"Funny you didn't make a success of it!" chuckled Clint
"Brooks and Chase have won one set and they're three--love on this, Amy," replied the boy addressed.
"Thought so," said Amy. "I picked them to meet Scannel and Boynton. And I'll bet they beat 'em, too."
"Why didn't you enter the doubles?" asked Clint.
"Oh, I had enough to do looking after the thing," replied Amy, "and getting through the singles."
Clint smiled. "I reckon the real reason was that you didn't want to hog the show and take both prizes, eh?"
"No fear of that, I guess," answered the other evasively. "Aren't you coming over to the gym with me?"
"I'll wait for you over yonder," said Clint. "Conklin says I mustn't use this leg very much. Hurry up and come back. I'll be on the stand over there."
The second was still practising when Clint reached the seats, some of them tackling the dummy in the corner of the field and others, backs and ends these, catching punts. Over on their own gridiron the 'varsity was hard at it, the two squads trotting and charging about under the shrill commands of Marvin and Carmine. Presently the rattle and bump of the dummy ceased and the tackling squad returned to the gridiron and "Boots" cleared the field for signal work. The backs and ends came panting to the bench, and Captain Turner, spying Clint in solitary grandeur, walked over to the foot of the stand.
"How's the knee, Thayer?" he asked anxiously.
"Much better, thanks," replied Clint, more optimistically than truthfully. Turner nodded.
"That's good," he said approvingly. "Go easy with it, old man, and don't take chances. Conklin says it's only a bruise, but knees are funny things. You don't want to get water on it. We need you too much, Thayer. Come on down to the bench."
"Thanks, but I'm waiting for Byrd. Did Conklin say how long I'd be out?"
"No, but you needn't worry, I guess. A couple of days more will put you all right." Turner nodded and hurried back to where "Boots" was making the line-up. When the squad took the field Clint saw that Cupples had taken his place at right tackle and that Robbins was at left. This, he reflected with some satisfaction, was doubtless because Robbins was not quite so good as he, Clint, and the left of the 'varsity line was the strongest. Hinton's piping voice sang the signals and the squad, followed by the substitutes, began its journeys up and down the gridiron. Amy joined Clint presently, still lugging his pewter trophy, and the two boys leaned back against the seat behind them and looked on. Clint, when the squad was near enough for him to hear the signal, translated for Amy's benefit, as: "Right half outside of left guard. Watch it!" or "Here's a forward to Turner, Amy. There he goes! Missed it, though. That was a punk throw of Martin's."
"It's all well enough for you fellows to pretend that you know what's going to happen when the quarter-back shouts a lot of numbers to you," observed Amy, hugging his knees and exposing a startling view of crushed-raspberry socks, "but I'm too old a bird--no pun intended this time--to be caught. Besides, I played once for a couple of weeks, and I know that signals didn't mean anything to me."
"Funny you didn't make a success of it!" chuckled Clint.
"The quarter-back just bawls out whatever comes into his head and then he tosses the ball to whichever chap looks as if he was wide enough awake to catch it and that chap makes a break at the line wherever he happens to think he can get through," continued Amy convincedly. "All this stuff about signals is rot. Now we'll see. Where's this play going?"
Clint listened to the signal. "Full-back straight ahead through centre," he said.
"What did I tell you?" Amy turned in triumph. Clint laughed.
"Otis got the signal wrong," he explained, "and crossed in front of Martin."
"Oh, certainly! Yes, indeed!" agreed Amy with deep sarcasm. "Honest, Clint, I think you really believe that stuff!"
"I have to," grunted Clint. "Here it goes right this time."
The signal was repeated and Martin dashed forward, took the pigskin at a hand-pass and went through the centre. Amy grunted. "You just happened to guess it," he said. "Where are they going?"
"Over to scrimmage with the 'varsity. Come along."
"Would you?" asked Amy doubtfully. "Somehow I hate to see the 'varsity trampled on and defeated, Clint. Would you mind asking 'Boots' to be merciful today! Tell him you've got a friend with you who's soft-hearted and hates the sight of blood."
Amy made himself particularly objectionable during the ensuing half-hour. The 'varsity was in fine fettle today and ripped the second team wide open for three scores in the two periods played. Amy pretended to think that every 'varsity success was a second team victory.
"There, that 'varsity fellow has taken the ball across the line, Clint! Isn't that great? How much does that count for the second? Six, doesn't it? My, but your team is certainly playing wonderful football, chum. What I don't understand, though, is the--the appearance of satisfaction displayed by the 'varsity, Clint. Why is that? Carmine is patting Kendall on the back just as if he had done something fine! I suppose, though, that they're so used to being defeated that they can pretend they're pleased! Let me see, that makes the score 13 to 0 for the second, eh?"
"Oh, dry up!" laughed Clint. "The 'varsity's having one of its good days, that's all, and we're playing pretty rotten. We have to let them win once in a while. If we didn't they might not play with us. There goes St. Clair in for Still."
