The Project Gutenberg eBook ofOver the LineThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Over the LineAuthor: Harold M. ShermanRelease date: September 4, 2008 [eBook #26532]Most recently updated: January 4, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER THE LINE ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Over the LineAuthor: Harold M. ShermanRelease date: September 4, 2008 [eBook #26532]Most recently updated: January 4, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines
Title: Over the Line
Author: Harold M. Sherman
Author: Harold M. Sherman
Release date: September 4, 2008 [eBook #26532]Most recently updated: January 4, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER THE LINE ***
Produced by Al Haines
[Transcriber's note: Extensive research found no evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Author of
One Minute to PlayTouchdown!Hit by PitcherBases Full, Etc.
The Goldsmith Publishing Co.
Cleveland, Ohio
When a new fellow moves into the neighborhood, you look him over, strike up an acquaintance and sort of go around with him, but not until he shows the sort of stuff he's made of do you take him into the gang and make a real pal of him, or else let him alone, as the case may be.
It's somewhat the same with a new book. You look through it, read it and if it's good stuff, the author, like the new chap in the neighborhood, becomes one of the gang. And when such an author keeps on producing sure fire stuff, like Harold M. Sherman has been doing, there is no doubt at all that his books will be read.
This book deals with the mental hazard that has been the downfall of so many chaps. But Judd Billings overcomes his obstacle while still at high school and how he later makes a name for himself at college, makes this a book that will be instantly liked by all who read it. In fact, all one need say is that it is a Harold M. Sherman book.
I THE STRANGE CONTRACTII JUDD GRITS HIS TEETHIII A KICKER Is DISCOVEREDIV FIGHTING SPIRITV FOR A SCRAP OF PAPERVI ILL NEWS AND A NEW ARRIVALVII THE FIRST NIGHTVIII JUDD PRACTICES FOOTBALLIX AT THE FAIRX THE ATTEMPTED HOLD-UPXI BENZ BROODSXII ONE KIND OF LOYALTYXIII AN IMPRACTICAL JOKEXIV THE CONFESSIONXV JUDD GAINS A PROMOTIONXVI BEFORE THE GAMEXVII THE FIRST HALFXVIII THE SECOND HALF
"Judd, I'd rather a fellow would be anything else but a quitter!"
Judd jumped to his feet, eyes blazing.
"I'm not a quitter … but I'm not gonna go back to school!"
Bob Billings, older brother, stared for a moment, unanswering. Judd had come on to the city to visit him during summer vacation. Since the father's death and Bob's attending Bartlett College, there had been little chance for the two to be together, especially with Bob employed in the Star Sporting Goods store, miles away from Trumbull, the little town near which the Billings family lived.
"You've got to get a hold on yourself," Bob said, finally, "I'd no idea you'd gotten this way. You're babying yourself out of everything you'd really like to do. And here I'd counted on your taking up on that Trumbull High team where I left off! No reason why you couldn't either … you've got a much better physique than I have. That work on our farm has given you the muscles of an ox. You've got a grip in those hands that would make most fellows yell for help. Only trouble with you is—you don't know your own strength and you're afraid to use it. Right now a much smaller guy could tie you into bow knots!"
Judd's face flushed. He had a great deal of respect for his older brother, Bob. It was Bob who had written the greatest athletic page in Trumbull High history by his feats in baseball, football and track. And then, when the war had broken out, it was Bob who had enlisted in the air service and come back from abroad with the Croix de Guerre and a distinguished service medal with several citations for bravery. And now, as a senior at Bartlett College, it was Bob who was heralded as the outstanding member of the football team. Yes—there was no question about it—Bob was aheman!
To follow in the footsteps of such a brother was indeed an honor—or was it a hardship? When Judd Billings had entered high school the students looked upon him with expectant awe. Wasn't he the brother of the great Bob Billings? Surely he would carry on the tradition of the family. More great things would be forthcoming. Judd's big-boned, awkward frame was pointed out with high glee. He was a trifle taller and pounds heavier than Bob had been. What might this mean when he got under way? Give him time and then look for some more records to be broken!
But those who prophesied big things for Judd did not take the matter of temperament into consideration. Judd was as different from Bob as Saturday was from Sunday. It did not take the students long to discover that he was unusually shy and self-conscious. Judd would almost jump at his own shadow. He avoided crowds and made friends slowly. As for competition, he apparently detested it, retracing his steps rather than encounter physical conflict. And so, when he might have been the idol of the entire school, Judd soon became the object of disgust.
"My eyes!" he would offer as excuse for his not taking up with sports. It was true that he had had some trouble with his eyes but townspeople shook their heads and said wisely that Judd's eyes were only serving as his alibi. The trouble was more deep-rooted than that.
"I'll tell you what's wrong with Judd!" explained old Mr. Bailey, proprietor of the Trumbull General Store, "I used to know his Dad, Jim Billings. He was a steady customer of mine up to the time of his death and some man he was, too! As husky a farmer as I ever see! He didn't have any use for mollycoddles and he brought his oldest boy, Bob, up to fight his own battles, not wasting any sympathy on him. But Judd came along seven years after Bob and he missed out on old Jim's disciplinin'. With the father dead, Judd came under his mother's care and Mrs. Billings has sure put her boy on the toboggan. You see she's so nervous and scarey that she imagines terrible things are going to happen to everybody. She hasn't let Judd go skating on the bay for fear the ice might break. She's against his going into sports because he might get injured. She's made a hothouse plant out of that big, strapping fellow and I say it's a cryin' shame because Judd's got the same stuff in him his father was made of if he could only get it out. Wish Judd could be around Bob for awhile. That's the kind of association he needs!"
Mrs. Billings, well meaning though she had been, realized finally that something must be done about Judd. Her anxious attention had been divided between him and the operation of the farm. Hank Duncan, Jim Billings' hired man, had taken charge of the place with Jim's passing, Mrs. Billings insisting that Bob secure the college education which he had planned before going into service.
