AN ARMED TRUCE.
AN ARMED TRUCE.
AN ARMED TRUCE.
At practice that night Stone astonished everybody, even himself. All hesitation and doubt seemed to have left him, and at everything he attempted he was amazingly sure and so swift that not a few of the boys who had fancied him heavy and awkward gasped with astonishment and confessed to one another that they had “sized him up wrong.” Those who had fancied him dull of wit were also led to wonder over the rapidity with which he seemed to grasp and understand every suggestion of the coach. He was able to catch punts on the dead run; when he fell on the ball he got it cleanly, never once permitting it to bound away from him; and he could kick, too, his sturdy right leg sending the pigskin sailing far through the air.
Bern Hayden likewise practiced well, putting all his usual snap and dash into everything he did, his accomplishments plainly demonstrating why he had been generally singled out as the fellow who would certainly be chosen as captain of next year’s team. Of them all he was, perhaps, the only one who gave no attention to Stone; as far as he was concerned—outwardly, at least—Ben did not exist.
All this was most encouraging and stimulating to Capt. Eliot and the others. The coach, who on the previous night had felt greatly disappointed in the material from which he had hoped to build a clever high school eleven, betrayed his relief and satisfaction by the altered expression of his face and the change in his manner. In fact, every one seemed happy, and possibly, with the exception of Hayden, every one was.
With remarkable craft Bern masked his feelings. He did not even betray the wrath that stirred his soul when, standing a short distance away, he heard Dash Winton say to Eliot:
“I think I was mistaken about that chap Stone. I fancied he wasn’t much good, but I’ve changed my mind since watching him work to-night. He ought to make one of the most valuable men on the team.”
“I’m glad you think so,” returned the captain; “for we certainly need him to stiffen the line.”
“To-morrow night,” said Winton, “we must have enough fellows out here to make up a scrub team for a practice game. You’ll need all that kind of work you can get if you’re going to play next Saturday.”
Hayden and Barker left the field together. “Peace has spread itself like oil upon the troubled waters,” observed Berlin, with a faint smile. “Too bad you had to give in, but I suppose it was the only thing you could do.”
His companion’s dark eyes flashed him a look. “If you fancy I’ve given in you don’t know me. I’ve never yet been downed, Barker.”
“But you had to give up your plan for bringing Eliot to time.”
“That’s all right. A good general who sees one of his movements blocked changes promptly to another style of campaign.”
“Then you’ve another scheme in view?”
“I always believe in keeping a few cards up my sleeve.”
Bern betrayed no disposition to show these cards even to his friend, and Barker refrained from asking questions he felt might not be answered, being confident that in good time Hayden would let him into the secret.
To every one else, as the days slipped by and Bern made no move, it seemed that something like a truce had been mutually agreed upon. To be sure, it might be an armed truce in which both parties were patiently waiting the time when the certain course of events would again bring open warfare; for never in all that time did the two bitter enemies betray, even by a look, that either recognized the existence of the other. In football practice, when necessary, they worked together harmoniously enough for the accomplishment of the plays in which they were involved. It frequently happened that Stone, breaking through the line of the scrub, became a part of the interference which assisted Hayden in advancing the ball, and always he was an effective part of it. Both Winton and Eliot arrived atthe conviction that one of the team’s best ground gaining plays would be that in which Stone and Piper opened a hole between the opposing guard and tackle to let Hayden through.
On Thursday the coach requested that the gate of the field should be closed and guarded to keep out the throng of spectators who were eager to watch the practice, and that night, having strengthened the scrub, he kept the regular team working constantly on the defensive; for he claimed that a good defensive game was fully as essential as an offensive one.
Saturday came at last, and at ten-thirty in the forenoon the players were at the railway station to take the train for Clearport. Quite a crowd gathered to see them off and cheer them heartily, while about a dozen of the scholars, including several girls, all bearing banners, accompanied them.
On the train Hayden and Barker sat together and took little part in the general conversation. Even when Clearport was reached and the arrivals were welcomed by Capt. Merwin and a delegation, this pair held themselves aloof, finallywalking up to the hotel behind the rest of the crowd. And at dinner, coming late, Bern and Berlin sat at a separate table, having made arrangements in advance with the head waiter.
Eliot did not wholly hide his displeasure over this, for he had expected that the players, the substitutes and the coach would all sit at one long table. Nor did the distant pair betray any interest in the jests and laughter of their teammates.
Dinner over, Winton had a private word with Roger. “As an exhibition of snobbishness,” he said disgustedly, “that was the limit. If you don’t look out, Eliot, those fellows will yet make trouble for you.”
“There’s only one,” returned the captain, “who is at all dangerous, and I have an idea he realizes he can’t afford to make any real trouble. Of course I don’t like the spirit he displays, but he’s such a valuable man that I presume we’ll have to put up with it.”
