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The game turned into a Thor's Personally Conducted Tour. Thorwald, escortedby the Gold and Green team, made four quick tours to the Latham goal-line.It was simply a matter of giving the ball to the Prodigious Prodigy, thenwaving the linesmen to move down twenty yards or more toward Latham's line.Thor was simply unstoppable, and more beneficial even than his phenomenalplaying was his encouragement to the team. He kept urging them to action,his foghorn growl of, "Come on, boys!" was a slogan of victory! Judging byThor's awakening, and his work of the Latham game, Bannister's hopes of TheState Intercollegiate Football Championship are as roseate as the blush ona maiden's cheek at her first kiss, and—
That night, in the cozy room of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., John Thorwald,supremely happy yet withal as uncomfortable as a whale on the SaharaDesert, overflowed an easy-chair. The room was filled, or what space Thorleft, with the Bannister eleven, second-team players, Coach Corridan, andseveral students; on the campus a riotous crowd of Bannister youths "raisedmerry Heck," as Hicks phrased it, and their cheer floated up to thewindows:
"Rah! Rah! Rah! Thor! Thor! Thor! He's—all—right!"
"Come, fellows," spoke T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.
"Let's sing to the captain, good old Butch! Let 'er go!"
"Here's to good Butch Brewster! Drink it down!Here's to good Butch Brewster! Drink It down!Here's to good Butch Brewster—He plays football like heuster—Drink it down! Drink it down—down—down—down!"
A strange sound startled the joyous youths; it was a rumbling noise,like distant thunder, and at first they could not place it. Then, as Itcontinued, they located the disturbance as coming from the prodigious bodyof Thor, and at last the wonderful phenomenon dawned on them.
"Thor is singing college songs!" quavered little Theophilus Opperdyke,so happy that his big-rimmed spectacles rode the end of his nose. "Oh,Hicks—Butch—Thor is awake at last! He is trying to get college spirit, tounderstand campus life—"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., suddenly realized that what he had so ardentlylonged for had come to pass; aided by Theophilus' missionary work and bythe sudden shock of Thorwald, Sr.'s, letter. Thor was awakened, had come toknow that he loved old Bannister. His awakening, as shown in the footballgame, had been splendid. How he had towered over the scrimmage, in everyplay, urging his team to fight, himself doing prodigies for old Bannister.Thor, who had been so silent and aloof! Then the sunny-souled youthremembered.
"Oh, I told you I'd awaken Thor, Butch!" he began, but that behemothquelled him with an ominous look.
"You!" he growled, with pretended wrath, "you! It was TheophilusOpperdyke who did the most of it, and Thorwald's father did the rest! Don'tyou rob Theophilus of his glory, you feeble-imitation-of-some-thing-human!"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., grinned à la Cheshire cat. The happy-go-luckySenior was vastly glad that Thor had awakened, that now he would tryto grasp the real meaning of college existence. He felt that the youngHercules, from now on, would slowly and surely develop to a splendidcollege man, that he would do big things for his Alma Mater. And thegenerous Hicks gave Theophilus all the credit, and impressed on thathappy Human Encyclopedia the fact that he had done a great deed for oldBannister. Just so, Thor was awakened.
"Oh, I say, Deke Radford, Coach, and Butch," Hicks chortled, getting theattention of that triumvirate as well as that of the others in the room,"remember up in Camp Bannister, in the sleep-shack, when Coach Corridanoutlined a smashing full-back he wanted?"
"Sure!" smiled Deke. "What of it, Hicks?"
Then T, Haviland Hicks, Jr., that care-free, lovable, irrepressible youth,whose chance to swagger before this same trio had been postponed so longand seemingly lost forever, satiated his fun-loving soul and reaped hisreward. Calling their attention to Thor, the Prodigious Prodigy, and askingthem to remember his playing against Latham that day, the sunny Seniorstrutted before them vaingloriously.
"Oh, I told you just to leave it to Hicks!" he declared, grinning happily."I promised to round up an unstoppable fullback, a Gargantuan Hercules, andI did! Just think of what he will do to Hamilton and Ballard in the biggames! As I have often told you,always—leave It to Hicks!"
