought shy of right-guard, and then again the weight of all
the backs was suddenly massed at that point, and, though a yard
resulted, the crimson wearers found cause for joy, and a ringing cheer
swept over the field. But Littlefield at left-guard was also weakening,
and the tackle beside him was in scarce better plight. And so, with
tandem on tackle, wedge, or guard back, St. Eustace plowed along toward
the Hillton goal, and a deep silence held the field save for the squad
of blue-decked cheerers on the seats.
Remsen looked at his watch. "Eighteen minutes to play," he announced
quietly. Blair nodded. He made no attempt to disguise his dejection.
Clausen heard, and suddenly turned toward the coach. He was pale, and
Remsen wondered at his excitement.
"Can't we tie them, sir?" he asked breathlessly.
"I'm afraid not. And even if we could they'd break loose." Clausen paid
no heed to the sorry joke.
"But they'll win, sir! Isn't there anything to do?" Remsen stared. Then
he smiled. "Failing an extraordinary piece of luck, my lad, we're
already beaten. Our line can't hold them; we have no one to kick, even
should we get a chance, and--"
"But if Blair was there, sir, or March?"
"It might make a difference. Hello! there they go through tackle-guard
hole again. Lord, six yards if an inch!" Blair groaned and rolled over
in despair. The whistle sounded, and as the pile of writhing youths
dissolved it was seen that Tom Warren was hurt. Out trotted the rubber.
The players sank exhausted to the ground and lay stretched upon the
sward, puffing and panting. Two minutes went by. Then Whipple called
for Clausen.
"Clausen," cried Remsen turning, "go in and--" But Clausen was not to be
seen. "Clausen!" cried a dozen voices. There was no response, and Browne
was taken on instead, and Warren, with an ankle that failed him at every
step, struggled off the field.
"What's become of Clausen?" asked Remsen. But no one could answer.
The play went on. With the ball on Hillton's twenty-yard line a fumble
gave it to the home team, and on the first down Browne gathered it in
his arms and tried to skirt St. Eustace's left end, but was thrown with
a loss of a yard. A similar play with Wills as the runner was tried
around the other end and netted a yard and a half. It was the third down
and four and a half yards to gain. Back went the ball to Post and he
kicked. But it was a poor performance, that kick, and only drove the
pigskin down the side-line to the forty-yard line, where it bounded in
touch. But it delayed the evil moment of another score for St. Eustace,
and the seats cheered.
"Twelve minutes left," announced Remsen.
Relentless as fate the St. Eustace forwards surged on toward the
opposing goal. Two yards, three yards, one yard, five yards, half a
yard, always a gain, never a check, until once more the leather reposed
just in front of the Hillton goal and midway between the ten and
fifteen-yard line. Then a plunge through the tackle-guard hole,
followed by a tandem on guard, and another five yards was passed. The
cheering from the wearers of the blue was now frantic and continuous.
There was two years of defeat to make up for, and victory was hovering
over the azure banner!
"Eight minutes to play," said Remsen. "If we can only keep them from
scoring again!" Suddenly there was a murmur from the seats, then a cry
of surprise from Remsen's side, then a shout of exultation that gathered
and grew as it traveled along the line. And around the corner of the
stand came a youth who strove to lace his torn and tattered canvas
jacket as he ran. Remsen leaped to his feet, dropping his pipe
unnoticed, and hastened toward him. They met and for a moment conversed
in whispers.
"It's Joel March!" cried Blair. "He's going to play!" exclaimed a dozen
voices. "But he can't," cried a dozen others. "He's on probation." "He
is! He is! He's going on! He's going to play!"
And so he was. Whipple had already seen him, and had sunk to the ground
nursing an ankle which had suddenly gone lame. "Time!" he cried, and
obedient to his demand the referee's whistle piped. "Give your place to
Post, Wills!" he commanded, and then, limping to Joel, he led that
youth apart.
"Can you play?" he asked hoarsely.
"Yes."