"I hear that Still is fairly punk this Fall," said Amy. "Too bad, too, for he was a dandy man last year. He had some sort of sickness in the Summer, Freer tells me. Still never said anything about it for fear he'd lose his place."
"That so? I'm sorry for Still, for he's a nice chap, but that St. Clair is surely a wonder, Amy. He hasn't any weight to speak of, but he's the fastest backfield man they've got, with the exception of Marvin, maybe."
"Well, I don't know much about the game," said Amy, "but it seems to me that Carmine is a better quarter than Marvin. He seems to have more ginger, don't you think?"
"Perhaps, but Marvin's a steadier fellow. More dependable. Handles punts a heap better. Knows a lot more football than Carmine. I like the way Carmine hustles his team, though. I reckon Marvin will have to get a hump on him or he'll be losing his job."
"Which is the fellow who has your place, Clint?"
"The tall fellow on this end; just pulling his head-guard down; see him?"
"Yes. How is he doing?"
"Mighty well, I'd say," responded Clint ruefully. "He's playing better than I've ever seen him play all Fall. There he goes now! Let's see if he gets under the ball."
Martin had punted, a long, high corkscrew that "hung" well and then came down with a rush toward the waiting arms of Kendall. Captain Turner had got away with Robbins at his heels, but Lee, the other end, had been sent sprawling by Edwards, of the 'varsity, and Cupples, playing right tackle, was far behind the kick. Carmine dived at Turner as the ball settled into Kendall's arms, and brought him down, and Robbins threw himself at the runner. But Kendall leaped aside, spinning on a heel, and Robbins missed him badly. It was a second team forward who finally stopped Kendall after the latter had raced across four white lines. Amy observed Clint severely.
"Why that unholy smirk on your face?" he asked.
"I wasn't," denied Clint.
"You was! It pleased you to see Robbins miss the tackle, and you needn't deny it. I'm surprised at you, Clint! Surprised and pained. You should feel sorry for the poor dub, don't you know that?"
"Yes, I know it," replied Clint.
"Well, are you?"
"I am not!"
"Neither am I," said Amy, with a chuckle. "I hope he misses 'em all and bites his tongue!"
A few minutes later the second again covered itself with glory, according to Amy, when Harris of the 'varsity skirted its left end and romped across the goal line for a third touchdown. Amy applauded with glee and thumped Clint on the shoulder. "Bully for our side, Clint!" he gloated. "We've gone and made the 'varsity score another touchdown for us! Oh, but we're the snappy little heroes, what? Let's see if Jack can kick a goal and give us another point. Now then! There we go! Did he or didn't he?"
"He did," replied Clint gloomily.
"Fine! That puts the second 20 to 0, eh? Say, you've got a team there to be proud of, old top! Never again will I cast aspersions on it, or--What's up? Why the--the exodus?"
"They're through. Come on home."
"Couldn't stand the punishment any longer, eh?" asked Amy cheerfully. "Ah, poor, disgraced, downtrodden 'varsity! My heart bleeds for them, Clint! I could sit me down and weep--"
"You'll weep all right if you don't shut up!" declared Clint savagely. "And don't walk so fast. I've got a bum knee."
Halfway to Torrence Amy stopped suddenly and clasped a hand to his forehead. "Woe is me!" he declaimed.
"What is it?" asked Clint impatiently.
"I've left my pretty little trophy behind. I'll have to beat it back, Clint, and rescue it. Can't you picture the poor little thing sitting there all alone in pathetic solitude, forlorn and deserted?"
"I'll bet no one would steal it," said Clint unkindly.
"Perhaps not, perhaps not, but suppose it rained, Clint, and it's little insides got full of water! I mustn't risk it. Farewell!"
Amy didn't get back to the room until half an hour later, but he had his precious tennis trophy, and explained as he placed it on top his chiffonier and stood off to view the effect, that he had stopped at the courts to learn the results and afterwards at Main Hall to get mail. "Brooks and Chase won two straight," he said, "just as I expected they would. What did I do with that score-sheet, by the way? Oh, here it is." He drew it from an inner pocket of his jacket, and with it a blue envelope which fell to the floor. He picked it up, with a chuckle. "Look at this, Clint. I found it in the mail and nearly had heart disease. Too well do I know those blue envelopes and Josh's copper-plate writing! Catch it. I tried to think of something I'd done, and couldn't, and then I opened it and found that thing!"