CHAPTER XI
"ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL"
"Oh, what we'll do to BallardWill surely be a shame!We'll push their team clear off the fieldAnd win the football game!"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., one night three days after the first big game, thatwith Hamilton, a week following Thor's great awakening in the Latham game,sat in his cozy room, having assumed his favorite position—chair tiltedback at a perilous angle and feet thrust atop of the radiator. Theversatile youth, having just composed a song with which to encourageBannister elevens in the future, was reading it aloud, when his mind wastorpedoed by a most startling thought.
"Land o' Goshen!" reflected the sunny-souled Senior, aghast. "I haven'ttwanged my ole banjo and held forth with a saengerfest for a coon's age! Isurely can do so now without arousing Butch to wrath. Thor has awakened,Hamilton is walloped, and Bannister will surely win the Championship!Everything is happy, an' de goose hangs high, so here goes!"
Holding his banjo à la troubadour, the blithesome Hicks, who as a Seniorwas harassed by no study-hours or inspections, strode from his room and outinto the corridor, up and down which he majestically paced, like a sentinelon his beat, twanging his beloved banjo with abandon, and roaring in hisfoghorn, subterranean voice:
"Oh, the way we walloped HamiltonSurely was a shame!And we're going to win the Championship—For we'll do Ballard the same!
"And Bannister shall flaunt the flagFor at least three seasons more;Because—no team can win a gameWhile the Gold and Green has Thor!"
On Bannister Field, three days before, the Gold and Green had crushed thestrong team from "old Ham" to the tune of 20 to 0; Thor's magnificentground-gaining, in which he smashed through the supposedly impregnabledefense of the enemy, was a surprise to his comrades and a shock toHamilton. Time and again, on the fourth down, the ball was given toThorwald, and the blond Colossus, with several of old Ham's playersclinging to him, plunged ahead for big gains. So now with a monstermass-meeting in half an hour, the exultant Bannister youths pretended tostudy, but prepared to parade on the campus, cheer the eleven and Thor,and arouse excitement for the winning of the biggest game, a victory overBallard, a week later.
From the rooms of would-be studious Seniors on both sides of the corridor,as Hicks patrolled it, came vociferous protests and classic criticisms,gathering in force and volume as the breezy youth's foghorn voice roaredhis song; that heedless collegian grinned as he heard:
"R-r-rotten! Give that Jersey calf more rope!"
"Hicks has had a relapse! Sing-Sing for yours, old man!"
"Arrest Hicks, under the Public Nuisance Act!"
"Woof! Woof! Shoot it quick! Don't let it suffer!"
Just as T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., strumming the banjo blithely and Carusoingwith glee, reached the end of the corridor and executed a brisk 'bout-face,he heard a terrific commotion on the stairway, and, a moment later, ButchBrewster, Beef McNaughton, Deacon Radford and Monty Merriweather gained thetop of the stairs. As they were now between the offending Hicks andhis quarters, there seemed no chance for the sunny Senior to play hissafety-first policy; so he waited, panic-stricken, as Butch and Beeflumbered heavily down the corridor.
"Help! Aid! Succor! Relief! Assistance!" shrieked Hicks, leaning hisbeloved banjo against the wall and throwing himself into what hefatuously believed was an intensely pugilistic pose. "I am a believer inpreparedness. You have me cornered, so beware! I am a follower of HenryFord, but even I will fight—at bay!"
"Well, you are atseanow!" growled Beef, tucking the splinter youthunder one arm and striding down the corridor, followed by Butch with thebanjo, and Monty with Deacon. "You desperado, you destroyer of peace andquietude, you one-cylinder gadabout! You're off again! We'll instruct youto annoy real students, you faint shadow of something human!"
"Them's harsh sentences, Beef!" chuckled T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., as thatbehemoth kicked open Hicks' door, bore the futilely squirming, kickingyouth into the room, and hurled him on the davenport. "Watch my banjo,there, Butch; have a couple of cares! Say, what'smatter wid youse guys,anyhow? This is my first saengerfest for eons. Old Bannister has a cleartrack ahead at last, the Championship is won forsure, and Thor, thatmighty engine of destruction to Ham's and Ballard's hopes, after muchtinkering, is hitting on all twelve cylinders. Why, I prithee, deny me thepleasure of a little joyous song?"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., since the memorable Latham game, when Thor hadawakened between halves, and the Prodigious Prodigy had shown himselfworthy of his title by winning the game after defeat leered at oldBannister, had suffered a relapse, and was again his old sunny, heedless,happy-go-lucky self. Now that John Thorwald had been startled intorealizing that he loved his college and had been saved from having toleave, now that he played football for his Alma Mater, and Bannister'shopes of the Championship were roseate, the blithesome Hicks had abandonedhimself to a golden existence of Beefsteak Busts downtown at Jerry's,entertaining jolly comrades in his cozy room, and pestering the campus withhis banjo and ridiculous imitations of Sheerluck Holmes, the DachshundDetective. Big Butch Brewster, lecturing him for his care-free ways, asfutilely as he had done for three years past, gave up in despair.