"Then get in there at full-back, and, O March, kick us out of this
bloody place! I'll give you the ball on the next down. Kick it for all
you're worth." He gave Joel a shove. "All right, Mr. Referee!" The
whistle sounded.
Forward charged St. Eustace. But, gathering encouragement from the
knowledge that back of them stood a full who would put them out of
danger if the opportunity were given him, Hillton stood fast.
"Second down, five yards to gain!" cried the umpire.
Again the wearers of bedraggled blue stockings surged and broke against
the line. And again there was no gain. Back of Hillton, less than eight
yards away, lay the goal-line. Desperation lends strength. Huddled
together, shoulder to shoulder, the backs bracing from behind, the
crimson-clad youths awaited the next charge. It was "the thin red line"
again. Then back went the ball, there was a moment of grinding canvas,
of muttered words and smothered gasps, of swaying, clutching, falling,
and "Down!" was heard.
"Hillton's ball; first down," announced the umpire.
What a cheer went up from the grand stand! What joy was in Remsen's
heart as the St. Eustace full-back went trotting up the field and Greer
stooped over the ball! Then came a pause, a silence. Every one knew what
to look for. Squarely between the posts and directly under the cross-bar
stood Joel March, his left foot on the goal-line. Back came the ball,
straight and low into Joel's outstretched hands. The line blocked long
and hard. One step forward, an easy, long swing of his right leg, and
Joel sent the ball sailing a yard over the upstretched hands of the
opposing line and far and high down the field.
There it was gathered into the arms of the St. Eustace full-back, but
ere that player had put his foot twice to ground he was thrown, and the
teams lined up on St. Eustace's forty-five-yard line. Then it was that
the god of battle befriended Hillton; for on the next play St. Eustace
made her first disastrous fumble, and Christie, Hillton's right end,
darted through, seized the rolling spheroid, and started down the field.
Five, ten, fifteen, twenty yards he sped, the St. Eustace backs trailing
after him.
"A touch-down!" cried Remsen. "No, the half's gaining! He's got him! No,
missed him, by Jove! A-ah!"
The run was over, and Christie lay panting on the ground, with the
triumphant St. Eustace half-back sitting serenely on his head; for,
although the latter had missed his tackle, Christie had slipped in
avoiding him. But cheers for Christie and Hillton filled the afternoon
air, and the two elevens lined up near St. Eustace's twenty-five-yard
line, yet well over toward the side of the field.
"If it was only in the middle of the field," groaned Blair, "a
place-kick would tie the score. How much time is there, Mr. Remsen?"
"About two and a half minutes," answered Remsen. "But I've an idea that,
middle or no middle, Whipple's going to signal a kick."
"It can't be done," answered Blair with conviction, "drop or placement!
March is only fair at goals, and at that angle--"
"What's the matter with the man?" cried Remsen; "what's he up to?" For
the Hillton backs were clustered well up behind the line as though for a
wedge attack. And as Remsen wondered, the ball was put in play, the line
blocked sharply, and Christie left his place at right end, and skirting
behind the backs received the ball by a double pass _via_ right
half-back and ran for the middle of the field, the backs helping the end
and tackle to hold the St. Eustace right line. Christie gained the
center of the gridiron and advanced a yard toward the opponent's goal
ere the St. Eustace right half-back reached him. Then there was a quick
line-up, and Joel took up his position for a kick.
"Well done, Whipple!" cried Remsen and Blair in a breath.
"But the time!" muttered Remsen, "does he know--"
"One minute to play!" came the ominous announcement.
Then, while a snap of the fingers could have been heard the length of
the field, Whipple glanced deliberately around at the backs, slapped the
broad back of the center sharply, seized the snapped ball, and made a
swift, straight pass to Joel. Then through the Hillton line went the St.
Eustace players, breaking down with vigor born of desperation the
blocking of their opponents. With a leap into the air the St. Eustace
left-guard bore down straight upon Joel; there was a concussion, and
the latter went violently to earth, but not before his toe had met the
rebounding ball; and the latter, describing a high arc, sailed safely,
cleanly over the bar and between the posts! And then, almost before the
ball had touched the ground, the whistle blew shrilly, and apparent
defeat had been turned into what was as good as victory to the
triumphant wearers of the Hillton crimson!