Clint drew a sheet of paper from the blue envelope. On it was pasted a short newspaper clipping and above the clipping was written in the principal's minute writing: "Thought you'd like to see this. J.L.F." Clint read the clipping:
"Wharton, Oct. 24--The Stamford police yesterday took into custody James Phee and William Curtin, charged with numerous burglaries throughout the state within the past month, among them that of Black and Wiggin's jewelry store in this city a fortnight ago. The suspected men were trying to dispose of a small roadster automobile when arrested and their willingness to part with it at a ridiculously low figure placed them under suspicion. This car is presumably the one with which they operated and successfully escaped arrest for so long. The Stamford police are trying to find the real owner of the car. It is believed that the two men got away with at least four thousand dollars' worth of goods of various kinds during their recent campaign, of which none has been recovered except that stolen from Black and Wiggin. In that case almost a thousand dollars' worth of jewelry which the burglars secured by blowing the safe was discovered the following day buried in the ground on property belonging to Thomas Fairleigh about four miles from town, a piece of detective work reflecting great credit on Chief Carey."
"I notice," commented Clint with a smile, "that no credit is given to Amory Byrd and Clinton Thayer for their share in the discovery."
"I should say not! Maybe it's just as well, though. Newspaper notoriety is most unpleasant, Clint. Besides, we didn't do so badly!" Amy pulled out his gold watch and frowned at it intently. "It's an awful exact sort of a thing, though. It hasn't lost or gained a second in two weeks. I'm not sure that I approve of a watch with so little--er--sense of humour!"
Clint's knee remained painful for more than a week, during which time he took no part in practice except, at "Boots'" direction, to watch from the bench and, later, to follow the squad during signal work. Meanwhile the obnoxious Robbins--who was in reality a very decent fellow and one whom Clint could have liked had they not been rivals--was performing quite satisfactorily without displaying any remarkable brilliance. Coach Robey made two changes in the line-up of the 'varsity on Thursday of that week in preparation for the game with Chambers Tech. St. Clair went in at left half-back, vice Still, and Blaisdell ousted Churchill at left guard. The Chambers contest was one which Brimfield wanted very much to win. Last year Chambers had thoroughly humiliated the Maroon-and-Grey, winning 30--9 in a contest which reflected little credit on the loser. Brimfield had been caught in the middle of a bad slump on that occasion. This year, however, no slump was apparent as yet and the school thirsted for and expected a victory decisive enough to wipe out the stigma of last Fall's defeat. The game was to be played at Brimfield, a fact which was counted on to aid the home team. The school displayed far more interest in Saturday's game than in any other on the schedule except, of course, the final conflict with Claflin, and displayed a confidence rather out of proportion to the probabilities. For Chambers had played six games so far this Fall, to Brimfield's five, and had won five of them and tied the other, a record superior to the Maroon-and-Grey's.
There was no practice that afternoon for the second and so Clint witnessed the Chambers game from the grand-stand in company with Amy and Bob Chase. Chase was a Sixth Form fellow, long, loose-jointed and somewhat taciturn. He with his partner, Brooks, had won the doubles in the tennis tournament a few days previously. Before the game was more than five minutes old he had surprised Clint with the intimate knowledge he displayed of football. Possibly Amy discerned his chum's surprise; for he said: "I forgot to tell you, Clint, that Bob is the fellow who invented the modern game of American football, he and Walter Camp together, that is. And I've always suspected that Bob gives Camp too much credit, at that!"
"I played four years," said Chase quietly, "and was crazy about it. But I got a broken collar-bone one day and my folks were scared and asked me to give it up. So I did."
Clint pondered that. He wondered if he would be so complaisant if his parents made a like request, and greatly feared he wouldn't.
"You must have hated to do it," he said admiringly.
Chase nodded. "I did. But I argued it like this. Dad was paying a lot of good money for my education, and he hasn't very much of it, either, and if he didn't want to risk the investment I hadn't any right to ask him to. Because, of course, if I went and busted myself up I'd be more or less of a dead loss. Any amount of education doesn't cut much figure if you can't make use of it."
"N-no, but--fellows don't get really hurt very often," replied Clint.
"Not often, but there was no way of proving to dad's satisfaction that I mightn't, you see. And then, once when we went to a Summer resort down in Maine there was a chap there, a great, big six-footer of a fellow, who used to be wheeled around on a reclining chair. He'd got his in football. And that rather scared me, I guess. Not so much on my account as on dad's. I knew he'd be pretty well disappointed if he paid for my school and college courses and in return got only an invalid in a wheel-chair."
"So, very wisely," said Amy, "you dropped football and took up a gentleman's game?"
"Well, I'd always liked tennis," conceded Chase. "Funny thing, though, that, after all, I got hurt worse in tennis than I did in four years of football." Clint looked curious and Chase went on. "I was playing in a doubles tournament at home Summer before last and my partner and I hadn't worked together before and there was a high one to the back of the court and we both made for it. I got the ball and he got me; on the back of the head with his full force. I dropped and they had me in bed three weeks. Concussion, they called it. I thought so too."
Clint glanced reflectively at his knee. "I reckon a fellow does take chances in football," he murmured. "I'd hate to give it up, though."
"I have an uncle," said Chase, "who used to play football a long time ago, when he was in college. In those days about everything went, I guess. He told me once that he used to be scared to death every time he started in a hard game for fear he'd get badly injured. Said it wasn't until someone had jabbed him in the nose or 'chinned' him that he forgot to be scared."