The hour for the game drew near at last. It was a bright, snappy day, with a strong westerly wind blowing, and when the Oakdale lads arrived at the field they found quite a crowd alreadyassembled, while a steady stream of people came pouring in. Not a few persons from Oakdale had come over the road in teams and automobiles, and the most of these were gathered in a group on the seats at the southern side of the gridiron. With a cheer they welcomed the appearance of Eliot and his followers.
That cheer gave Ben Stone a tingling thrill; he seemed to feel that a little of it was meant for him. This thrill was intensified as he heard them crying:
“There’s Roger!” “Good boy, Eliot!” “There’s Bern!”
“What’s your deduction about this game, Sleuth?”
“Got any peanuts, Chub?”
Then suddenly some one cried distinctly:
“Look at Stone! ’Rah for old Stoney!”
They shed their sweaters. A ball was tossed out, and immediately they began passing, punting and falling upon it. And now Stone, painfully self-conscious, fumbled. When, a moment or two later, the pigskin came bounding his way over the ground, he flung himself at it only tohave it squirm out of his grasp and spin off to one side. He rose, his face crimson, realizing that something was the matter.
A hand touched him lightly on the shoulder, and Eliot’s voice sounded in his ear.
“All right, Stone, old man; don’t mind the crowd. Forget it.”
That was the matter; he knew it in a twinkling. Getting a grip on himself, he became steady and sure.
Presently he found himself, with others, watching the two captains who had stepped aside to consult with the referee. For a moment his eyes roved over the scene. On one side of the field the seats were already well filled. A mass of blue banners indicated where the scholars of Clearport High were grouped. At the south the crowd was thinner and the crimson banners of Oakdale were not so plentiful. East and west the goal posts rose against the sky. Between those posts the regular white chalk marks made a huge checkerboard.
Oh, it was a fine thing to be living! And it was a marvel indeed to be there, a member of one of those two teams of healthy, brown-faced lads who would soon be struggling for supremacy on that field.
His eyes came back to the two captains and the referee. He saw the latter toss into the air something that spun and glittered brightly. He saw all three stoop to observe how the coin had fallen. Then Eliot slapped Merwin on the shoulder, said something, turned and came trotting toward his comrades.
“Come on, fellows,” called Roger; “I won the toss. We’ll take the western goal and have both wind and sun at our backs.”
THE GAME.
THE GAME.
THE GAME.
Plunk! Clearport’s full back, Ramsdal, kicked off, booting the ball into the teeth of the wind. Over the chalk marks sped the end men, Long and Stoker, closing in from either side as the huge yellow egg began to drop.
Bern Hayden was in position to receive the ball, and, without removing his eyes from it, he realized that one or both of those oncoming men would be at hand to tackle him if he attempted to run. Therefore he lifted his hand in the proper signal for a fair catch and took the pigskin cleanly. Turning it deftly in his hands, he let it drop; and an instant later it was sailing away from his toe on the return to Clearport’s territory.
Buoyed by the wind, the ball soared on and on far past the center of the field, far over toward the eastern goal. It was immediately apparent that the home team, while defending that goal, could not afford to be led into a kicking game.
Cooper and Davis, playing ends for the visitors, followed the ball. Spotty was a really fast runner, being able to get over the ground with his thin legs in a way that should have given him a reputation as a sprinter. This fleetness put him in splendid position to tackle Boothby, Clearport’s left half back, who took the ball; but Spotty seemed to hesitate a bit at the moment when he should have plunged, and Boothby got away like a flash, Davis missing miserably when he flung himself at the fellow. Cooper, the slower, displayed more nerve, tackling the fleet half back and bringing him down after the ball had been advanced ten yards. Chipper rose, gasping, when the whistle had sounded the signal that the ball was “down.”
“Ja-jarred me some,” he stammered, with a sickly grin; “but I got him.”
“Ready—line up fast!” called Eliot, perceiving that the enemy were swiftly getting into position for the first scrimmage. “Stop ’em! Hold ’em!”
Ben Stone found himself crouching nose to nose with Barney Carney, called “the fighting Irishman of Clearport.” He had been told about this fellow, and he recognized him instinctively.
“Arrh, me bucko! Good avening,” grinned Carney. “It’s a pleasure to meet yez.”
Through Stone’s mind flashed the instructions of Winton, “Stick by your man and get him every time.”
Muzzle uplifted, Capt. Merwin, who played quarter for his team, bayed a signal. Stone saw the ball snapped to Merwin, and the moment it left the ground he leaped tigerishly at Carney. The Irishman had leaped at the same instant, and they came together with a crash which must have astonished the Clearport guard, for he was literally bowled aside, the Oakdale man hammering through like a battering-ram. Sleuth Piper, succeeding in keeping his man busy, aided Stone in getting through; and Ben was just in time to meet Boothby, who had received the ball from Merwin and was plunging at that very spot in the line. Boothby’s rush was checked as if he had struck a wall of granite, and down to the turf he went, with Stone’s arms locked around his thighs.