Hillton and St. Eustace had played a tie.
And over the ropes, rushing, leaping, shouting, broke the tide of
humanity, crimson flags swirled over a sea of heads, and pandemonium
ruled the campus!
And on the ground where he had fallen lay Joel March.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE GOODWIN SCHOLARSHIP.
"But how did it all happen?" asked Outfield West breathlessly.
He had just entered and was seated on the edge of the bed whereon Joel
lay propped up eating his Thanksgiving dinner from a tray. It was seven
o'clock in the evening, and Dickey Sproule was not yet back. The yard
was noisy with the shouts of lads returning from the dining hall, and an
occasional cheer floated up, an echo of the afternoon's event. Joel
moved a dish of pudding away from Outfield's elbow as he answered
between mouthfuls of turkey:
"I was up here studying at the table there when I heard some one coming
up stairs two steps at a time. It was Clausen. He threw open the door
and cried: 'They're winning, March, they're winning! Come quick! Remsen
says we can tie them if you play. It's all right, March. We'll go to the
office and I'll tell everything. Only come, hurry!' Well, of course I
thought first he was crazy. Then I guessed what was up, because I knew
that Eustace had scored--"
"You couldn't have known; you were studying."
"Well, I--I wasn't studying all the time, Out. So up I jumped, and we
raced over to the office and found Professor Wheeler there asleep on the
leather couch under the window. 'It was Cloud and I, sir, that cut the
rope!' said Clausen. 'I'm very sorry, sir, and I'll take the punishment
and glad to. But March hadn't anything to do with it, sir; he didn't
even know anything about it, sir!' Professor Wheeler was about half
awake, and he thought something terrible was the matter, and it took the
longest time to explain what Clausen was talking about. Then he said he
was glad to learn that I was innocent, and I thanked him, and he started
to ask Clausen a lot of questions. 'But St. Eustace is winning, sir!' I
cried. He looked at me in astonishment. 'Indeed, I'm very sorry to hear
it,' he said. 'But it isn't too late now, sir,' said Clausen. 'For
what?' asked 'Wheels.' 'For me to go on the team,' said I. 'You know,
sir, you put me on probation and I can't play.' 'Oh,' said he, 'but you
were put on probation by the faculty, and the faculty must take you
off.' 'But meanwhile Hillton will be beaten!' said Clausen. 'Can't he
play, sir? He can save the day!' Wheels thought a bit. 'What's the
score?' he asked. Clausen told him. 'Yes,' he said at last, 'run and get
to work. I'll explain to the faculty. And by the way, March, remember
that a kick into touch is always the safest.'"
"Isn't he a rummy old guy?" exclaimed West. "And then?"
"Then I struck out for the gym, got into my canvas togs somehow or
other, and reached the field just about in time. Luckily I knew the
signals. And then after I'd kicked that goal that big Eustace chap
struck me like a locomotive, and I went down on the back of my head; and
that's all except that they brought me up here and Professor Gibbs
plastered me up and gave me a lot of nasty sweet water to take."
"And Clausen?"
"From the little I heard I think Cloud cut the rope and made Clausen
promise not to tell. And he kept his promise until he saw Hillton
getting beaten yesterday, and then he couldn't stand it, and just up and
told everything, and saved us a licking."
"Didn't I tell you Cloud did it? Didn't I--" There came a knock on the
door and in response to Joel's invitation Professor Wheeler and Stephen
Remsen entered. West leaped off the bed--there is a rule at Hillton
forbidding occupying beds save for sleep--and upset Joel's tea.
Professor Wheeler smiled as he said:
"West, you're rather an uneasy fellow to have in a sick-room. Get
something and dry that off the floor there, please.--Well, March, I
understand you got there in the nick of time to-day. Mr. Remsen says you
saved us from defeat."