"I know the feeling," observed Amy. "Once when I was playing a chap jumped on me when I was down and dug his knee into my chest till I thought he'd caved me in. I was so mad I tried to bite his ankle!"
"He had a narrow escape from hydrophobia, didn't he?" mused Clint.
The first two periods of the Chambers game aroused little interest. Both teams played listlessly, much, as Amy put it, as if they were waiting for the noon whistle. There was a good deal of punting and both sides handled the ball cleanly. Neither team was able to make consistent gains at rushing and the two periods passed without an exciting incident. Amy was frankly bored and offered to play Chase a couple of sets of tennis. Chase, however, chose to see the game through.
"They'll wake up in the next quarter," he predicted. "They've both been feeling the other fellow out. You'll see that our fellows will start in and try to rush the ends when they come back. After they've spread Chambers' line a bit they'll hammer the guards, I guess. I think Chambers will try to punt into scoring distance and then let loose."
"A score in each period will be the best either side will do, I reckon," said Clint.
But Chase shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "Maybe there won't be any scoring in the third period, but you'll find that the fur will fly in the last. Only thing is, I don't know whose fur it will be!"
"Well, I'll be glad to see some action," remarked Amy, yawning. "Compared to tennis this game is a regular 'cold water sit-around'!"
"What's that?" laughed Clint.
"Oh, that's a party where you don't get anything but a glass of water in the way of refreshments, and you sit around in a circle and tell stories."
"I reckon you're a big hit at those parties," said Clint. "When it comes to telling stories--"
But the rest of Clint's remark was drowned by the cheer that went up as the Maroon-and-Grey trotted back around the corner of the grand-stand. A moment later Chambers returned from her seclusion and her warriors dropped their grey-blue blankets and began to run up and down to stretch their muscles. Chase watched approvingly.
"An awfully fit-looking lot," he said. "I like them rangey, don't you, Thayer?"
"Yes, I think so. They do look good, don't they? They must average older than our fellows."
"At least a year, I'd say. Not much 'beef' on any of them. Hello, Robey's sending Tyler in at right tackle! Wonder why. Trow wasn't hurt, was he?"
"Hurt!" scoffed Amy. "How the dickens could anyone get hurt? He probably fell asleep in the gym and they didn't like to wake him!"
"Carmine's gone in for Marvin," said Clint.
"That means that Robey wants things shaken up a bit. Marvin's a good, sure player, but he lacks punch, Thayer."
"I know. He doesn't seem to be able to get the speed out of the fellows that Carmine does."
It was Chambers' kick-off and the ball travelled to the five-yard line. Carmine let it bound out, touched it back and the teams went back to the twenty. Carmine showed his ginger at once. His shrill voice barked out the signals impatiently and Kendall set off around his own left end. The two teams raced across the field, Kendall searching for an opportunity to cut in and finding none until he was almost at the side line. Then he twisted ahead for a scant three yards and Brimfield cheered.
Another try at the same end netted two yards more, and then Harris faked a punt and shot the ball to Edwards, who was downed for no gain although he made the catch. Harris punted to Chambers' forty yards and Edwards got the runner neatly. Chambers smashed through Hall for two, through Tyler for two more and punted on third down. Kendall caught near the edge of the field and ran back twelve yards before he was forced out near his twenty-five. A yard gain on the short side put the runner over the line and the ball was brought in. St. Clair tried right tackle for no gain and Kendall made four outside the same opponent. Harris punted high and short and Chambers made a fair catch on her forty-two yards. A fake attack on the left of the line fooled the Brimfield backs and Chambers came around the right end for seven yards. She made her distance in two more tries and placed the ball in Brimfield territory. But a smash at the centre was hurled back and on the next play she was caught holding and penalised. A forward pass grounded and Chambers punted to Brimfield's twenty where Carmine caught and dodged back for fifteen behind excellent interference.
"That," commented Thayer, "was real football. Now, then, Brimfield, show 'em what!"
End attacks, diversified by feints at the line, took the pigskin to Chambers' forty-four yards, and the Maroon-and-Grey supports were cheering loudly. Then Fate interposed and Carmine fumbled, a Chambers forward falling on the ball.
"That's the trouble with Carmine," grumbled Clint. "He fumbles too plaguey much."
Brimfield was over-anxious and Roberts was caught off-side. Chambers worked a double-pass and made six around Roberts' end. Two attacks on Tyler gave the visitor the other four and made it first down on Brimfield's forty-yard line. Again the home team was set back for being off-side. Chambers came through right guard for three and worked Edwards' end for four more. With seven to go, a forward pass was tried and succeeded for enough to make the distance. Things were waking up now with a vengeance and Amy was no longer demanding action. Instead, he was shuffling around on the edge of his seat, watching events breathlessly. Chambers was down to her opponents' twenty-four yards now, almost under the shadow of the goal and a place-kick would score once out of twice.