“Great luck!” cried Piper, releasing Morehead; but there had been little luck about it, for even as he lunged at Carney Stone had seen Boothby shooting across behind Merwin in a manner which seemed to indicate beyond doubt that he would take the ball. Having obeyed the instructions of the coach and disposed of Carney in a jiffy, Stone’s natural impulse was to meet and grapple with Boothby.
At the southern side of the field the crimson banners were wildly agitated, and a sudden cheer arose—a cheer for Stone. Ben’s ears were deaf to that sound, however; he was wholly unaware that his name came snapping forth at the end of that cheer like a cracker at the end of a whiplash. The fire of battle was in his veins, and the only thing he heard was the booming of his heart like the distant throbbing of heavy guns.
Checked with a slight loss, the Clearporters made ready again. Once more Ben found himselfvis à viswith Barney Carney, in whose faded smile there was now a slight sickly tinge.
“It’s a loively birrud ye are,” observed Carney; “but your wings can be clipped.” To which the grim-faced fellow opposite made no retort.
The signal came again, and again Stone and Carney met. This time, locked together, they struggled, neither gaining the slightest advantage. The tide of battle, however, swept to the far end of the line, toward which Oakes, the right half back, was racing with the pigskin.
It was Hayden who divined the play, and Hayden who came leaping to meet the runner. Tackling cleanly and handsomely, Bern stretched Oakes prone. As he rose he heard them cheering as they had cheered for Stone—and he had not missed that.
“That’s the stuff, fellows!” cried Roger. “That’s the way to hold them!”
Winton, watching from his position at the side of the field, permitted a crinkle of a smile to flit across his face, even though he realized that the splendid and surprising defense had been accomplished, almost unaided, by two players. At the very outset Clearport had succeeded in one thing, at least—had found the strong spots of the visiting team. Later certain weak spots which the coach was fearful of might be unmasked.
In desperation the locals made a furious slam into center, recovering, however, barely the distance lost; and then, forced to it, Ramsdal fell back to kick. Eliot was ready for this, and, seeming to gauge the distance the ball would travel, he took it cleanly and easily, shooting past the first man who came at him, dodging the second, and bringing the spectators to their feet by a run that carried him to Clearport’s thirty yard line ere he was forced out of bounds. And Winton smiled again, for another tower of strength had loomed through the smoke of battle.
The referee brought the ball out and placed it. The line-up followed, one or two anxious Clearporters being warned back ere the man in authority permitted the resumption of play.
Crouching before Carney, Stone heard Sage calling the signal. As his ears drank in the numbers, he gazed straight into the Irish lad’s eyes without a flicker crossing his face, even though he knew directly that much would depend upon him. He knew Hayden would come across with the ball, looking for the opening he must assist in making.
In another moment they were straining, breast to breast. With all his strength he sought to thrust Carney to one side. Cooper bucked Morehead handsomely, and the gap was made. Through it went Barker, with Bern at his heels. Barker sacrificed himself to Oakes, and before Ramsdal got him Hayden came within four yards of putting the ball over.
Four yards to go, and the first down! No wonder the crowd with the crimson banners seemed crazed; no wonder the blue banners were drooping on the northern side of the field.
“Like water through a sieve,” chuckled Chipper Cooper; and barely had the words left his lips when Sage began calling a signal which sent Barker into the other wing of the line.
Crane did his duty there, but Davis was weak, and Berlin met Stoker, who had hurled Spotty aside. Not an inch was gained.
“Hold ’em,” implored Merwin, “we’ve got to hold ’em!”
“Another chance, fellows,” said Eliot. “We can make it.”
Again that signal which told the visitors that Hayden would try the enemy’s right wing. Sage varied the call, but the key number was distinctly heard, and with the snapping of the ball Ben Stone flung himself bodily at the fighting Irishman. Merwin had leaped in to support Carney, yet both of them were not sufficient to check Stone and the man who was hurled against him from the rear. The Clearport line buckled and broke, and Hayden lunged through headlong for a touchdown.
“My deduction is,” panted Piper, “that it’s a snap.”
The Oakdale crowd cheered as the ball was punted out. Hayden was given the privilege of trying to kick a goal, and, absolutely confident of himself, he booted the ball against one of the uprights.
“Never mind,” grinned Chipper Cooper, as the Oakdalers spread out on the field with their backs toward the eastern goal. “It would have been a shame to spoil the fun by taking all the sand out of them right away.”
Indeed, it seemed that the visitors were too strong for the home team. Even when favored by the wind and sun, the Clearporters could not carry the fighting far into Oakdale’s territory, and they were soon compelled to surrender the ball by kicking.
Once more the lads from the inland town began bucking their way over the chalk marks, and frequently their best gains were secured through openings made by Stone and Piper. Barney Carney was livid with wrath, but his grim opponent remained outwardly unchanged. An end run by Barker again placed the visitors in a position to threaten Clearport’s goal. It was followed by a trick play, in which Barker drew attention to himself while Eliot went romping and zigzagging through a broken field and crossed the line for the second touchdown.