"Indeed he did, professor; no one else save Blair could have done it
to-day. That goal from the twenty-five-yard line was as pretty a
performance as I've ever seen.--How are you feeling, lad?"
"All right," answered Joel. "I've got a bit of a headache, but I'll be
better in the morning."
"Your appetite doesn't seem to have failed you," said the principal.
"No, sir, I was terribly hungry."
"That's a good sign, they say.--West, you may take your seat again." The
professor and Stephen Remsen occupied the two chairs, and West without
hesitation sat down again on the bed.
"March, I have learned the truth of that affair. Bartlett Cloud, it
appears, cut the bell rope simply in order to throw suspicion on you. He
managed to secure a letter of yours through--hem!--through your
roommate, who, it seems, also bears you a grudge for some real or
fancied slight. Clausen, while a party to the affair, appears to have
taken no active part in it, and only remained silent because threatened
with bodily punishment by Cloud. These boys will be dealt with as
they deserve.
"But I wish to say to you that all along it has been the belief of the
faculty, the entire faculty, that you had no hand in the matter, and we
are all glad to have our judgments vindicated. An announcement will be
made to-morrow which will set you right again before the school. And
now, in regard to Richard Sproule; do you know of any reason why he
should wish you harm?" "No, sir. We don't get along very well, but--"
"I see. Now, it will be best for you to change either your room or your
roommate. Have you any preference which you do?"
"I should like to change my room, sir. I should like to go in with West.
He has a room to himself in Hampton, and wants to have me join him."
"But do you realize that the rent will be very much greater, March?"
"Yes, sir, but West wants me to pay only what I have paid for this room,
sir. He says he'd have to pay for the whole room if I didn't go in with
him, and so it's fair that way. Do you think it is, sir?"
"What would your father say, West?"
"I've asked him, sir. He says to go ahead and do as I please." The
principal smiled as he replied:
"Well, March, then move over to West's room to-morrow. It will be all
fair enough. And I shall be rather glad to have you in Hampton House.
Digbee is an example of splendid isolation there; it will be well to
have some one help him maintain the dignity of study amid such a number
of--er--well, say lilies of the field, West; they toil not, if you
remember, and neither do they spin. Don't get up in the morning if your
head still hurts, March; we don't want you to get sick.--Keep a watch on
him, West; and, by the way, if he wants more tea, run over to the dining
hall and tell the steward I said he was to have it. Good-night, boys."
"Good-night, sir." Remsen shook hands with Joel.
"March, I hope I shall be able to repay you some day for what you did
this afternoon. It meant more to me, I believe, than it did to even you
fellows. I'm going Thursday next. Come and see me before then if you
can. Good-night."
When the door had closed Outfield shouted, "Hurrah!" in three different
keys and pirouetted about the room. "It's all fixed, Joel. Welcome to
Hampton, my lad! Welcome to the classic shades of Donothing Hall! We
will live on pickles and comb-honey, and feast like the Romans of old!
We--" He paused. "Say, Joel, I guess Cloud will be expelled, eh?" Joel
considered thoughtfully with a spoonful of rice pudding midway between
saucer and mouth. Then he swallowed the delicacy. "Yes," he replied,
"and I'm awful glad of it."
But Joel was mistaken; for Cloud was not to be found the next morning,
and the condition of his room pointed to hasty flight. He had taken
alarm and saved himself from the degradation of public dismissal. And so
he passed from Hillton life and was known there no more. Clausen escaped
with a light punishment, for which both Joel and West were heartily
glad. "Because when you get him away from Cloud," said West, "Clausen's
not a bad sort, you know."