"I can't understand what is the matter with Judd," she wrote her older son early in June, "I've tried to give him every opportunity and to do everything for him I thought best, but he has just failed in one subject and was barely conditioned in two others. He is so discouraged that he says he's not going to continue in high school. He wants to find a job and get to work. What would you advise?"
Bob, on receipt of this letter, had thought matters over carefully … gravely. Just half a block from the small bachelor apartment he occupied was a spacious city park with baseball diamonds, a football field and tennis courts. It had been his habit to keep in trim for football season by working out in the park during the summer. If he could get Judd to spend the summer with him he would do what he could to make him over.
The temptation to accept Bob's invitation had been too great for Judd to refuse. He was mortally sick of his associations at Trumbull. Every place he went reminded him of some failure he had made. He was looked down upon by fellows his own age. Few ever taunted him openly. Judd felt that this was out of respect for the fact that he was the brother of the great Bob. Just why he should be different than the other fellows was something he couldn't figure out and his humiliation at failing in his school work had caused him to feel that he could never face his schoolmates again.
Seeing how set Judd was against returning to school, Bob wisely refrained from forcing the issue. He was glad that Judd had instantly reacted to the charge of "quitter." As long as a fellow had the fight spirit in him there was some hope.
"I'm going out for a little workout with the football tonight," Bob informed, "Got to keep in training, you know. Like to come out and chase the ball for me?"
Judd consented begrudgingly but, before Bob's practice was over, he began to betray genuine interest. Bob showed him how to throw the pigskin and he found it great fun to lay the ball on his hand and sail it through the air in spiral flight after recovering Bob's kicks.
"Say, Judd!" Bob called, "You might get down the field and catch these punts. It'll save you chasing them after they strike."
Judd moved slowly to the place Bob indicated, not wanting to reveal his growing interest too plainly. Bob kicked. The ball, turning end over end, carried almost exactly to the place Judd was standing. He moved a few steps to the side and reached up his arms but his judgment of distance was poor. The ball struck him a smarting blow in the face and bounced away. Judd, over-balanced, fell to the ground.
Bob trotted up to Judd and dragged him to his feet.
"What's the matter, Buddy?"
Judd showed him the spot over his eye, a slight skin bruise.
"Oh, why that's nothing. Come on, let's try another." Bob picked up the ball.
"No … see … it's bleeding." Judd displayed some drops of blood on his handkerchief. "I reckon I'd better go to the room and sterilize it, I don't want to get blood poisoning, you know."
Bob laughed. "Tommy rot! Whoever gave you such silly ideas? Forget it!"
Judd's feelings were wounded. "You can't tell what'll happen if you don't take care of yourself. I heard of a fellah once…"
"See here, Judd! Get those wild imaginings out of your head. How far do you think we'd get in this world if every time a little thing happened to us we sat down to worry about it and to think up lots worse things happening?"
But Judd was done for the afternoon. He turned and walked away, dabbing his handkerchief tenderly to the bruise and sympathizing with himself. He should have known better than to have played with Bob. He might have been sure that something like this would happen. There were so many things that a fellow had to watch out for! But after Judd had reached the apartment and looked at himself in the glass and been convinced that his hurt did not amount to so much after all, he reflected—with a smile—that chasing the football had been real sport.
The next time Judd accompanied Bob to the park the great Bob taught him how to stand and how to hold his hands in catching a punt. At first Judd was a bit reluctant to get in the path of a twisting football again but he gradually overcame this fear and found, to his delight, that he could catch some of the longest punts with ease. Bob was kicking the ball forty and fifty yards at a kick and most of the punts Judd had to run in order to get under. After a particularly long chase, in which Judd reached up and just managed to catch the ball on the tips of his fingers, Bob shouted from down the field: "That's the pep! Great stuff, Buddy!"
Judd no longer tried to disguise his interest in football. He was enjoying these practice sessions hugely. He got so that he looked forward to them. Bob loaned him a part of an old football suit so that they could rough it up more, as he said. Judd wondered, a bit guiltily, what his mother would say if she knew what he was doing.
Gradually Bob taught Judd the fundamentals of the game. He did it in an off-hand way so that Judd would not anticipate the reason. Judd had said no more about getting a job but Bob had noticed his brother scanning the want-ads in the paper. He smiled as he noted little evidences that Judd was developing more initiative. Perhaps he might even get enough courage to go out and apply for a job himself!
The weather grew almost unbearably hot as July neared August. But Bob told Judd that perspiration was good for him so they continued to work out on such late afternoons as Bob could get away.
One afternoon Bob said to Judd: "You're learning football pretty fast, Buddy. You've been booting that ball for thirty to forty yards every kick; your passing is good and you can grab almost every ball you get your hands on. Now let's see how good you are at tackling. I'm going to take the ball and run right at you. It's up to you to down me."
Judd did not take kindly to this idea. It was different, just playing with a football and not having anyone to interfere with you. But this stopping of a man when he was running by grabbing him and hanging on until you brought him to the ground was no fun. What if? … and a dozen visions of possible happenings flashed across Judd's mind.
"I—I—not today," said Judd, hoping that Bob would not push the suggestion.
"Come on. There's nothing going to hurt you!" Bob trotted down the field fifteen yards. He turned about and crouched forward, ready to start. "Look out! Here I come!"
The sight of Bob coming toward him terrified Judd. It seemed that Bob's knees were moving up past his head and his feet were digging the turf in a plunging drive. As Bob neared him Judd quickly side-stepped and avoided contact with him. Bob cut into the sod with his feet and swung around in a half-circle, bringing up short. "What's the matter? Afraid?"
Judd didn't answer. He was scared stiff. He wanted to run. Why, if he had not stepped out of the way he might have suffered serious injury! Who could stop a charging pair of feet and a bullet-like head? Besides, in such moments, Judd was conscious that he was facing the great Bob instead of just his brother. He felt his own insignificance.
"Judd, there's no more likelihood of anything happening to you here than any place else. It's all a matter of knowing how and then it's just as easy as catching a football. It looks hard only to those who have not learned. Let me show you." And Bob demonstrated to Judd the correct way to tackle.