This time Roger kicked, and he lifted the pigskin squarely over the center of the crossbar.
Even to Winton it had begun to seem as if Oakdale was too strong for the locals. He was glad indeed that Clearport had not yet located certain weak spots of which he had entertained serious apprehension, but he knew they had not done this mainly on account of their half demoralized condition.
Following that second touchdown, Oakdale seemed to let up somewhat. This brought a frown to Winton’s face, but he could do nothing until the half was finished.
Toward the end of the first half the visiting team took another spurt and seemed to have things pretty much its own way. Hayden was the principal ground gainer, and it was Stone who provided effective interference in assisting him to make his greatest distances. Twenty-five yards from the line, however, the locals stood firm. Then Sage called for a play by which Hayden was to pass the ball to Eliot just before dashing into the formation which had proved so effective. Eliot was to attempt to round the end.
This was carried through, Stone slamming into Carney in the regular manner. Hayden came at him from behind, while Eliot, having secured the ball, sought to race past Pete Long.
Something smote Ben with a terrific shock, and a sudden pall of darkness fell upon him. He sank to the ground just as Eliot was tackled and dragged down and the referee’s whistle shrilled the signal which told that the half was over.
BETWEEN THE HALVES.
BETWEEN THE HALVES.
BETWEEN THE HALVES.
Stone recovered to find some one sopping his face with a cool, dripping sponge. They had carried him off the field, and he was lying on a blanket behind the tiered seats, over the upper tier of which bent a row of sympathetic faces. His teammates were around him, being kept back by one or two fellows who insisted that he should have air.
“What—what’s matter?” he mumbled thickly, as he tried to sit up.
“Easy, old fellow,” said the voice of Roger Eliot, who had been applying the sponge. “You were knocked stiff in that last scrimmage.”
“Scrimmage?” echoed Ben uncertainly, vaguely fancying he had been in a fight with his bitter enemy. “Did Bern Hayden——”
“It wasn’t Hayden. We tried to fool the Clearporters into thinking he’d again go through with the ball, but he passed it to me. They downed me, though, just as the half ended.”
“Oh,” said Stone, remembering at last, “we were playing football.”
“That fightin’ Irishman must have soaked ye,” observed Sile Crane. “You had him crazy all right, the way you bucked him around.”
“Carney did not hit me,” declared Ben positively.
Winton, like Eliot, had been working to bring Stone round. “Well,” he observed with satisfaction, “you seem to be all right now. I reckon you can get back into the game for the next half, can’t you?”
“Sure thing,” was the prompt answer. “I’m not hurt any.”
“That’s the stuff,” applauded the coach, rising to his feet. “That’s the spirit that wins. Some of you fellows need a little more of it. Rollins, you’re bigger and heavier than that man Hutt, but he’s walked through you four or five times. Brace up and stop him. Davis, you’ve got to show more nerve. Don’t be afraid of crackingyourself when you try to tackle; you’re not crockery. Look alive, Tuttle, and get into the plays quicker. Sometimes you take root in your tracks.”
“Great ginger!” gasped Chub in astonishment over this call-down. “I thought we were all doing pretty well.”
“Give him a peanut, somebody, to brace him up,” chuckled Chipper Cooper.
In another moment Chipper was shivering beneath the withering eye of the coach.
“You’ve got a whole lot to learn about football,” said Winton. “Move your feet when you go down the field under a kick. Davis can run around you twice and be ahead of you at the place where the ball falls.”
“Oh, jiminy crickets!” gasped Cooper. “I’ve got mine! Stop your grinning, Spotty.”
“You all let up after that second touchdown,” continued Winton. “Did you think you had points enough? Have you a notion that there’s danger of overexerting yourselves? You should have had two more touchdowns, at least. Clearport was growing better toward the last of it,and you fellows acted as if you had caught the hookworm. This kind of a football game is never won till it’s finished, don’t forget that. If you quit a little bit in the next half you’re liable to get it put all over you. Those fellows are good; they’re better than you are, but they don’t know it. Let them wake up to the fact, and you’ll be lucky if they don’t play you off your feet. You’ve got to keep them so busy they won’t find time to realize how good they are. Hayden, I’d like a private word with you.”
With a look of surprise on his face, Bern followed the coach, who stepped aside from the others. In a moment Winton was talking to him in low tones.
“By gum!” said Sile Crane. “He sorter handed it right out to the whole of us, didn’t he? I kinder thought he was goin’ to praise us for our fine work.”
Cooper poked a thumb into Piper’s ribs. “He didn’t say anything to you personally, did he, Sleuth? Wonder how you got by? Morehead had you groggy in that last smash.”
“Yes,” admitted Sleuth, “we butted our cocoanuts together, and my deduction is that he’s gotmore headthan I have.”