"I might as well be showing moving-pictures to the inmates of a blindasylum," he growled on one occasion, "as to persuade you to quit actinglike a lunatic! You, a Senior—acting like an escaped inhabitant ofMatteawan! Bah!"
Big Butch Brewster, drawing a chair up to the davenport, assumed the mannerof a physician toward a recalcitrant patient, while Beef carefully stowedthe banjo in the closet and Deacon Radford, an interested spectator, saton the bed. The happy-go-lucky Hicks, at a loss to account for the strangeexpressions of his comrades, tried to arise, but the football captainpinned him down with one hand.
"Seriously, Hicks," spoke Butch, "your saengerfest came at a lamentablyinopportune time! I regret to Inform you that old Bannister faces anotherproblem, with regard to Thor, and unless it is solved, I fear—"
"Thor has balked again?" gasped the dazed Hicks, whom Butch now allowed tosit up, as he showed interest. "Has the engine of destruction stalled?Why, as fast as we get him lined up, off he slides at an angle! Well, youfellows did perfectly right to bring this baffling problem, whatever it is,to me. What is the trouble—won't Thor play football?"
The irrepressible Hicks was bewildered at hearing that a new problemregarding Thor had arisen, and, naturally, he at once connected it withfootball, since the big Freshman had twice balked in that respect. Sincehis awakening, effected by Theophilus' missionary work, his last appeal,and Thor's letter from his father, Thor had earnestly striven to grasp thetrue meaning of college life, to understand campus tradition. No longer didhe hold aloof, boning always, in his lonely room. Instead, he mingled withhis fellows, lingering with the team for the skylarking in the shower-roomafter scrimmage, turning out for the nightly mass-meeting. Often, as theyouths practiced songs and yells on the campus, Thor's terrific rumble washeard—some had even dared to slap his massive back and say, "Hello, Thor,old man!" and the big Freshman had responded. It was evident to all thatThorwald was striving to become a collegian, and knowing his slow, bulldognature, there was no doubt as to his ultimate success; hence T. HavilandHicks, Jr., was vastly puzzled now.
"Oh, Thor hasn't backslid!" smiled Beef. "You see, Hicks, it's this way:Owing to Mr. Thorwald's losing the five thousand dollars, Thor, as youknow, is working his way at Bannister. Well, with his hustling, his studiesand football scrimmage, he simply does not have a minute for the otherphases of college life, for the comradeship with his fellows—"
"Here is his day's schedule," chimed in Deacon, referring to a paper: "Riseat four-thirty A. M. Hustle downtown to tend several furnaces until seven.Breakfast at seven. Till nine, make beds and sweep dormitory rooms.Nine till three-fifteen P. M., recitation periods and dormitory work,sandwiched. Then until supper, football practice, and nights study. Addto that waiting on tables for the three meals, and what time has Thor tobroaden and develop, to take in all the big things of campus existence, togrow into an all-round college man?"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., wonderful to chronicle, was silent. He wasreflecting on the irony of fate; as Deacon said, now that Thor hadawakened, and earnestly wanted to be a collegian, he had no time to enterinto campus life. Glad at being able to stay at old Bannister, to keep onwith his studies, climbing steadily toward his goal, and finding a joy inhis new relationship with the students, the ponderous Thorwald had flunghimself into his hustling, as the youths called working one's way atcollege, with zeal. To the huge Freshman, toil was nothing, and since itmeant that he could keep on with his study, he was content. The collegiansvastly admired his grim determination; they aided all they could withhis studies, and helped with his work, so he could have more time forscrimmage, and yet another phase of the problem came to Hicks.