But Chambers didn't want the mere three points to be gained by the overhead route. Instead, suddenly displaying a ferocity of attack never once hinted at in the first half of the contest, she hurled her fast backs at the Brimfield wings and bored through twice for two-yard gains. Then a fake forward-pass deceived the defenders and the Chambers full-back broke through past Innes and Blaisdell for a full six yards and another first down. There seemed no stopping her then. Carmine was scolding shrilly and Captain Innes was hoarsely imploring the line to "get low and slam 'em back!" With only fourteen yards between her and the last white line, Chambers played like wildcats. A half fumbled behind the line, but the quarter recovered the ball and actually squirmed ahead for a yard before he could be stopped. Another attack on Tyler netted three yards more.
"Hold 'em, Brimfield! Hold 'em! Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" chanted the grand-stand. Clint was scowling ferociously and gripping his hands hard between his knees. Amy was patting his feet on the boards. Chase was studying the situation intently, outwardly quite unaffected by the crisis. "Someone," he observed, "is making a mistake there. They'll never get six yards by plugging the line. Why don't they make Brimfield open out?"
But evidently Chambers thought she could conquer by massing her attack, for once more she hurled her backs at the centre, and once more the Maroon-and-Grey yielded. But the gain was less than two yards and only one down remained.
"Fourth down and about four to go!" cried the referee.
Chambers changed her plans then, strung her backs out along her line and shifted to the left.
"Here comes a trick," muttered Clint.
"I doubt it," responded Chase. "It looks like it, and it's meant to, but I guess when it comes it'll be a straight line-buck with that careless-looking full-back carrying the ball. I hope Innes sizes it up the way I do, for--"
"Watch this!" Innes shouted. "Watch the ball! Look out for a forward! Come in here, Kendall! Throw 'em back, fellows!"
The Chambers quarter shouted his signals, the ball went to him, the two half-backs shot away to the left, the full-back plunged ahead, took the ball and struck hard, head down, at the left of centre. But Brimfield had not been fooled. Blaisdell wavered, but the secondary defence piled up behind him. The full-back stopped, struggled ahead, stopped again and then came staggering back, half the Brimfield team about him. The whistle piped, and--
"Brimfield's ball!" cried the referee. "First down right here!" He waved the linemen toward the Chambers goal and the grand-stand burst into a peal of triumph. Amy clapped Clint on the knee--fortunately it was not the injured one!--and cried: "Some team, Clint! Say, they play almost as well as the second, eh?"
And Clint, laughing delightedly, acknowledged that they did--almost!
Harris, well behind his own goal line, punted to safety, a long and high corkscrew that brought another roar of delight from the home team supporters and settled into the arms of a Chambers back near the forty-yard line. Two tries at the left wing and the whistle shrilled the end of the third period and the teams changed goals.
"Bet you it'll be a stand-off," said Amy.
"Don't want to take your money," replied Chase, with a smile.
"Who will score, then?"
"Brimfield for certain, Chambers perhaps. If Chambers scores it'll be from the field. She's killed herself."
And Chase's prophecy proved fairly correct. Chambers had shot her bolt. Brimfield secured the ball by inches on a fourth down near the middle of the field and her first desperate attack, a skin-tackle play with St. Clair carrying the pigskin, piled through for nearly ten yards, proving that Chambers was no longer invulnerable. Carmine, still in control, called for more speed and still more. The Maroon-and-Grey warriors fairly dashed to their positions after a play. Chambers called time for an injured guard and substituted two new linesmen. Kendall and Harris were poked through left tackle for good gains and St. Clair got away around left end and was not stopped until he had placed the ball on the twenty-three. A fake kick worked for a short gain through centre, Carmine carried the pigskin around left tackle for three, Harris hurled himself through the rapidly weakening centre for four more and on the next play netted the distance and a yard to spare.
The grand-stand had well-nigh emptied itself, the spectators hurrying along the side line toward the Chambers goal. Amy and Clint and Chase squirmed to the front of the crowd where Tracey Black was wildly imploring the fellows to "Keep back of the line, please! Don't get on the field, fellows!"
Chambers put in a new left half and Coach Robey sent Gafferty in for Hall. The latter had been pretty badly treated in the third quarter. The pigskin was on the Chambers twelve yards now and Carmine and Captain Innes went back and put their heads together. Then Harris joined them and the crowd along the edge of the field set up a demand for a touchdown. "We don't want a field-goal, Innes! We want a touchdown! Give us a touchdown! Touchdown! Touchdown!"
But Jack Innes apparently thought a field-goal with its accompanying three points was sufficient to try for, for Harris walked slowly back to kicking position and spread his long arms out. But no one expected a try-at-goal on first down and there was none. Harris got the ball, made believe hurl it to the left, turned and raced to the right. Kendall and Carmine bowled over an opponent apiece and Harris ducked through and was pulled down on the six yards, while some seven score excited youths danced along the side line and howled gleefully.