"I'll not run hard the first few times," said Bob, considerately, "Just try it out."
Judd was trembling. His knees seemed weak. He was trying to tell himself that he was not afraid. He knew that what his brother had told him was so but he dreaded physical contact. Bob did not give him much time for reflection. He was coming at him again!
Judd did not wish to appear a coward in the eyes of Bob. He was almost as afraid not to tackle as he was to tackle. While he was trying to make up his mind Bob was upon him and Judd made a wild clutching dive forward. His arms closed about Bob's legs at a point midway between the hips and the knees, there was a jolting impact and the ground seemed to rise to hit him. Judd sat up to take stock of his injuries. He found, to his pleased surprise, that he was unhurt.
"Bully work!" complimented Bob, warmly, "Your first tackle was a peach!"
Judd felt his courage and self-confidence rise like the mercury in a thermometer. He was finding out that many of his old fears had been groundless. Bob ran straight at Judd a dozen times and each time Judd brought him to the ground.
"All right, Buddy. Now I'm going to get by you. I'm not going to use the straight arm. I'll show you about that later. But I'm coming at you like an express train. Try to stop me if you can!"
There was a challenge in Bob's words. Judd sensed his first big thrill of competition. Bob said he was coming through. Well, he was going to stop him!
Bob ran at Judd viciously and with all the speed at his command. Judd came forward to meet him. He saw two clock-like legs and a body bent close to the ground. He dove low in order to reach him. Then it seemed as if a dozen knees struck him thudding blows in the face. He felt himself being dragged along the ground. His hold on the one foot loosened. He hit the ground heavily and was dimly conscious of feet pounding the earth. Bob had gone through!
It was such experiences as this that sickened Judd. All the pleasure of football was gone for him now. He had a bump over one eye and a patch of skin off his chin. There was no answering spirit of fight. Judd lay where he had fallen.
Bob waited, hoping that Judd would show the spunk to get up. He had subjected his younger brother to rough treatment but he had done it for a purpose.
"I'm sorry, Buddy. You tackled too low … and you didn't hang on tight enough after you grabbed me. You see, I kept on going and I got away from you."
Judd raised up, dazedly. He was not interested in why he had failed to stop Bob. He was concerned over the bumping he had received.
"Am I—am I hurt very bad?" he asked, tremulously.
Bob laughed. "Not bad enough to mention," he said, "You'll stop me next time, eh Buddy?"
Judd shook his head.
"No … there's not gonna be any next time, I—I'm through."
Bob knew better than to argue with him when he felt this way. He picked up the football and walked off the field. Judd gladly followed.
Several days later, when Bob returned from work, he noticed that Judd was red-eyed. On the table lay some newspaper clippings. They were want ads.
"Well, what did you do today?" asked Bob, casually.
"I—I was out looking for work."
Bob whistled. "Well! Did you find anything?"
"No."
"Oh, I see—you answered these ads here—may I look them over?"
Judd nodded his consent.
"H-h-hm! Maxwell's! That's a good place. 'Clerk wanted. Young man preferred. No experience necessary. Good opportunity for advancement.' What did they say when you applied?"
Judd was silent. Bob waited an appreciable moment for him to reply."Did some other fellow beat you to the place?"
Judd found his voice. "N-no—but—but they wanted a young man who had at least a high-school education."
Bob had a wave of sympathy for his younger brother. "But here's another good place, Buddy. Jackson and Ballard's! You've picked some good ones. 'Filing clerk wanted. We teach you our system. Young man with ambition to get ahead in our line of work desired.' How about this?"
Judd hesitated. "They seemed interested. Then they asked me how much education I'd had. They said they wanted some one that they could send right on up as soon as he got to know the business. They said it was their experience that fellows with high school educations were better fitted for the work…."
Bob was glad that Judd had had this experience. He knew that there were plenty of places that Judd could get work but the better institutions where opportunities for real advancement were greatest almost demanded that a young man's qualifications include a reasonable amount of education.
"Well … buck up, Buddy. There's always a way out and you're young yet!"
Tears came anew to Judd's eyes. He turned away from Bob, ashamed.
"Why—Buddy—what's the matter?"
"I—I didn't know I could feel this way."
"How do you feel?"
"I—I dunno. I guess I'm homesick."
Bob's eyes blurred. He himself had scarcely been back to Trumbull for three years.
"Well, you'll soon be back, Buddy … with mother. Summer vacation is about over. I expect she's missed you a lot too. She's tried to do the very best she knew how for you…. Perhaps I can come up later and … and see you play football."
Judd started. Bob almost regretted that he had taken the liberty to make this suggestion. He had tried to do it casually as if playing football would be the natural thing for Judd to do. And he had not mentioned school although to play football would imply attending school. Judd looked at Bob sharply. His emotions were conflicting. He would like to do so many things if…
"But mother wouldn't hear to my playin'," objected Judd at last. This seemed the most logical excuse he could think of. "Anyhow, I am not goin' back to school." This came as an after thought.
"Well … I'm glad you are going back to Trumbull any way," replied Bob, "I think you will be able to take better care of yourself." There were lots of things he would like to have said to Judd but Bob somehow did not feel that it would be wise. Judd must be allowed to think things out for himself.
When the morning arrived for Judd's departure, Bob who had to go on to work, bade his younger brother good-bye at the apartment.
"I'm leaving you a contract, Buddy, and a little note. As soon as I've gone I want you to read them. If, after thinking it over, you are willing to sign the contract, leave the duplicate for me on the table. I want you to know that whatever you do I'm for you. You're going to make good as soon as you forget yourself. You'll understand what I mean some day. Good-bye. Tell mother I'll get up to see her this fall sure. Good luck!"
Judd sat wonderingly, holding the folded slips of paper that Bob had placed in his hand. What did Bob mean by the word "Contract?" Why should his brother leave him a note? Why couldn't he tell him what he wanted to without putting it on paper? This was a funny way of doing things!