It seemed unjust that John Thorwald, after his long years of hard physicaltoil, and his mental struggles, often after hours of grinding work, at thevery time when the five thousand dollars from Henry B. Kingsley's heirspromised him a chance to study without a body tortured and exhausted,should be forced again to take up his stern fight for knowledge. And itwas cruel that Thor, just awakening to the true meaning of college life,striving to grasp campus tradition, and eager to serve his Alma Mater inevery way, should have so little time to mingle with his fellows. He shouldbe with them on the campus, on the athletic field, in the dorms., theliterary society halls, the Y. M. C. A. He should be realizing the goldenyears of college life, the glad comradeship of the campus. Instead, he mustarise in the bitter cold, gray dawn, and from then until late night toiland study unceasingly.
"It's a howling shame!" declared the serious Hicks, a heart full ofsympathy for Thor. "Just as he wakes up and is trying to understand thingsat old Bannister, bang! the Norwhal is blown up by a stray mine, anddown goes his dad's money. Why didn't Mr. Thorwald get the five thousandtransferred to the Valkyrie? Oh, if that money hadn't gone down to DavyJones' locker, Thor would be awakened and have time for college life, too!"
Butch Brewster started to speak when the thunderous tread of John Thorwaldsounded in the corridor. The Prodigious Prodigy seemed approaching atdouble-quick time, and the youths stared at each other. However, whenThor appeared in the doorway, a letter in hand, they gazed at him inbewilderment, for his face fairly glowed.
"Read it, fellows, read it!" he breathed, with what, for him, was almostexcitement. "It just came! Oh, isn't that good news? Read it out, CaptainButch. Won't we wallop Ballard now!"
Big Butch Brewster, mystified by Thor's happiness, and urged on by hisequally puzzled comrades, drew out the letter, and a glad smile coming tohis honest countenance, he read aloud:
"THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANIA. STEAMSHIP LINE (New York Office)
"Nov. 18, 19—.
"MR. JOHN THORWALD, JR., Bannister College.
"DEAR SIR:
"We beg to state that your father, first mate on our liner, the Valkyrie,three days outbound from New York to Christiania, sent a message,viawireless, to our New York offices by the inbound Dutch Line's Rotterdam.The Rotterdam relayed the message to us, and we forward it herewith,verbatim:
"'DEAR SON: Purser of my ship, the Valkyrie, informed me today that thepurser of the ill-fated Norwhal, learning of my transfer to this liner,transferred my $5,000 to the Valkyrie before he sailed to his fate. I amsending thisviathe Rotterdam, inbound, and our office will forward itto you. Will write on arriving at Christiania. Father.'
"We are sorry for the delay in forwarding this message, but through anaccident, it was mislaid in our office for a few days.
"Yours truly,
"THE NEW YORK-CHRISTIANIA STEAMSHIP LINE,
"per J. L. G."
A moment of silence; outside on the campus the Bannister youths, preparingfor the mass-meeting in the Auditorium, started cheering. Someone caughtsight of Thor, standing now by the window of Hicks' room, on the thirdfloor of Bannister Hall, and a few seconds later there sounded:
"Thor! Thor! Thor! Thor will bring the Championship to old Bannister! Rah!Rah! Rah!—Thor!"
"Oh," shouted T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., grinning happily, his arm acrossThor's massive shoulders, "'All's well that ends well,' as Bill Shakespearesays. It's all right now, Thor. Fate dealt you a hard punch, but it servedits purpose; for it made you realize how you would regret to leave college.Now you won't have to hustle and have all your time filled with toil andstudy; you can go after every phase of campus life, and serve old Bannisterin so many ways."
John Thorwald stood, a contented look on his placid, impassive face,gazing down at the campus below and hearing the plaudits of the excitedcollegians. The stately old elms, gaunt and bare, tossed their limbsagainst a leaden sky; a cold, dreary wind sent clouds of dry leavesscurrying down the concrete walks. In the faint moonlight that struggledthrough the clouds, the towers and spires of old Bannister were limnedagainst the sky-line. Across the campus, on Bannister Field, thegoal-posts, skeleton-like, kept their lonely vigil. On that field, inless than a week, the Gold and Green must face the crucial test—againstBallard's championship eleven, in the Biggest Game; and now, almost on theeve of battle, the shackles had been knocked from him; he was free of thegreat burden, free to serve his Alma Mater, to fight for the Gold andGreen, to grow and develop into an all-round, representative college man.