Again Harris went back, but this time it was Carmine himself who sought a breach in the opponent's defence and was finally upset without gain. It was third down now, with four to go. The ball was well to the right of the goal, but Harris had done harder angles than that in his time, and hardly anyone there doubted that he would manage to land the ball across the bar. For there was hardly a question but that Brimfield was to try a field-goal this time. She weakened her end defence to provide protection to the kicker, both Kendall and Roberts playing well in and leaving the opposing ends unchallenged. But if Harris was capable of dropping the ball over from that angle he failed to do it on this occasion.
Back near the eighteen yards he waited, while Carmine piped the signal, arms outstretched. Chambers feinted and danced in her eagerness to pile through. Then back went the ball, waist-high, and Harris caught it and turned it carefully. The enemy thrust and struggled. An eager left end came around and went to earth before Roberts. Confusion reigned supreme for a long moment. Then the unexpected happened. Harris swung his leg, but he didn't drop the ball to it. Instead he turned quickly, tossed it a running figure which had suddenly detached itself from the offence and threw himself in the path of a reaching Chambers forward. Off to right shot the runner with the ball. Cries, frantic gasps from Chambers! A sudden scuttling to the left to head off the attack! But the Chambers left wing had been neatly drawn in and Steve Edwards had nearly a clear field in front of him when, ten yards from the side line, he saw his chance and dodging behind St. Clair and eluding the Chambers right half-back, he fairly romped across the line!
"That," shouted Amy, whacking Chase on the back, "is what is called strategy! Get me? Strategy!"
Three minutes later Jack Innes had kicked goal and turned the six to a seven. And five minutes later still the game came to an end with Brimfield once more pounding at Chambers' door. It was generally conceded that if the contest had lasted another minute Brimfield would have added another score.
Brimfield trooped back across the field to the Row noisily triumphant. Two hours before had anyone suggested that it would be satisfied with anything less than three scores it would have derided the notion. Now however it was not only satisfied but elated. Those seven points looked large and noble, and the home team's victory was viewed as a masterful triumph. Chambers was credited with having put up a fine fight, with having a more than ordinarily powerful team, and there were some who even went so far as to declare that Claflin would show no better football than today's visitors had shown. But that was doubtless an exaggeration, and those who made it had probably forgotten those first two periods in which both teams played very ordinary football indeed. A fair analysis of the game would have shown that the two elevens, while playing somewhat different styles of football, had been very evenly matched in ability and condition, that both had been weak on defence and that neither had proved itself the possessor of an attack which could be depended on to gain consistently. What both teams had shown was a do-or-die spirit which, while extremely commendable, would not have availed against a well-rounded eleven evenly developed as to attack and defence. In other words, both Brimfield and Chambers had shown fine possibilities, but neither was yet by any means a remarkable team.
In some ways the visitors had outplayed Brimfield. Chambers' attack, especially between the twenty-five-yard lines, had been far more varied and effective. Her line, from tackle to tackle, had been stronger than her opponent's. Brimfield had been especially weak at the left of centre, and a résumé of the game showed that Chambers had made two-thirds of her line gains through Blaisdell and Saunders. Churchill, who had replaced Blaisdell in the second half, had shown up no better on defence. At the ends Brimfield had held her own, while her backs had shown up superior to Chambers'. Chambers had outpunted Brimfield an average of five yards at a kick and had placed her punts to better advantage. In generalship both teams had erred frequently and there was little to choose between them.
But all this had no present effect on Brimfield's jubilation, and the school acted as if a most notable victory had been won. When the 'varsity team came in to supper that night it received an ovation hardly second in enthusiasm to that usually accorded it after a victory over Claflin. And perhaps, after all, the team deserved it, for when all was said and done the spirit which had been shown when they had held Chambers scoreless on the four yards and again later when they had themselves worn down the defence and gained their touchdown had been of the right sort.
Clint filled four pages of his Sunday's letter the next afternoon with a glowing and detailed account of that game, and it is to be hoped that the folks at Cedar Run enjoyed the perusal of it half as much as he enjoyed writing it. That evening he and Amy dropped in at Number 14 Hensey and found a roomful of fellows in excited discussion of the game. There was a disposition on the part of some of the fellows to consider the Claflin contest as good as won, but Jack Innes was more pessimistic.
"Look here," he interrupted finally, "you fellows talk like a lot of sick ducks. I'm blessed if I see what you're so cocky about. We beat Chambers, all right, but we didn't any more than beat them, and we had to work like the very dickens to do it. And, what's more, we only kept Chambers from scoring by the biggest piece of good luck."
"Oh, piffle, Jack!" exclaimed Still. "We had them fourth down and five to go. They couldn't have made it to save their lives!"
"They only had four to go," replied Jack, "and if they'd tried anything but a child's trick they'd likely have made it. The only way we got across was by springing a delayed pass on them when they were looking for a line-plunge."