He opened the note and read: "Dear Buddy—It's easier to tell you what I have in mind on paper than it is face to face. And I think you will realize it when you have read what I have to say. The contract I have drawn up is to be strictly between you and me. No one else is to see it or know anything about it. I think that it will help you to agree to do certain things for awhile until you can get yourself to agree to do them without any outside influence. There will be times when you will have to make yourself go through experiences distasteful to you. But you will come out bigger and better for them. The keeping of this contract is strictly a matter of honor so if you do not intend to live up to it, do not be dishonest with yourself by signing it. I'm sorry that I can't be with you. But it's distinctly your fight. You're the one who has to face the music and about all anyone else could do would be to offer encouragement or advice. You'll have to make the decisions and do the acting. I'd like to see you go back to school and go out for football. I think you could make the team. And some day, when you break loose, you will astonish yourself. You've got a fine physique. There's nothing weak about you. Most of your troubles are in your mind. Come on, Buddy, let's see you make a whirlwind comeback. You can do it!"
Judd read the note over three times before he laid it down and gave his earnest attention to the contract. The contract was brief but stern in its requirements. It read:
I, the undersigned, do hereby agree, being bound by my honor, to live up to the following declarations to wit:
1. I will not "baby" myself at any time and under any provocation.
2. Whatever happens to me I will grin and bear it.
3. If I meet with failure in anything I am trying to do I will not cease trying nor lose faith in myself. Rather will I make a greater effort than before to succeed.
4. I will pay no attention to what others may think or say of me. I will let nothing keep me from doing what I know is right.
5. In the event that I do not live up to this contract I will write and tell my brother, Bob Billings, of the specific instances.
6. When I feel inclined not to do what I feel to be right, I will take out this contract and read it over until I have renewed my spirit and developed a determination strong enough to go ahead.
This contract signed by me in good faith and with the knowledge that the penalty for breaking same will be exacted in the doing.
…………….My Signature.
As Judd read the contract, which had been typed in duplicate by Bob at the office, he suddenly began to realize some of his shortcomings of the past and the reasons for them. He studied the contract for half an hour. Then he went to the table drawer, took out pen and ink, and scribbled his name on the line left for his signature.
Judd felt like he had won a great victory as he locked the apartment door, and jumped the streetcar for the depot. He could hardly wait to get back to Trumbull … and to re-enter school!
Mrs. Billings was overjoyed that Judd had decided to return to school but she was rather alarmed at a change which she discerned in him. There was a more determined look about his face—a look that told her Judd was going to do some things which he had never attempted to do before and Mrs. Billings was not quite certain what the outcome would be.
When school opened, the schoolmates noticed the change too. They didn't know what it meant but they did know that Judd walked with his head erect, there was a surer swing to his steps, and he looked folks straight in the eye. Judd was silent. His jaws were set tight. No one sensed the fight that was going on within—no one realized that every move Judd made was forced.
When the first call went out for football candidates, Judd hunted up Coach Little and submitted his name. He had thought about the moment when he would do this for days. And each time that he thought of it the nervous chills raced up and down his back. He had hoped that when the time really came he could find courage to go through with it.
Coach Little could not conceal his astonishment when Judd confronted him. For two years the coach had begged Judd to get out for the team. He saw in the well-built youth the makings of a fine player. Trumbull High was a small school. It needed all available material. A boy who was physically fit for football and who did not get out for practice was regarded as disloyal. No wonder that the students felt this way about it with rivalry so keen between Trumbull and Canton high schools! Trumbull's colors had trailed in the dust for three consecutive years. This season the students had early begun to clamor for revenge.
"Glad to see you getting out, Billings," Coach Little said to him, pleasantly. "I believe you should develop into a good player."
Some of the old football players crowded about. They eyed Judd unbelievingly. "What, Judd going out for football?" The surprise was so great that there was not an answering echo of enthusiasm. Judd was yet untried. They had never seen him do anything noteworthy. Judd had existed apart from them and their activities. He could not expect to be readily accepted into the ranks of those who had been proven under fire. Judd backed away, feeling self-conscious. As he left the crowd his face flushed crimson at a low-voiced remark which reached him. "Hump! He won't last long! He's got a streak of yellow a yard wide all the way down his spine!"
When Judd asked his mother for money to purchase football togs she knew that her intuition had been correct. Mrs. Billings sat staring at him for a moment. Judd was hoping that his mother would refuse him. His own decision was weakening. He still had a chance to get out of it. His eyes … his studies … he would have to make up some work in order to be eligible to play … there were so many convenient excuses…. And if his mother should put her foot down it would be so much easier to withdraw. Mrs. Billings was having a struggle too. She was picturing her guarded care of the boy and contrasting his life for the first time with that of Bob's. Was it right, after all, to keep a boy from athletics? What had her plan done for Judd? It had made of him a coward, a boy who was afraid of himself and afraid of other people. Mrs. Billings turned to the drawer and took out the money, handing it over to Judd.
Judd took the money and hurried out. His heart was pounding strangely. To think that his mother had changed! She, of all people! What had come over her? Now there was no backing out. He must go ahead. He had gotten his foot in it. Why had he been so forward? No one had expected him to go out for football. They would have let him alone. It would be a bigger disgrace to go out and fail than not to go out at all. At least this is the way it seemed to Judd. And he was afraid of failing more than anything else.
Judd was the object of curious eyes the first night out. Coach Little kept the squad busy passing the football about, kicking and catching punts. Judd was exceedingly nervous. He dropped several punts, muffed passes and when the ball was given him to kick, missed it completely due to over anxious embarrassment. The sight was highly amusing to the rest of the squad, all of whom could boast of some football experience. Coach Little sought to have the boys show respect to Judd, appreciating his feelings. Judd knew that he could do better; he knew that he had not forgotten the points drilled into him by Bob. But putting this knowledge into execution before a field of players whom he felt had the "show me" attitude, was a different matter.
