XIII.A TOUCH-DOWN.

McCONNELL’S remark now began to seem entirely true; for even commonplace scenes and commonplace happenings became more interesting than they ever before had seemed, now that they were associated with picture-making.

Dr. Hartel said that this was because the boys began to think about things in a new light, of which they never before had thought about at all. “It would be much the same,” he said, “if you had taken up botany, or mineralogy, or the microscope. I remember that life and history and governments suddenly began to have an entirely new interest for me when I began collecting coins and postage-stamps. Before that it didn’t seem to make much difference about the Italian States or the precise date of the Restoration, or who was restored. Then at once itbegan to seem of positively exciting importance. My stamps and coins began telling me when and whom. It is the same with your new hobby. When a man climbs on a hobby, unless he rides it too hard and loses his balance, he gets a wider view of something.” “So I mustn’t ride too hard,” said Allan.

“No, you must remember that the academy opens next week.”

A week after the high school opened, McConnell told Allan that Mr. Thornton had remarked one afternoon, “Now, McConnell, I’m afraid you are thinking about your camera.”

“I guess the next time I get him at one of our meetings,” laughed McConnell, “I’ll say to him, ‘Now, Mr. Thornton, I’m afraid you are thinking about the high school.’”

At the Camera Club they had begun to talk about an exhibition, and a committee was appointed to talk the matter over. It would be a good idea, several of the members thought, to have a display of the summer work. Many of the members had travelled to the mountains and seashore during July and August, and an exhibition could be made to have great variety in theme. Moreover, the club excursions had produced a large batch of pictures, and the members had not yet seen much of one another’s work.

“We might want to do some swapping,” said Owen.

“I wonder if we could get Dobbs to exhibit,” said Allan, amused at the thought. “I’m sure he would have something different from anybody else.”

“I fancy Dobbs is having a hard time,” said Owen. “He told me yesterday that he had taken six pictures of—what’s his boy’s name?”

“Sporty.”

“Yes, Sporty,—I hope that isn’t his real name,—and that not one of them came out good. He seemed disappointed.”

Allan had a proof in his pocket of the picture he had made of his sister Ellen up a tree. “The light was very queer,” he complained.

“‘I think they were a little miffed.’”

“What do you think of these geese?” asked Owen, pulling a proof from his pocket.

“Evidently they felt offended,” said Allan. “They seem to be turning their backs on you.”

“I think they were a little miffed,” admitted Owen. “Geese are mighty independent, anyway. Here’s another lot I caught over by the old Dutch farmhouse, that wouldn’t notice me at all.”

McConnell joined them with a proof of one of his numerous attempts at Artie. This time Artie had his crossbow.

“‘Over by the old Dutch farmhouse.’”

“I like that sunlight effect,” said Allan.

The three boys were just entering the club rooms when Big McConnell hailed them. “Hello, Captain Kodak! What’s the conspiracy now?”

“Have you seen the rooms?” asked Allan.

“No, I haven’t, but I want to. I think you fellows have neglected me. I want to see what is going on the same as any one else.”

“You’re welcome,” remarked Owen.

“This is the dark-room,” said Allan, indicating the dim recesses beyond the partition.

“I see,” said Big McConnell. “Then this other is the light room, hey? And, oh, yes, this is the medium room over here—just half and half.”

“Stop your fooling, Billy,” remarked Little McConnell.

“And here I am dying to be photographed,” complained Billy, “and nobody has taken me yet. It’s a shame.”

“Artie had his crossbow.”

“We’ll all take you,” offered Allan, “and make a composite.”

“No, you don’t,” said Billy. “I want to look pleasant, I don’t want to look cross. You must photograph the angel side of me. I want you to take me, not to give me away,” and Big McConnell roared at his own joke.

“Sit there by the window,” ordered Allan.

“Yes, mister,” said Big McConnell, meekly. “See that my hair is pretty and my tie straight.”

Allan placed his camera on the table opposite, adjusting a box and a book to bring the camera into position. “Now, look pleasant,” said Little McConnell.

Billy broke into a broad grin. “Is this pleasant enough?” he asked.

“Too pleasant,” said Allan. “Look serious, please.”

“I can’t,” cried Billy, “it’s too funny. Take me as I am, or send me home to my mother.”

“Well, keep still, anyway,” pleaded Allan.

“Oh, I’ll keep still—but can’t you snap it?”

“Not indoors,” said Allan. “I must give it two seconds.”

“Must you?” grinned Billy, “dear me! Two seconds! That’s like a duel, isn’t it? Don’t they have two seconds at a duel?”

“Steady, now!” demanded Allan.

“Oh, I’m a very steady young man,” protested Billy.

“There—you’re taken!” said Allan.

“What, already! Why, it didn’t hurt a bit. I’d never know anything had happened to me!”

“I’m going to put out a sign,” Allan said; “‘Painless Photography.’”