“Oh, you villain!” exclaimed Chipper. “You trespasser on my sacred preserves! I should have thought to say that myself. Look at Bern; he’s getting excited. Wonder what Winton’s drilling him for?”
Hayden was indeed showing traces of excitement, for his face was flushed, his hands clenched, and he shook his head with an air of angry denial.
“I saw you,” said Winton, in a low, calm tone, “I saw you slug Stone on the jaw with your fist, Hayden; it’s useless to deny it.”
“It’s very strange,” sneered Bern, “that you were the only one who saw it. Where were the referee’s eyes?”
“Following the ball, doubtless. Carney swung Stone round sidewise as you lunged into the scrimmage, for doubtless he thought you had the ball, and he was trying to block you. It gave you a chance to hit Stone squarely on the side of the jaw, and you smashed him. Perhaps I was the only person who observed it; I hope I was.You’ve played a brilliant game, Hayden, and you can’t afford to let your temper and your hatred of Stone mar your record. Only for the fine style in which he blocked off the opposing guard, you never could have made such good gains. He doesn’t know you hit him, for he didn’t see you; and he won’t know unless I——”
“I deny that I did it,” muttered Bern sullenly.
“And while you deny it you’re aware that I know you did. Settle your personal grudges off the football field; that’s the thing to do. Don’t think for a moment that I’m taking sides in this quarrel between you and Stone; I know nothing of the merits of the matter, and it’s no affair of mine. Nevertheless, if I should see you do another wretched trick of that sort I’d stop the game to pull you off the field.”
“You’re only the coach; the captain of the team would have something to say about that.”
Winton’s eyes flashed. “I’m the coach, and as long as I continue in that capacity I’ll exert my authority to pull any man out of the game. You have a nasty temper and a revengeful disposition, my boy, and it will be for your advantage to learn to curb yourself. Would you like to see Clearport win this game?”
“Certainly not.”
“I thought not.”
“Clearport can’t win. We’ve got them beaten now.”
“So that’s what you think. If you had seen as many football games as I have, and if you had watched this one from the side-lines, you would realize that there is not as much difference between these two teams as there seemed to be. If they ever discover our weak spots and get busy on them, they’ll make us go some yet. The line is none too strong, and the loss of Stone would weaken it frightfully. Furthermore, what do you imagine the fellows would think of you if they even suspected that you had tried to knock Stone out—and you might have succeeded if the half hadn’t ended just as you slugged him. I’m not going to say anything more; I think I’ve said enough. But don’t forget that I have my eyes on you.”
Not a word of this conversation had reached Stone’s ears, yet, sitting on the blanket and looking toward Winton and Hayden, Ben somehow obtained a slight inkling of the truth. This suspicion was strengthened as Winton finished speaking and turned away; for, in spite of himself, Bern could not help glancing toward Stone, and his eyes wavered beneath the boy’s steady, questioning gaze.
Piper, having stretched himself on the ground near Ben, had likewise fallen to watching Hayden and his accuser.
“My deduction is——” began Sleuth.
Two short, sharp blasts from the referee’s whistle told that the intermission was over and the time for the second half to begin had arrived.
ONE WHO WAS TRUE.
ONE WHO WAS TRUE.
ONE WHO WAS TRUE.
In less than two minutes after the resumption of play the spectators perceived that a great change had taken place in the home team, for the Clearporters had returned to the field firmly resolved to redeem themselves, and they went into the struggle with a snap and dash that temporarily swept the visitors off their feet. Tricked by a crisscross in the second scrimmage, Oakdale permitted Oakes to get round the right end, Spotty Davis being effectively and easily blocked by Stoker, while Crane let Butters through, and the left tackle of the locals flung himself before Hayden, preventing a tackle.
The few shrill cries which had risen from the northern side of the field became a chorus of shouts, and those shouts swelled into a roar as Oakes got past Eliot and raced onward, with a few pursuers straggling out behind in a fruitless effort to overtake him.
Winton, who had lighted a cigar, chewed savagely at the weed and smote his knee with his clenched fist.
“Just what I was afraid of!” he muttered.
Over the goal-line went Oakes for a touchdown, cheered wildly by the delighted crowd beneath the blue banners. The ball was punted out and caught, and Oakes held it for Ramsdal to lift it with a sure and handsome kick over the crossbar.
“We can’t afford to let them repeat that performance,” said Eliot regretfully.
But the locals, retaining the ball after the kick-off, carried it fifteen yards in a swift dash before they were stopped. Having their courage restored and being spurred on by Merwin, they lined up and lunged into the scrimmage before the visitors were wholly prepared, and a gain of nine yards through center might have developed into another sensational run had not Eliot himself nailed the man with the pigskin.
Cheer after cheer was flung across from the northern side of the field. The visitors on the southern side answered bravely, yet not wholly without a note of distress and alarm.
“Got yez going, me bhoy,” grinned Barney Carney into the face of Ben Stone. “Oi belave it’s our turrun now.”