The news spread throughout Trumbull that Judd Billings, kid brother of the great, Bob, had at last gotten into athletics. On the heels of this news came the word that he was the laughing stock of the football squad. He was the crudest, awkwardest, greenest candidate that had ever put in appearance on the Trumbull gridiron. No danger of his ever picking up the laurels won for the Billings family by the older brother! Judd was a joke. But though the grown folks smiled at the reports they remarked that people would have to give Judd credit. Something must have come over the boy to cause him to get out for the team. Why he had not even engaged in a game of tiddly-winks before!
Judd went home from the first scrimmage with an aching body. He had been placed in the line of one of the picked teams made up by Coach Little and it had seemed to Judd that every play was directed at him. Time and again he was on the bottom of the heap. He could feel the players piling on top of him and on several occasions his face was plowed in the dirt. Judd wasn't hurt. He marvelled at this. And there had been a certain thrill in the moments that he had managed to grasp the man with the ball and hang on until he had brought him down. But Judd was not sure that he liked this rough treatment.
That night Judd wrote to Bob. He had been reading his contract over. There had come to him a strong temptation to quit. Several fellows had gotten bruised in practice. Jimmy Blackwell had the skin taken off his knuckles when someone stepped on his hand; Harry Knowlton got a clip over one eye; Tom Barley had his wind knocked out. It would be but a matter of time before something happened to him. In the letter to Bob, he wrote: "I don't know why I'm so timid. I don't feel scared inside but something keeps me from going only so far. I know I can do better but I don't. We had our first scrimmage today. Some of the fellows got bunged up. They didn't seem to mind it. I guess they're made different than I am."
Bob was glad that Judd had taken to writing him. If Judd could only confide his feelings in some one he would perhaps be able to keep up his morale. It helped to know that someone understood what you were going through. With Bob it had been his father. He must take the father's place with Judd. Bob answered back: "Stick to it, Buddy. Each time you win makes the next victory that much easier. And one of these days it will take an earthquake to jar you!"
Judd gritted his teeth and went back to practice. He tried to forget himself—to play with a carefree abandon. He tried not to think of the consequences in advance. When he could get this attitude he noticed that he seemed to play better. One instance was particularly striking. Blackwell, fullback on the regulars for two seasons, had broken through the line and was away for an open field run. It looked like he was good for a touchdown. Judd found himself free and in position to give pursuit. He thought only of downing Blackwell. The fullback had a five yard lead on him. Judd raced after him and caught up to him after a twenty yard run. He left the ground in a flying tackle and pinioned Blackwell from behind, bringing him heavily to earth. When Judd realized what he had done he was shaky for the remainder of the practice. He might have been badly hurt!
But such brilliant flashes of playing convinced Coach Little that Billings had some real football ability in him. Judd had been studying doggedly to make up his school work. There might be a possibility of his being used before the year was out. When the coach cut the squad he placed Billings as a substitute on the second team.
With the first three games on the schedule played, the students and townspeople awoke to the realization that Trumbull High had the best football team in years. The football warriors had soundly trimmed every opponent and had kept their goal line uncrossed, piling up a total of 117 points!
One night the coach gave the second team some of the plays that were used by Ashton High, Trumbull's next opponent. He wanted to see what defense his regulars could offer against them. The Ashton team built their plays around one player, their fullback. He was a big fellow and exceptionally fast. Because Billings appeared to be about his physical equal, Coach Little motioned him to the fullback position. Burton, second team quarterback, outlined to Billings the plays he was to use.
Judd was excited and a bit confused. This was the first time he had ever been called upon to run with the ball. He did not relish the thought of being tackled. It was bad enough to tackle anyone but to be thrown yourself seemed worse. Sometimes several fellows hit you at once and then more fell on you.
Judd nodded vaguely to Burton's instructions. The first play called for a cross-buck over left guard. The second team's line opened a hole; Judd received the ball and followed Burton through. He saw Burton go down, bumped solidly against some bodies in the line, felt a grip on one leg, then saw a clear field ahead. Judd ran like a scared deer. He did not care to be tackled from behind. The only way to prevent it was to outdistance everyone. But he did not reckon on the last line of defense. Blackwell, first team fullback, was charging in. Judd tried to dodge him. It did not occur to him to stiff arm. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Blackwell's tackle hit Judd with jolting force. It would not have shaken him up so much if Judd had been running at the instant. Coach Little, who a moment before had chuckled with glee at the way Judd went through the line, now turned away with an exclamation of disgust. Billings was a physical coward. Everyone on both teams knew it now. Some of the spectators began to jeer. "What d'ya stop for? Afraid he was gonna hit ya? You oughta get hurt!"
Burton came running up and helped the dazed Billings to his feet. "What's the matter?" he blazed, "Did you forget something? We had a chance for a touchdown and we haven't whipped the firsts this year!"
Coach Little called Billings off the field.
The hard games on the schedules were coming up now and every practice session was vitally important. The team carried its string of victories to six with three more games to play before the season's end.
Attention was centered on the final contest with Canton High. This school was the largest in the district. It seemed as if it always turned out a good football team. And this year was no exception. As phenomenal as had been Trumbull's season, the Canton High eleven had won greater laurels. Canton had played some of the best schools in the state and had emerged victorious. It would be hard to prophesy what would happen when Canton met Trumbull. State sporting authorities began to figure the Canton-Trumbull encounter a mythical championship battle providing both elevens won the remaining games on their schedules.
Billings' sad showing that one practice session had kept him on the sidelines every scrimmage thereafter. The players exhibited sullen contempt for him. And just as Judd had begun to win back some of their respect too. But they might have known that he would turn out that way.
Judd brooded over his situation. Oddly enough he did not mind what fellow players thought or said of him. He was having his hardest time trying to keep from babying himself. Finally Judd decided that he needed help. He did not have strength enough to force himself to do what he knew he should do. Judd stopped Coach Little as the coach was leaving the field one night.
"Could I see you a moment, sir?"
The coach paused. His mind was on the next game. He had a dozen problems to solve. What could Billings want? Was he going to resign at last? Billings had stuck longer than the Coach had thought he would. Somehow he felt a peculiar sympathy for the lad.