“Good idea,” Big McConnell said. “‘Pictures Taken Without Pain.’ Everybody would come. There would be a crush. ‘Line forms on this side. Walk up, ladies, and gentlemen, and kids! You’ll never know what hit you.’ There’s millions in it!”

And Big McConnell went away with a parting warning that he wasn’t one of those folks who are willing to wait very long for their proofs. “And if I don’t look handsome,” he said, “I’ll sit again—or stand, until I’m suited.”

“‘Is this pleasant enough?’ asked Billy.”

Allan had planned several schemes for October, but the first thing that happened in October was entirely unexpected. Mr. Merring, one of the men on theDaily Tablet, who knew Dr. Hartel and his family, was writing an article on foot-ball for one of the magazines—he had been a great half-back himselfin his day; and he asked Allan if he would run up to New Haven with him on a Saturday to make some shots at the Yale team in practice.

“I suppose I ought to have a camera myself,” said Merring, “but I’ve never had the time, somehow, to get at it. But you and I could work together down there.”

Allan agreed to go; it was another illustration of McConnell’s remark about the interesting things that happen to you when you have a camera. Merring and Allan got to New Haven at noon, and they had luncheon with two of the upper-class men, who made such a fuss over Merring that Allan concluded that Merring had been quite an important man in the university athletics.

Allan was somewhat dismayed to hear that the team would not get out to practice until nearly four o’clock.

He mentioned to Merring that the light would begin to wane after three, and that with the high-pressure speed necessary to catch the rapid movements, he was afraid they could not expect good results.

“Maybe I can hurry them,” said Merring; but Allan fancied that Merring did not regard the point as very important, and that he forgot the thing altogether. At all events, it was three o’clock when they started out to the field, and fully half-past three when the practice teams came out.

Allan had a full roll ready, and prepared to make the most of the situation. He and Merring took up a position opposite the middle line, and under Merring’s direction he took the first line-up and several of the early plays; but Merring soon found this difficult work, as perhaps he was too much interested in the plays to care about the pictorial details. Forwhatever reason, he finally said to Allan, “You go ahead on your own account. Perhaps you can run in closer if I’m not with you.”

“‘Chase that kid with the kodak!’”

Merring said that he had spoken to the Captain and the trainer, and that Allan had the privilege of the field with the camera. Allan soon found out, however, that all of the players were not familiar with his rights in the matter, for at an exciting moment just before a kick-off a big fellow in the line—the biggest fellow in the line, Allan thought—shouted:— “Chase that kid with the kodak, or we’ll kill him.”

“Don’t worry about me!” shouted Allan. “I’ll get out of your way.”

The big fellow paused a moment until the Captain called, “Let him alone, Barney. He’s going to immortalize you in a magazine!”

Nevertheless, when a half-back came suddenly aroundthe end with the ball a moment later, and the whole crowd, as it seemed, after him, Allan found but one thing to do. This was to swing promptly, and leap at the top of his speed for the side line.

It was a close shave. Allan felt as if he had dodged a cyclone.

Fortunately he had some knowledge of the game, “and knew which way to run,” as he told Merring afterward.

“Oh, you are a great success!” Merring said, with a laugh. “Your dodging is the feature of the day.”

“An incredibly quick scattering of the players.”

However, Allan found it to be impossible, with his limited experience, to get close-quarter pictures. He knew it worried the players to see him too close, and he felt that with the weakening light he could not use the highest speed of his camera shutter. Close quarters meant a blur. Distance meant small figures. Yet this was the best that could be done.

To make best use of the light, too, he shot rapidly,—and this had its natural results when he came to develop his films.

“I wish,” said Merring, toward the close of the practice, “that you would catch this next play—it’s a new trick the Captain is going to try; I know he hasplanned it, and if I shout ‘Now!’ you let her go as quickly as you can.”

The elevens lined up again, and Allan crept as close as seemed safe.

“Fourteen—seven—twenty-one,” came the voice from the tangle of legs. Allan did not hear the rest, for Merring was shouting:—

“Now!”

There was a frightful tangle of the elevens as Allan pressed the trigger, and, while his eyes still rested on the finder, there was an incredibly quick scattering of players, and five of the men, with big Barney in the midst of them, swung across his line of escape.

“Look out!” roared a voice.

Allan dropped, face down, over his camera, as he would have done over a ball.

He was prepared for the awful feet of Barney. A sound like low thunder was in his ears, he felt rather than saw a figure leap over him as he crowded close over the box; and the line had passed.

Then Merring was at his shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. I had to drop or lose the camera.”

“Good play!” cried Merring. “It was a kind of touch-down!”

“And I got the picture, I think.”

“Good again. Scott! Savin has made a touch-down, too!”

It was as Allan had expected; his foot-ball pictures were “undertimed,” and most of those at close range were much defaced by movement of the image. But Merring was pleased, and got a number of satisfactory plates out of the batch. Allan was inclined to prize these highly whenever he thought of that thundering line.

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