"Bet you anything you like we could have gone straight through for that touchdown." said Still. "We had the ball on their four yards and it was only third down. Harris or Kendall could have torn that four yards off easily."
"That's your opinion," replied Jack drily. "As I remember it, though, you were not on at the time. We knew mighty well wecouldn'tget that four yards by playing the line. If you don't believe me, ask Robey. The first thing he said afterwards was that he was afraid we were going to send Harris at centre on that last play and that if we had we'd never have got over."
"Oh, well, we got it, anyway," observed Tom Hall cheerfully.
"Yes, we got it," agreed Jack Innes, "but I'm telling you fellows that we only just did get it, and that we've got mighty little to crow about. Our forward line wasn't nearly as good as Chambers'. You all know that. And you ought to know that if we went in against Claflin and played the sort of football we played yesterday we'd be literally swamped!"
"But, look here, Jack," protested Tracey Black warmly, "it's only mid-season, old man. You've got to acknowledge that we're in mighty good shape for the time of year."
"I'm not knocking, Tracey. I'm giving all the fellows credit for what they did yesterday, but I don't want them to get the idea in their heads that all we've got to do is mark time from now until the big game. We've got to be at least twice as good then as we were yesterday. Besides, I don't call it the middle of the season when we've got only three games to play before Claflin. The Benton game was the mid-season game. We're on the last lap now. And," he added grimly, "we've got some work ahead of us!"
"For my part," observed Amy, who had been rather bored by the discussion, "I think the whole bunch of you played pretty rottenly."
"You do, eh?" demanded Edwards. "Suppose you tell us all about it, Amy. Give us of your wisdom, O enlightened one."
"There you go," groaned Tom Hall, "talking the way he does!"
"Oh, I don't know that I care to specify which of you was the worst," replied Amy carelessly. "Possibly it was you, Steve. You had a dandy chance once to upset the referee and you deliberately side-stepped him. If you're going to play the game, boy,playit! Don't dodge any of your duties or responsibilities."
"Oh, you be blowed," laughed Edwards. "It's the sorrow of my life, Amy, that you didn't keep on with football."
"I dare say if I had I'd have shown you fellows a few things about it," replied Amy modestly. "Theoretically, I'm something of an authority on football. When you come right down to brass tacks, it's the fellow on the side line who sees most of the game. I'm considering coaching when I leave school. Take my young friend Clint here. Clint owes a whole lot to my advice and guidance. He wouldn't be where he is today if it hadn't been for me, would you, Clint?"
"I'm on the bench just now," retorted Clint drily.
"That's where you'll stay if you listen to his ravings," said Steve Edwards, amidst general laughter.
"By the way, how is that ankle of yours, Thayer?" inquired Innes.
"Pretty nearly all right, thanks. It's my knee, though."
"Oh, is it? Say, Churchill got a peach of a black eye yesterday. Seen it!"
"Rather!" replied Freer. "He looked positively disreputable, poor chap."
"The fun of it is," chuckled Hall, "that he had to address the Christian Association this afternoon. Were you there, Jack?"
"Yes. It wasn't so bad. He had a patch over it. Still, it was sort of funny to hear him talking about clean playing!"
Clint was given a clear bill of health the next day and went back to practice with a silk bandage around his knee. He was given light work and sat on the bench again while the second played two twelve-minute periods against the 'varsity substitutes. It seemed to him that Robbins fairly outplayed himself that afternoon, but he failed to take into consideration that his rival was pitted against substitutes or that his own state of mind was rather pessimistic. Practice ended early and after a shower and a rub Clint ambled across to Torrence feeling rather dispirited. The dormitory seemed pretty empty and lonesome as he entered the corridor. Even Penny Durkin's violin was silent, which was a most unusual condition of affairs for that hour of the afternoon. Clint slammed his door behind him, tossed his cap in the general direction of the window-seat and flopped morosely into a chair at the table. He had plenty of work to do, but after pulling a book toward him and finding his place he slammed it shut again and pushed it distastefully away. He wished Amy would come back, and looked at his watch. It was only a little after half-past four, though, and Amy, who was probably playing tennis, would scarcely stop as long as he was able to distinguish the balls. Perhaps it was the absence of the customary wailing of the next door violin that put Penny Durkin in mind. Clint had never been in Penny's room, nor ever said more than two dozen words to him except on the occasion of Penny's encounter with Harmon Dreer, but just now Clint wanted mightily to talk to someone and so he decided to see if Penny was in. At first his knock on the door of Number 13 elicited no answer, and he was turning away when a doubtful "Come in" reached him from beyond the closed portal. When he entered Penny was seated on the window-seat at the far end of the room doing something to his violin.
"Hello," he said not very graciously. Then, giving the newcomer a second glance, he added: "Oh, that you, Thayer? I thought it was Mullins. Come on in."
"Thought maybe you were dead," said Clint flippantly, "and dropped in to see."