All of a sudden it dawned on the slow-thinking young Norwegian just howmuch this freedom to grow and expand meant to him, and he turned from thewindow. From below, the shouts of "Thor! Thor! Thor!" drifted, stirring hisblood, as he looked at Hicks, Butch, Beef, Monty and Deacon.
"'All's well that ends well,' you say. Hicks," he spoke slowly, his facejoyous. "That's true; but I'm just starting, fellows. I'm justbeginningto live my college years, not for myself, but for old Bannister, for myAlma Mater, for I am awake, andfree!"
CHAPTER XII
THEOPHILUS BETRAYS HICKS
Big Butch Brewster, a life-sized picture of despair, roosted dejectedly onthe Senior Fence, between the Gym and the Administration Building. It wasquite cold, and also the beginning of the last study-period before Butch'sfinal and most difficult recitation of the day, Chemistry. Yet insteadof boning in his warm room, the behemoth Senior perched on the fence andstared gloomily into space.
As he sat, enveloped in a penumbra of gloom, the campus entrance door ofBannister Hall, the Senior dorm., opened suddenly, and T. Haviland Hicks,Jr., that happy-go-lucky youth, came out cautiously, after the fashion of asecond-story artist, emerging from his crib with a bundle of swag, thelast item being represented by a football tucked under Hicks' left arm.Beholding Butch Brewster on the Senior Fence, the sunny-souled Seniorexhibited a perturbation of spirit seeming undecided whether to beat aretreat or to advance.
"Now what's ailin'you?" demanded Butch wrathily, believing thepestersome Hicks to be acting in that burglarious manner for effect. "Whyshouldyousneak out of a dorm., bearing a football like it was an auk'segg? Why, you resemble a nigger, making his get-away after robbing ahen-roost! Don't torment me, you accident-somewhere-on-its-way-to-happen. Ifeel about as joyous as a traveling salesman who has made a town and gottennary a order!"
"It'sawful!" soliloquized T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., perching beside thedespondent Butch on the Senior Fence. "I am not a fatalist, old man, butitdoesseem that fate hasn't destined Thor to play football for oldBannister this season! Here, after he won the Ham game, and we expected himto waltz off with Ballard's scalp and the Championship, he has to tumbledownstairs! Oh, it's tough luck!"
It was two days before the biggest game, with Ballard—the contest thatwould decide the State Intercollegiate Football Championship. Ballard, thepresent champions, discounting even Hamilton's stories of Thor's prowess,were coming to Bannister with an eleven more mighty than the one that hadcrushed the Gold and Green the year before, with a heavy, stonewall line,fast ends, and a powerful, shifty backfield. The Ballard team was confidentof victory and the pennant. Bannister, building on the awakened Thorwald,superbly sure of his phenomenal strength and power, of his unstoppablerushes, serenely practiced the doctrine of preparedness, and awaited theday.
And then John Thorwald, the Prodigious Prodigy, whose gigantic frame seemedunbattered by the terrific daily scrimmage, whom it was impossible tohurt on the gridiron, the day before, going downstairs in Creighton Hall,hurrying to a class, had caught his heel on the top step, and crashed tothe bottom! And now, with a broken ankle, the blond Colossus, heartbrokenat not being able to win the Championship for old Bannister, hobbled abouton crutches. Without Thor, the Gold and Green must meet the invincibleBallard team! It was a solar-plexus blow, both to the Bannister youths,confident in Thor's prowess, building on his Herculean bulk, and to thebig Freshman. Thorwald, awakened, striving to grasp campus tradition, tounderstand college life, was eager to fling himself into the scrimmage, togive every ounce of his mighty power, to offer that splendid body, for hisAlma Mater, and now he must hobble impotently on the side-line, watchinghis team fight a desperate battle.
"If Bannister only had a sure, accurate drop-kicker!" reflected CaptainButch hopelessly. "One who could be depended on to average eight out of tentrials, we'd have a fighting chance with Ballard. Deke Radford is a wonder.He can kick a forty-five-yard goal, but he's erratic! He might boot thepigskin over when a score is needed from the forty-yard line, and again hemight miss from the twenty-yard mark. Oh, for a kicker who isn't brilliantand spectacular, but who can methodically drop 'em over from, say, thethirty-five-yard line! Hello, what's the row, Hicks?"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., started to speak, changed his mind, coughed, grewred and embarrassed, and acted in a most puzzling manner. At any othertime, big Butch would have been bewildered; but with Thor's loss weighingon his mind, the Gold and Green captain gave his comrade only a cursoryglance.