He was not the only one who believed this; the whole team believed it. And when a body of contestants in any game get the idea that they are bound to succeed, it is doubly difficult to stop them. The Clearporters had talked it over; they had decided that the left wing of the visitors was stronger than the right. Stoker had told them that Spotty Davis was “soft as mush.” Nevertheless, they were crafty enough not to betray immediately their plan to batter at that right end, and by shifting their movements rapidly, they kept their opponents guessing. Round Davis and through the line between him and Crane they occasionally shot a runner for good gains, which carried them on again and again just when it seemed that they had been checked.
Eliot entreated Davis; he begged, and then he scolded. Spotty, feeling the weight of the battering hurled upon him, swiftly lost heart; and when in a sort of blind despair he finally tackled a runner head on, he was the one who remained stretched on the hard ground after the ball was down.
“Come, Davis—come,” called Eliot, “get up and get into the game. For goodness’ sake, take a brace!”
Spotty groaned dolefully. “I can’t,” he whimpered, with a choke in his voice. “I can’t; I’m done up.”
Roger turned toward Winton, who lifted his hand in a signal, to which the Oakdale captain replied with a nod. Walker, Stone’s seatmate at school, was promptly sent out by the coach; and the little fellow came running without hesitation, trembling with excitement, delighted because he was to have a chance in the game.
His head hanging, Davis staggered off the field and fell prostrate upon the ground, hiding his face on his curved arm. “I was getting the whole of it,” he mumbled chokingly. “They were bound to do me.” But no one paid any heed to his muttering or to the tears he shed.
Stoker laughed at Walker, but the little chap soon demonstrated that he was on the field to do his handsomest as long as he lasted; and, despite the greater weight of the opposing end, he was able to keep the fellow busy. For a time this change seemed to put a little new life into the Oakdalers; but even though they got the ball, they could not hold it long, and, checked near the center of the field, they found themselves compelled to surrender the pigskin by kicking.
Clearport came back again with the dash and go which had so surprisingly altered the run of the game. Merwin made a successful quarterback run; Boothby gained a little ground through center; and then Stone, breaking through Carney, slammed a runner down for a loss. Right on top of this the locals were penalized for holding, but the rising courage of the visitors was dampened when the home team pulled off a handsome forward pass that yielded double the distance needed.
Even though Oakdale fought every inch of the ground, being at last fully aroused to the danger, Clearport repeatedly worked the crisscross with good effect and brought into play still anotherwell-executed forward pass that landed them up against the goal-line, where, after being held for two downs, they finally pushed the ball over by barely six inches.
Apparently the tide had turned most decisively, and it was not strange that some of the easily discouraged Oakdalers felt that they were surely beaten. If the captain thought so, however, he succeeded marvelously well in hiding his feelings, trying his best all the time to brace his teammates up, encouraging the equally staunch, chiding a few who showed symptoms of wavering, and entreating one or two who apparently had lost heart.
There was a hush as Ramsdal prepared to try for goal. The defenders, lined up behind the posts, crouched, ready to charge; and as Clearport’s full back booted the ball Hayden leaped forward and upward, his open hands stretched high above his head. His fingers barely grazed the leather, but did not check the flight of the ball; if anything, they lifted it a trifle and aided in shooting it over the bar.
The home crowd was still making a terrific uproar as the two teams once more spread out upon the field, and there was every reason why that portion of the spectators should rejoice; for Clearport had won the lead by a single point, and the course of the game in the second half seemed to promise beyond doubt that this lead could be held.
The moment the ball came again into the possession of the locals they retained it and resumed their rushing tactics. Pounding their way into Oakdale’s territory, they marched on by short but sufficient gains toward yet another touchdown, the line of the visitors being pierced at almost every point save that defended by Ben Stone, which had been found practically invulnerable. Again and again it was the players in the backfield, Eliot, Hayden or Barker, who checked the assaults and prevented still larger gains. Winton’s fears that Oakdale would prove weak in defense had surely been well grounded. To add to the dismay of the visitors, they were penalized for fowling on their own thirty yard line, and the distance thus lost made the situation seem absolutely hopeless. Almost every spectator believed Clearport destined to add further points to her score.
In the darkest moment, however, with the locals beating Oakdale back against the goal-line, Fred Merwin fumbled. The ball, snapped to him by Corbin, twisted out of his fingers and bounded off to one side. Even as he flung himself at it he saw a figure that had cut through Barney Carney flash before him. The ball was scooped from the ground in a marvelous manner, and Merwin, having miscalculated, clutched at the heels of the fellow who had secured the pigskin—clutched but could not hold fast, even though his fingers touched the stocky ankles of Ben Stone.