"Well, what is it, Judd?"
Judd hesitated until the other players were out of earshot. They looked back curiously. He heard one of them say, "I thought so. Billings is tryin' to get in soft with the coach now. Alibi Ike!"
Hot tears came to Judd's eyes. He turned to the coach pleadingly.
"Please sir, I'm not a quitter…. I'm not yellow … that is, not really…. I didn't want to stop when I saw I was going to be tackled. Something else made me…. I—I can't make myself do what I want to do…. I …"
The coach studied Billings sympathetically.
"You'd what?"
"I'd like to have you make me do what I can't make myself do … force me to get in there and play … I … I'm not asking for mercy … or … or to be favored. No matter what I do, I don't care if you beat me or what happens … I want to get over feeling like I do about myself!"
This was a most unusual request. To Coach Little there flashed a small appreciation of the struggle that Billings must be undergoing. He laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Billings. You're up against a tough fight. Some fellows never get over it. Just seems like they can't entirely break it. The season is so far along now that I don't know whether I'll have a chance to help you much. Keep a stiff upper lip. Don't take the game so seriously. You're too tense. Relax. If you do this you will not take yourself so seriously and it will help you. I'm glad you spoke to me about this. I'm glad you realize what is wrong. Keep saying to yourself, 'I will do this' and 'I will do that' and if you can say it until you believe it, nothing can stop you from doing it."
Judd thanked the coach for giving him this advice and immediately felt better. He went home with a lighter heart than he had had in weeks.
Trumbull High put the skids under Newton Academy in the next to the last game of the season but in so doing the eleven lost the services of its star fullback, Jimmy Blackwell, who suffered a badly sprained ankle. There was gloom in Trumbull that night. Chances were that Blackwell had played his last game for the school and chances were that Trumbull would be no match for Canton High with Blackwell out of the lineup.
Coach Little had no player on the string of first substitutes who could begin to fill Blackwell's shoes. He moved Rudolph, second team fullback, up to Blackwell's position after some consideration. Rudolph was short but stockily built—a good little man. The boy would need a great deal of grooming but he seemed the only one available. In looking about for someone to fill the vacancy on the second team left by Rudolph's advancement, Coach Little thought of Billings. Why not? There was a slight possibility … one never could tell….
When Judd was notified that he was to take the fullback position on the second team he was totally unnerved by the shock. He couldn't sleep for dreaming of what would probably happen to him in scrimmage. The players would all be laying for him. They thought him a physical coward and they would show no mercy. He had done nothing to command their respect. Now that his opportunity had come to redeem himself, he didn't want it. But when school was over the next afternoon, Judd found himself in the dressing room preparing for that which he feared the most.
Just outside, Burton, second team quarterback, was talking to some of his players. "Say, fellows, I just heard the Coach put Judd in at full. Some joke, huh? Watch me. I'll give him the ball every time I get a chance. We'll run him ragged. When he gets through scrimmage today he'll wish he'd never seen a football." The players laughed and sided in with Burton.
Judd finished tying his shoe and stood up, shakily. He had heard what was said. He dreaded to go out on the field. He was the last one to leave the dressing room. No one paid any attention to him. Oh, if he could just crawl off some where—some place where everyone would Let him alone and where no harm could befall him! The shrill blast of the whistle caused him to run toward the field. The teams were lining up….
The kickoff came straight for Judd. He caught the ball and started off, dazedly. He ran five, ten, fifteen yards. Then two tacklers struck him at once before he had time to dodge. He went down with a thud. He was dragged to his feet and pushed into position. Burton began calling signals. He glanced meaningly at Judd. It was his number! Judd was slow in taking the ball. He was thrown for a two yard loss. He heard Burton bawling him out and telling him to "get in there and play, you big dub!" The ball went to Judd again. He followed his interference around the end for a bare yard. He was not putting any drive into his playing.
On the fourth down Burton motioned Judd back and signified that he was to kick. The ball was on the second team's twenty-seven yard line. Judd nervously scraped a level place for him in the sod. The ball snapped back to him. He saw the lines break as his foot swung up to meet the ball. There was an impact as the punt got under way. The next instant Judd landed on his back as Fenstermaker, first team guard, bumped roughly into him.
Coach Little, on the sidelines, whistled his surprise. The punt carried forty-five yards! Rudolph, who caught it, was downed in his tracks. Burton came running up to Judd, in sudden elation, and patted him on the back. "That's the stuff, Judd, old boy. Some punt!" This compliment stimulated Judd and gave him more confidence. He began to forget himself.
Scrimmage that night ended in a hard-earned victory for the first team, 7 to 0. The second team had put up a stubborn defense and Billings' toe had kept the regulars from rolling up the score. Billings had not shown to advantage in carrying the ball. He had fumbled on several occasions and he could not hit the line. But great governor, how he could kick!
Coach Little recognized in Billings the best kicker in the school. He was up against it for material in the fullback position. Rudolph did not excel in kicking. He was a good line plunger and fairly fast around the ends. Blackwell had been a triple threat player. There was a remote possibility that Blackwell might be able to get in part of the Canton High game. If Billings were not afraid of himself and had had more experience! The coach had an idea. He called the second team quarterback to him.
"Burton, I want you to take Billings aside and train him in all the second team plays. Give him the first team signals and plays too. Teach Billings what you can."
Burton did not question Coach Little. He had learned to obey orders. And besides, Burton had to admit—secretly—that his estimation of Billings had been raised. He had called upon Judd to carry the ball at least half of the time. Each time Judd had responded. True, he made no startling gains, his greatest being six yards—but Burton had been expecting an exhibition somewhat similar if not worse than Billings' first sorry showing. Tonight, however, Judd kept coming. The fault, as Burton saw it, was that he stopped for a moment just as he was about to hit the line; he slowed up as he went to circle the ends; he did not take the ball soon enough. But when Burton thought of the farmer boy's kicks, a glint of admiration came into his eyes. Why, even Blackwell could do no better. And Blackwell was about the best football player since the great Bob!