"Dead!" questioned Penny vaguely.
"Yes, I didn't hear the violin, you know."
"Oh, I see." There was a moment's silence. Then Penny said very soberly: "It isn't me that's dead; it's the violin."
"Something gone wrong?" asked Clint, joining the other at the window and viewing the instrument solicitously. Penny nodded.
"I guess it's a goner," he muttered. "Look here." He held the violin out for Clint's inspection and the latter stared at it without seeing anything wrong until Penny sadly indicated a crack which ran the full length of the brown surface.
"Oh, I see," said Clint. "Too bad. Will it hurt it much?"
Penny viewed him in surprise. "Hurt it! Why, it spoils it! It'll never have the same tone, Thayer. It--it's just worthless now! I was pretty"--there was a catch in Penny's voice--fond of this old feller."
"That is a shame," said Clint sympathetically. "How'd you do it?"
Penny laid the violin down beside him on the window-seat and gazed at it sorrowfully a moment. Finally, "I didn't do it," he answered. "I found it like that an hour ago."
"Then--how did it happen? I suppose they're fairly easy to bust, aren't they?"
"No, they're not. Whoever cracked that had to give it a pretty good blow. You can see where it was hit."
"But who--Was it Emery, do you think?" Emery was Penny's room-mate, a quiet fifth form fellow who lived to stuff and who spent most of his waking hours in recitation room or school library. "He might have knocked it off, I dare say."
Penny shook his head. "It wasn't Gus and it wasn't the chambermaid. I asked them both. Besides, the violin was in its case leaning in the corner. No, somebody took it out and either struck it with something or hit it over the corner of the table. I think probably they hit it on the table."
Clint stared. "You mean that--that someone did it deliberately?" he gasped incredulously. "But, Durkin, no one would do a thing like that!"
"Of course, I've got another one," said Penny, "but it isn't like this. This is a Moretti and cost sixty dollars twelve years ago. You can't buy them any more. Moretti's dead, and he only made about three a year, and there aren't many anyhow."
"But, Durkin, who could have done it?"
Penny didn't answer; only picked up the violin tenderly and once more traced the almost imperceptible crack along the face of the mellowed wood.
"You don't mean"--Clint's voice dropped--don't mean Dreer?"
"I can't prove it on him," answered Penny quietly.
"But--but, oh, hang it, Durkin, even Dreer wouldn't do as mean a thing as that!" But even as he said it Clint somehow knew that Penny's suspicions were correct, and, at variance with his assertion, added wrathfully: "By Jove, he ought to be thrashed!"
"He said he'd get even," observed Penny thoughtfully.
Clint sat down on the end of the window-seat and looked frowningly at Penny. "What are you going to do?" he asked finally.
"Don't see that I can do anything except grin," was the reply. "If I charge him with it he'll deny it. No one saw him do it, I guess. He probably came in here early this afternoon. I have French at two, you know, and he probably counted on that. Gus never is in, anyhow. After he did it he put it back in the case, but I knew as soon as I'd opened it that somebody had been at it because my handkerchief was underneath, and I always spread it on top. If I beat him up he'll go to Josh and Josh will say it was an unwarrantable attack, or something, and I'll get the dickens. I can't afford that, because I'm trying hard for a Draper Scholarship and can't take chances. I guess he's evened things up all right, Thayer."
"It's perfectly rotten!" said Clint explosively. "If it was me I'd thrash him, scholarship or no scholarship! The mean pup!"
"You wouldn't if it might mean losing your chance of coming back after Christmas. I need that scholarship the worst way and I have a hunch that I'll get it if I don't get into trouble. I had it last year, you know. I haven't done very well with business this Fall; fellows haven't seemed to want things much. No, if Dreer figured out that I wouldn't go after him on account of the scholarship, he guessed about right. I'd like to"--Penny's voice trembled--"to half kill him, but--I won't!"
"Then tell faculty, Durkin. Have him fired out of school. Do--do something!"
"No use telling faculty; I can't prove it on him. Besides, I don't like the idea of playing baby. And, anyway, nothing I could do to Dreer would give me my violin back the way it was. It--it had a grand tone, Thayer! You've heard it!"
"Yes." Clint had to suppress a smile. "Yes, I've heard it often, Durkin. It did have a good tone; nice and--and clear."
"There isn't a better instrument made than a Moretti," said Penny sadly. "I can have it fixed so it won't show, but it won't ever be the same." He laid the violin back in the case very tenderly and spread the white silk handkerchief across the strings. "If you don't mind, Thayer, I'd just as leave you didn't say much about this."
"All right," agreed Clint gruffly. "Mind if I tell Amy, though?"
"Oh, no, only I--I'd rather it didn't get around. Some of the fellows don't like my playing, anyhow, you see, and they'd do a lot of talking."
Clint took his departure a minute later, after renewed regrets, and went back to his room. Amy was still absent and it was not until after supper that they met.