How it was that Ben got that ball up from the ground and kept his feet no witness could tell. For two or three strides it seemed that he must plunge headlong with it, and then he regained his equilibrium and brought a gasping chorus of cries from the southern side of the field as he ran on toward Clearport’s goal. Nevertheless, he had given his left ankle a wrench, and every step hurt like the jab of a knife. Withhis teeth set, he hugged the ball beneath one arm, the other thrown out stiffly to fend off a dark figure he saw coming at him; and he left the would-be tackler jarred, dazed and knocked to his knees.
Once more every spectator was standing, and from opposite sides of the field came cries of dismay and wildly palpitant shouts of joyous encouragement.
It was Boothby, the swift left half back of the locals, who slowly but surely cut down the man with the ball. Had Ben found it possible to run barely a trifle faster, he could have carried the pigskin over the line. As it was, he made a thrillingly sensational run, and Boothby, shooting at him from behind, brought him down less than fifteen yards from Clearport’s goal. Slammed to the ground, Stone held fast to the huge yellow egg, and the next he knew Eliot was patting him on the back and telling him how good he was.
With the two teams preparing for the scrimmage, the Oakdale captain moved up and down behind the line, touching first one and then another of his comrades as he urged them to get into the play like fiends.
“We’ve got to do it right now,” said Roger, “and we can.”
Panting, Stone heard Sage calling the signal, and at the sound of the key number every nerve in his body went taut as a bow-string; for it was the play by which the most effective gains had been made in the first half—Hayden was to go through Clearport’s right wing with the ball. Ben knew he was expected to make the opening for the runner. If the work was well done, there was a chance that Bern might cover the remaining distance and secure a touchdown.
The remembrance of what had happened at the very finish of the first half struck Stone like a blow between the eyes. He doubted not that it was Hayden who had slugged him, yet now he was expected to assist that fellow in a play which might give him the glory of winning the game.
Winning the game—that was it! that was everything! Nothing else counted. The fellow who would let a personal grudge interfere was not worthy to wear an Oakdale uniform.
Tuttle snapped the ball, and Stone went at Carney like a thousand of brick. Already the Irishman had been led to respect his opponent, and, even though his backbone had weakened not a whit, he could not withstand the charge which swept him from his pins and spun him aside.
Sleuth Piper did his part by taking care of Morehead, and, his teeth set, Hayden came through that opening. It was Oakes who had seemed to anticipate the play, and Oakes who flung himself at Hayden; but it was Stone, interfering for the runner, who was brought down by the right half back of the locals. He had leaped forward in the tackler’s path just in time to save Bern.
What a shriek of joy went up from those who bore the crimson banners! How those red flags waved! For Hayden had crossed the line, and the touchdown was made.
A SURPRISING MEETING.
A SURPRISING MEETING.
A SURPRISING MEETING.
The game was over; after the third touchdown by Oakdale it had not lasted long enough for Clearport to recover and accomplish anything. The visitors had won, and they were being congratulated by their overjoyed admirers. Hayden was applauded, and his hand was shaken until he repulsed the exuberant crowd that surged around him. Stone likewise came in for his share of applause and praise, and, although his heart was happy, his unfortunate manner might have led many to fancy him stolid and almost sullen. Nevertheless, when, with a hand on Ben’s shoulder, Winton told him that he was the man who had saved the day and won the game, he smiled a little, and there was a blurring mist in his eyes.
Roger Eliot, his face lighted by that rare smile of his, praised them all.
“I see my father is here with his touring car,” he said. “I wish the car were large enough to take you all back to Oakdale, boys; but it isn’t, and so by the way of company I’ll take one of you. Come on, Stone, old chap.”
Ben flushed, surprised because he had been singled out.
“He’s the feller,” cried Chipper Cooper generously—“he’s the feller to take, Roger. Give him a good ride; he deserves it.”
Hayden said nothing; he had not expected to be invited, yet he was angered because Roger had selected Stone.
The boys had left their regular clothes in a room at the hotel, and to this they repaired to shed the dirty, sweat-stained garments of the game. Stone took no part in their light-hearted chatter; when they congratulated him, he simply said he had tried to do his best. Finally, bearing his bundle of football togs, he descended with Roger and found Mr. Eliot’s car waiting at the door. Little Amy was in the car with her father, who sat beside the driver. The child laughed and clapped her hands as her brother and Ben appeared.
“I’m going to ride on the back seat between you,” she called.
Mr. Eliot beamed on the boys. “You pulled out of that game pretty well, Roger,” he said. “I saw only the last of it, for I couldn’t get here sooner. I thought you were done for, son, but Ben saved you with that great run. That was really what won the game, as it gave you a chance to make the touchdown you needed.”
Roger’s father had called Ben by his Christian name, and Stone felt his heart swell. Seated in the tonneau of the automobile with Amy beside him, he was borne out of Clearport and away over the brown, winding road that led to Oakdale. Often he had longed to ride in an automobile and wondered if he would ever have the privilege. The sensation of gliding softly along as he lay back against the tufted leather cushions brought him a feeling of great satisfaction and peace. The sun, peeping redly over the western rim of the world, smiled upon him, and nowhere in all the sky was there a cloud, even as large as a man’s hand.