"Billings, the coach wants me to give you the dope on the signals and plays," Burton said to Judd, as they left the dressing room for the street. It was Judd's turn to be surprised. He felt miserable. Every second in scrimmage had been agony. He had played like one in defense of one's life and had used what to him was the utmost caution. He could not help stopping just before hitting the line; he could not keep from slowing up as he circled the ends; it took him just an instant to make himself take the ball each time his signal was called. And when it came to kicking, his only thought had been to get the ball as far away from him as possible. He loathed physical contact. No one had spoken to him outside of Burton. Judd imagined that they all were conscious of his showing the white feather. The first team men seemed especially hostile. They had received a tongue-lashing from the coach for their inability to run the score up. Of course he could not know that they were a bit resentful at him for having thwarted their scoring attempts by his unusual kicking.
Judd made arrangements with Burton to meet him and go over the signals. As they parted, Burton asked him, "Say, why don't you get out to the field early? You don't have a last hour class. And practice kicking … practice drop kicking and place kicking. You've got a good toe. It might be that…"
A warm feeling passed through Judd. He was grateful for the interest shown in him. It helped to have someone believe that he could do something. Judd hesitated.
"… I don't have a class the last hour either. I could go out with you…."
Judd tried not to let Burton see how pleased he was at this offer."Why … why, thanks, awfully!" he said, "I'd like to do it."
The game with Canton High was only one week away. Word came from Canton that their team was expected to win by a margin of twenty points. Canton was claiming the state championship. Trumbull High could not make such claims, not having played as stiff a schedule as the rival school. But both Canton and Trumbull had gone through the season undefeated. And Trumbull followers would be glad to make claims if their team could conquer Canton. Sport writers picked Canton to win easily, with Trumbull's lineup weakened by the loss of Blackwell. Even if Blackwell could get into the game it was dubious if he would be able to do much. That sprained left ankle would not be any too strong. The game was to be played at Trumbull. Great preparations were started to take care of a monstrous crowd.
Three days before the game, Coach Little came on the field early and saw an interesting spectacle. Burton and Billings were on the gridiron. Billings was standing on the thirty-five yard line, facing the south goal posts. Ten yards in front of him knelt Burton with his hands on the ball. Billings motioned. Burton passed the ball between his legs. Billings caught it deftly and plied his toe to it as the ball struck the ground. The oval raised in a swift, short arch and sped over and between the uprights. Coach Little stood still in astonishment. The boys did not see him. Burton ran after the bounding ball. He returned. The process was repeated, Billings moving back to the forty yard line. Coach Little hastened out on the field.
"Here, what are you boys doing?"
Burton and Billings looked toward the coach in surprise.
"Practicing, sir." It was Burton who spoke.
The coach looked at Billings, who stood embarrassed and with his toe kicking at some uneven rises in the ground.
"Judd, if you could run with the ball as well as you can kick, you'd be of value to the team."
Burton wanted to tell the coach that he thought Billings was getting better. Billings had made a twenty yard run last night. And he had not seemed so afraid of getting hurt.
"I think Judd is …" started Burton, but thought better of it. The coach was no fool. He was probably aware of Billings' improvement.
Judd knew that he was getting better control of himself. Each little victory that he won, no matter how much anxiety it had caused, seemed to lessen the effort he had to put forth the next time. And Judd had escaped even the slightest injury. Football was not as rough as it looked and a fellow didn't get hurt every time he fell down. On top of this he was beginning to develop a fighting blood. He could sense himself creating an objective and then feel a desire to reach that objective. If it was the fourth down and they needed three to go, Judd tried to make the three yards with some to spare. He could see himself making it and before he got a chance to wonder whether anything would happen to himself or not, he was in motion. Sometimes he reached the objective and sometimes not, but it wasn't many minutes before he found himself facing a new situation that had to be settled. And so it went, until the scrimmage was over, Judd not sensing any fear until the actual moment of contact when he was greatly disturbed until he found that nothing had happened to him.
To Judd, football was a variety of hot and cold sensations. The moment he could absolutely overcome his apprehension he knew that he would be able to hit the line hard, that he would be able to run the ends and that he would take the ball when his signal was called with the proper snap and drive.
"Billings, I am moving you up to the first squad tonight," said the coach, deciding. "This will be our last scrimmage before the big game. We may have need for your toe."
Burton could not conceal his joy. He had taken a liking to Judd … a peculiar friendship had sprung up between them … his contempt for the great Bob's brother was gone.
Hopes of Trumbull followers were heightened when Jimmy Blackwell put in his appearance for practice and limped through signals with the team, his ankle heavily bandaged and supported. Blackwell got away several kicks but they carried little better than thirty yards. He did not take any chances in scrimmage.
The first team lined up for scrimmage with Rudolph in the fullback position. Blackwell, wrapping himself in a blanket, came over to sit down beside Billings.
"Well, Judd, I hear you've been placed on the first squad," saidBlackwell. There was the trace of chumminess in his voice.
Judd nodded his head, not knowing what to say.
"Looks like we'll need you, too. I understand you've developed into quite a kicker." Blackwell was trying to draw him out.
"Oh, I don't know…" said Judd, hesitatingly.
Blackwell lowered his voice.
"Say … I've never told this to anyone and I wouldn't want you to repeat it. This is my last year in high school … same as it is yours. It's my third year on the football team. When I first started in I was so afraid of myself that I'd worry myself sick over things that never happened. I could never quite figure you out until that time when I tackled you. I know what it means to stick it out the way you have. But you'll come out on top if you hang on. Nothing bothers me any more…"
Judd could hardly believe his ears. Could it be possible that a player like Blackwell had experienced the same feelings? Judd thrilled with the thought. It was good news to hear that another person had overcome something similar to that which he was struggling to conquer.
"How … how long did it take you to … to get the best of it?" Judd asked, interestedly.