Richard Sproule was suspended for the balance of the fall term, and was
no longer monitor of his floor. Perhaps the heaviest punishment was the
amount of study he was required to do in order to return after Christmas
recess, entailing as it did a total relinquishment of Mayne Reid, Scott,
and Cooper. And when he did return his ways led far from Joel's. Very
naturally that youth had now risen to the position of popular hero, and
unapproachable seniors slapped him warmly on the shoulder--a bit of
familiarity Joel was too good-natured to resent--and wide-eyed little
juniors admired him open-mouthed as he passed them. But Joel bore
himself modestly withal, and was in no danger of being spoiled by a
state of things that might well have turned the head of a more
experienced lad than he. It is a question if Outfield did not derive
more real pleasure and pride out of Joel's popularity than did Joel
himself. Every new evidence of the liking and admiration in which the
latter was held filled Outfield's heart with joy.
At last Joel found time to begin his course in golf, and almost any day
the two lads might have been seen on the links, formidably armed with a
confusing assortment of clubs, Outfield quite happy to be exhibiting the
science of his favorite sport, and Joel plowing up the sod in a way to
cause a green-tender, had there been such a person on hand, the most
excruciating pain. But Joel went at golf as he went at everything else,
bending all his energies thereto, and driving thought of all else from
his mind, and so soon became, if not an expert, at least a very
acceptable player who won commendation from even West--and where golf
was concerned Outfield was a most unbiased and unsympathetic judge.
One afternoon Whipple and Blair, the latter once more free from
probation, played a match with Joel and West, and were fairly beaten by
three holes--a fact due less, it is true, to Joel's execution with the
driver than West's all-around playing. But Joel, nevertheless, derived
not a little encouragement from that result, and bade fair to become
almost if not quite as enthusiastic a golfer as West. At first, in the
earlier stages of his initiation, Joel was often discouraged, whereupon
West was wont to repeat the famous reply of the old St. Andrews player
to the college professor, who did not understand why, when he could
teach Latin and Greek, he failed so dismally at golf. "Ay, I ken well ye
can teach the Latin and Greek," said the veteran, "but it takes
_brains_, mon, to play the gowf!" And Joel more than half agreed
with him.
Remsen departed a week after Thanksgiving, being accompanied to the
train by almost as enthusiastic a throng as had welcomed him upon his
arrival. He had consented to return to Hillton the following year and
coach the eleven once more. "I had expected to make this the last year,"
he said, "but now I shall coach, if you will have me, until we win a
decisive victory from St. Eustace. I can't break off my coaching career
with a tie game, you see." And Christie occasioned laughter and applause
by replying, "I'm afraid you're putting a premium on defeat, sir,
because if we win next year's game you won't come back." He shook hands
cordially with Joel, and said:
"When the election of next year's captain comes off, my boy, it's a
pretty sure thing that you'll have a chance at it. But if you'll take my
advice you'll let it alone. I tell you this because I'm your friend all
through. Next fall will be time enough for the honors; this year should
go to hard work without any of the trouble that falls to the lot
of captain."
"Thank you, Mr. Remsen," Joel answered. "I hadn't thought of their doing
such a thing. I don't see why they should want me. But if it's offered
you may be sure I'll decline. I'd be totally unfitted for it; and,
besides, I haven't got the time!"
And so, when two weeks later the election was held in the gymnasium one
evening, Joel did decline, to the evident regret of all the team, and
the honor went to Christie, since both Blair and Whipple were seniors
and would not be in school the next autumn. And Christie made a very
manly, earnest speech, and subsequently called for three times three for
Blair, and three times three for Remsen, and nine times three for
Hillton, all of which were given with a will.
As the Christmas recess approached, Joel spent a great deal of valuable
time in unnecessary conjecture as to his chance of winning the Goodwin
scholarship, and undoubtedly lessened his chance of success by worrying.
The winners were each year announced in school hall on the last day of
the term. The morning of that day found Outfield West very busy packing
a heap of unnecessary golf clubs and wearing apparel into his trunk and
bags, and found Joel seated rather despondently on the lounge looking
on. For West was to spend his vacation with an uncle in Boston, and
Joel, although Outfield had begged him to go along, asserting positively
that his uncle would be proud and happy to see him (Joel), was to spend
the recess at school, since he felt he could not afford the expense of
the trip home. West hesitated long over a blue-checked waistcoat and at
length sighed and left it out.