Amy talked gaily; she told how excited she had been as she watched Ben running with the ball, and, although she did not understand the game, she knew he had done a splendid thing.
“It would have been a frightful calamity for us if you had been knocked out at the finish of the first half, Ben,” said Roger. “I was afraid of it, and we never could have won that game without you.”
Stone recalled his suspicions, and a shadow fell athwart his face, but his lips remained silent. If Hayden had really perpetrated that foul trick, he had failed in his purpose, and Ben, triumphant, had no desire to speak of it.
A soft, tingling, cold twilight came on with the setting of the sun. At their bases the distant hills were veiled in a filmy haze of blue. The engine beneath the hood of the car purred softly as it bore them over the road with the power of fifty horses. As, with a mellow warning note of the horn, they swept around a gentle curve, they came upon a small, dusty human figuretrudging slowly in the direction they were traveling. It was a boy, ahead of whom trotted a little yellow dog, held by a line attached to its collar. Over the back of the little lad a violin was swung by supporting strings.
The dog turned aside, pulling at the line, and the boy followed him, as if led and guided in this manner.
Ben Stone uttered a sudden shout. “Stop,” he cried wildly—“stop quickly! Please stop!”
“Stop, Sullivan,” commanded Mr. Eliot; and the chauffeur responded by bringing the car to a standstill as soon as possible. Even before the wheels ceased to revolve Stone had vaulted over the side door of the tonneau and was running back toward the boy they had passed. “Jerry!” he called. “Jerry! Jerry!”
The little yellow dog barked at him, but, paying no heed to the animal, Ben swooped down on the lad who held the line and scooped him up in his arms.
“Who is it, Roger?” asked Urian Eliot in surprise.
“Jerry,” said Roger—“he called him Jerry. Why, father, it must be Ben’s own brother.”
“His brother? Why, I didn’t know——”
“He told me about his brother,” explained Roger. “They were separated after Ben’s parents died. Jerry is blind.”
“Oh!” murmured Amy. “Isn’t that just dreadful! Blind and walking all alone with only a dog for company! We must take him in the car, papa.”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Eliot, opening the door and stepping out. “This is a most remarkable occurrence.”
In the meantime, Ben and Jerry—for it was indeed Ben’s unfortunate younger brother—were transported by the joy and surprise of the unexpected meeting. They clung to each other, laughing, crying and talking brokenly and incoherently. The little dog, who had at first seemed to fear some harm threatened its master, frisked back and forth before them, barking frantically, finally sitting up on its haunches with its forward paws drooping, its mouth open and its protruding tongue quivering; for at last it appeared to comprehendthat there was really no danger, and this affair was one over which even a small yellow dog should laugh and be happy.
Roger had left the automobile likewise, and he came back to them, waiting near at hand until they should recover from the distracting excitement of the moment.
“Oh, Jerry!” choked Ben. “To find you here—I don’t understand it, Jerry.”
“I’ll tell you all about it, Ben, as soon as I can. I’ve been searching for you everywhere, but I was afraid I’d never, never find you.”
“Stone,” said Roger, “take him into the car.”
Jerry shrank against his older brother. “Who—who is it, Ben?” he whispered.
“A friend—the best friend—besides you, Jerry—that I’ve ever known. We’ve been playing football, and we’re going back to Oakdale now—going back in a big, fine automobile. This is Roger Eliot, Jerry.”
Roger stepped forward and took one of the little lad’s soiled hands. “I’m very glad to meet Ben’s brother,” he declared with such sincerity that Jerry’s alarm was instantly dispelled and his sympathy won. “My father’s auto is waiting, and there’s room to spare.”
“You never rode in an automobile, Jerry,” said Ben. “It’s corking.”
Through the dusk Roger saw the smaller lad’s sightless eyes turned upon him.
“But—but my little dog, Pilot?” said Jerry questioningly. “I must take him. I know he’s tired, the same as I am, and I wouldn’t leave him for——”
“Certainly we’ll take him,” assured Roger. “Come on.”
To the sightless wayfarer it was a marvel beyond words, almost beyond comprehension. He heard them speak of Roger’s father and felt the reassuring touch of Urian Eliot’s strong but gentle hands, while the voice of the man sounded in his ears. He was lifted into the tonneau of the car, the dog whining nervously at the end of the line until bidden follow, upon which, with a single sharp yap of thankfulness, he sprang up. He heard also the voice of a child, who spoke softly and seemed glad to welcome him. It was not strange that his head swam with the wonderment of it.
While waiting, the chauffeur had lighted the gas lamps of the car, and, with the machine again under way, they blazed a golden path through the deepening autumn darkness. The sharp, cold air whipped Jerry’s cheeks, but the strong arm of the brother he loved was about him, and his heart beat with happiness so intense that it was like a keen, sweet pain.