"I still have to fight it … at times…" replied Blackwell, gazing down at his bandaged ankle. "But the old feeling doesn't stay with me long. I soon get the upper hand … The reason I'm speaking about this to you is partly a selfish one. It's been my ambition to see Canton High defeated. For two years I've played on the losing team. This year we counted on turning the trick … until I was injured. Between you and me, Rudolph can't make the grade. He is fast but too small. We'll be outweighed at least ten pounds to the man. Rudolph will play for all there is in him but there isn't enough. If I get in I won't last long. You saw me out there … kicking. It's about all I can do to put the weight of my body on this left foot, to say nothing of booting the ball at the same time … I don't know whether the coach will give you a chance unless it's to make a kick. But if you could get a grip on yourself and let loose once … say, I'M not even trying to guess what might happen!"
Judd sat, his blood pounding in his veins, thinking of what Blackwell had told him. He was vaguely conscious of the sound of signals being called, of cries of spectators, of the dull tread of running feet. Out on the field the loyal sons of Trumbull High were doing their utmost to get in tip top shape for the biggest battle of the season.
A sudden yell went up as Burton recovered a first team fumble and started on his way toward the goal with a clear field ahead of him. Rudolph was in pursuit.
It looked like a touchdown for the second team. But Rudolph was slowly gaining. The goal was only fifteen yards away … now ten … now five. Rudolph left his feet and his arms encircled the flying Burton. They came to earth two yards from the last line. The elated second team lined up for first down.
Blackwell nudged Billings. "There's a situation that might develop in the game with Canton," he said. "Imagine that the second team is Canton. If we hold 'em for downs I'll bet the coach calls you in to kick."
Judd bit his lips and watched. Three times the second team backfield dove into the first team line. But the first team was holding madly now. On the last down the ball was but a foot from the goal line. Fenstermaker, big guard, broke through the defense and dropped Burton for a one yard loss. The ball went over.
A halt was called in the game. Coach Little had motioned to Rudolph. Blackwell pushed Billings to his feet. "Get in there! The coach is calling you. What did I tell you? … Come on … let's see a real punt!"
Judd pulled off his sweater and ran out on the field. He knew this was to be one of his big tests. If he made good the coach might see fit to use him in the big game. But more than that—he must make good for Blackwell … and then there was Bob … and yes, even his mother! The scrimmage to the other players meant little more than a final strenuous seasoning … to Judd it meant a fight against unseen odds.
Barley, first team quarterback, picked out a spot about five yards behind the goal line for Judd to stand. Barley was the personification of pep. He ran along the line, slapping his players on the back and exhorting them to hold. He came back to Billings.
"All right … show your stuff! Kick that ball out of sight!"
Judd reached out his hands. He had a surge of fear. What if the line didn't hold? What if the pass was poor? But the next minute the ball was coming back to him. The line wavered and the pass was low. By the time he got in position to kick the players were almost upon him. He put every ounce of strength into the boot.
Forty yards down the field the ball went twisting and turning. It struck the ground and rolled to the second team's twenty yard line where a second team player fell on it. The first team was out of danger. Cheers came to Judd's ears from the few on the sidelines. He had come through under fire.
Coach Little approached Blackwell. "I believe we have unearthed a kicker who can take your place in an emergency," he said, exultantly. Blackwell was enthusiastic. "Believe? … Why, Mister Little, that fellow's on the way to being the best kicker Trumbull High's ever had!"
The first time that Judd was called upon to run with the ball he was tackled and thrown heavily. His wind was knocked out of him. The Coach and Blackwell looked at each other apprehensively. What effect would this have on Billings? They watched his fellow players lift him up and down while Judd gasped for air. Presently he sat up, then was shoved to his feet. His face was ghastly. Barley asked him if he was all right. Judd wasn't sure. Barley asked him if he wanted to leave the game. The other players looked on, some a bit contemptuously. Was Billings going to lay down again? Judd shook his head and stumbled back into his position.
When he was next called upon to take the ball he did not follow his interference and tried to evade his tacklers, being thrown for a five yard loss. Barley reprimanded him severely. Judd was almost paralyzed with fear. He kept saying to himself, "No, I will not quit … I will not quit."
Coach Little and Blackwell looked at each other again. Disappointment was written on their faces. Billings lacked the fighting spirit … he could not stand hard knocks … it would never do to trust him with carrying the ball. The Coach likened him to a young high school lad he had known who showed promise of becoming a great baseball player. The boy could catch every ball that he could get his hands on but he was afraid to stand up to the plate … he couldn't get out of the habit of stepping back … he was fearful of getting hit … and the result was that he lost out all around. Billings was the same way … only in football.
Judd left the field that night crestfallen. Inwardly he had wanted to play the game … to get up and play harder than ever … but for some inexplainable reason he could not make himself. It seemed that he was panic stricken. His outer feelings ran away with his inner judgment. The school needed him badly but he could not qualify.
There was a letter from Bob awaiting him when he got home. He took it to his room to read it. Bob spoke of the coming game with Canton. Then there were a few lines of kindly encouragement and advice. "I've heard from several sources about your work this fall, Judd, and it certainly has given me cause for rejoicing to learn that you have stuck with the ship regardless of what's happened. I believe it has done you lots of good. I wish I could get home to see the game with Canton but I can't figure how to manage it. We have a game Saturday and even though you play your game on Friday it would be next to impossible for me to get away. Cheer up, you're bound to get your chance one of these days. Don't forget your contract. Hang on! You've done fine so far! The football season will soon be over. And with Blackwell on the injured list there's a bare possibility you may get into the big game. Say, wouldn't that be great?"
Judd put the letter from him with a shudder. Yes, wouldn't it be great! If scrimmage was hard, what would a real game be with rivalry at high pitch and each team contesting for every inch of ground? Judd wondered how other people could feel the way they did about things. Just now it seemed to him that the opportunity to play in the big game would be about the worst calamity that could befall him. The way to live up to the contract was not to think of self but to think of the contract. It was just like thinking of the objective and going toward it without stopping to consider what might happen. The only trouble was—Judd forgot what he was going out after when the least thing jolted him. He began to think of himself again and other things faded into insignificance.