"I—I—Oh, nothing, Butch!" stammered Hicks, to whom, being "fussed," asBannister termed embarrassment, was almost unknown. "I—I guess I'lltake this football over to my locker in the Gym. I ought to glance at myChemistry, too. So-long, Butch; see you later, old top!"
When the splinter-youth had drifted into the Gym., Butch Brewster,remembering his strange actions, actually managed to transfer his thoughtsfor a time from the eleven to the care-free T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. Thebehemoth Senior reflected that, to date, the pestiferous Hicks had notexplained his baffling mystery he recalled the day when he had told theGold and Green eleven of the loyal Hicks' ambition to please his dad bywinning his B, when he had described the youth's intense college spiritand had suggested that if Hicks failed to corral his letter the AthleticAssociation award him one for his loyalty to old Bannister. And Butch sawagain the bewildering sentences in the letter from Thomas Haviland Hicks,Sr., to his son.
"Evidently," meditated Butch, literally and figuratively "on the fence,""Hicks has failed to summon up enough self-confidence to explain hismystery; queer, too, for he usually is bubbling with faith in himself. Hehas acted like a bashful schoolgirl at frequent times—he starts to tellme something, then he gets embarrassed, back-fires, and stalls. He andTheophilus have been sneaking out in the early dawn, too. Wow! What did hesneak out of the dorm. that way, with a football, for? He looked like ayeggman working night shift. Why shouldheskulk out with a football? Hehas never explained his dad's letter, or told just what Mr. Hicks meant bycalling him the "Class Kid" of Yale, '96, and saying those members of oldEli wanted him to star! Oh, he's a tantalizing wretch, and I'd like tosolve his mystery, without his knowledge, so I could—"
At that instant, to the intense indignation and bewilderment of good ButchBrewster, little Theophilus Opperdyke, the timorous Human Encyclopedia ofold Bannister, exited from Bannister Hall. The Senior boner gave a correctimitation of the offending Hicks, in that he skulked out, gazing aroundhim nervously; but he portaged no pigskin, and, unlike the sunny youth, onperiscoping Butch, he seemed relieved.
"Theophilus,come here!" thundered the wrathful football captain,shifting his tonnage on the Senior Fence. "What's the plot, anyhow? It'sbad enough when T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., sneaks out, bearing a football,like an amateur cracksman making a getaway; but when you appear, imitatinga Nihilist about to hurl a bomb—say, what's the answer to the puzzle, oldman?"
Little Theophilus, his pathetically frail body trembling with suppressedexcitement, his big-rimmed spectacles tumbling off with ridiculousregularity, and his solemn eyes peering owlishly at his behemoth classmate,stood before the startled Butch. It was evident that the 1919 grindlabored under great stress. He was waging a terrific battle with himself,struggling to make some vast and all-important decision. He strove tospeak, hesitated, choked, coughed apologetically, and acted as fussed asHicks had done, until Butch was wild; then, as if resolved to cast the dieand cross the Rubicon, he decided, and plunged desperately ahead.
"It's—it's Hicks, Butch!" he quavered, torn cruelly by conflictingemotions. "Oh, I don't want to be a traitor—he trusted me with his secret,and I—I can't betray him, I just can't! But he didn't make me promise notto tell. He just told me not to. Oh, it's his very last chance, Butch, andwith Thor hurt, old Bannister might need him in the Ballard game."
"What is it, Theophilus, old man?" Butch spoke kindly, for he saw thesolemn little Senior was intensely excited. "Tell me—if our Alma Materneeds any fellow's services, you know, he should give them freely—sinceyou did not promise not to tell about Hicks, if Bannister may be ableto use Hicks against Ballard—though I can't, by any stretch of theimagination, figure how—then it is your duty to tell! I think I glimpsethe dark secret—Hicks possesses some sort of football prowess, goodnessknows what, and he lacks the confidence to tell Coach Corridan! Now, wereit only drop-kicking—"
"It is drop-kicking!" Theophilus burst forth desperately. "Hicks is adrop-kicker, Butch, and a sure one—inside the thirty-yard line. He almostnevermisses a goal, and he kicks them from every angle, too. He isn'tstrong enough to kick past the thirty-yard line, but inside that he iswonderfully accurate. With Thor out of the Ballard game, a drop-kick maywin for Bannister, and Deke Radford is so erratic! Oh, Hicks will be angrywith me for telling; but he just won't tell about himself, after all hispractice, because he fears the fellows will jeer. He is afraid he will failin the supreme test. Oh, I've betrayed him, but—"
"T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., a drop-kicker!" exploded the dazed Butch, whocould not have been more astounded had Theophilus announced that the sunnyyouth possessed powers of black magic. "Theophilus Opperdyke, Tantalushimself was never so tantalized as I have been of late. Tell me the wholestory, old man—hurry. Spill it, old top!"
Butch Brewster, by questioning the excited Human Encyclopedia, like apolice official giving the third degree, slowly extracted from Theophilusthe startling story. A year before, just as the Gold and Green practicedfor the Ham game, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., one afternoon, had arrayed hissplinter-structure in a grotesque, nondescript athletic outfit, and hadjogged out on Bannister Field. The gladsome youth's motive had been freefrom any torturesome purpose. He intended to round up the Phillyloo Bird,Shad Weatherby, and other non-athletic collegians, and with them boot thepigskin, for exercise. However, little Skeet Wigglesworth, beholding himas he donned the weird regalia of loud sweater, odd basket-ball stockings,tennis trousers, baseball shoes, and so on, misconstrued his plan, andbelieved Hicks intended to torment the squad. Hence, he hurried out,so that when Hicks appeared in the offing, the football squad and thespectators in the stands had jeered the happy-go-lucky Junior, and hadgood-natured sport at his expense.
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., after Jack Merritt had drop-kicked a forty-yardgoal, made the excessively rash statement that it was easy. Captain ButchBrewster had indignantly challenged the heedless youth to show him, andthe results of Hicks' effort to propel the pigskin over the crossbar werehilarious, for he missed the oval by a foot, nearly dislocated his knee,and, slipping in the mud, he sat down violently with a thud. However, sothe excited Theophilus now narrated, even as the convulsed students jeeredHicks, hurling whistles, shouts, cat-calls, songs and humorous remarks atthe downfallen kicker, one of Hicks' celebrated inspirations had smittenthe pestersome Junior, evidently jarred loose by his crashing to terrafirma.
"Hicks figured this way, Butch," explained little Theophilus Opperdyke,eloquent in his comrade's behalf, "nature had built him like a mosquito,and endowed him with enough power to lift a pillow; hence he could neverhope to play football on the 'Varsity; but he knew that many games arewon by drop-kicks and by fellows especially trained and coached for thatpurpose, and they don't need weight and strength, but they must have theart, that peculiar knack which few possess. His inspiration was this:Perhaps he had that knack, perhaps he could practice faithfully, anddevelop into a sure drop-kicker. If he trained for a year, in his Seniorseason, he might be able to serve old Bannister, maybe to win a big game.So he set to work."
Theophilus hurriedly yet graphically narrated how T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.,had made the loyal, hero-worshiping little Human Encyclopedia his soleconfidant. He told the thrilled Butch how the sunny youth, from thatday on, had watched and listened as Head Coach Corridan trained thedrop-kickers, learning all the points he could gain. Vividly he describedthe mosquito-like Hicks, as he with a football bought from the AthleticAssociation began in secret to practice the fine art of drop-kicking! For ayear, at old Bannister and at his dad's country home near Pittsburgh, Hickshad faithfully, doggedly kept at it. With no one bat Theophilus knowing ofhis great ambition, he had gone out on Bannister Field, when he felt safefrom observation; here, with his faithful comrade to keep watch, and toretrieve the pigskin, he had practiced the instructions and points gainedfrom watching Coach Corridan train the booters of the squad. To his vastdelight, and the joy of his little friend, Hicks had found that he didpossess the knack, and from before the Ham game until Commencement he hadkept his secret, practicing clandestinely at old Bannister; he had improvedwonderfully, and when vacation started the cheery collegian had told hisbeloved dad, Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., of his hopes.
The ex-Yale football star, delighted at his son's ambition to serve oldBannister and joyous at discovering that Hicks actually possessed thepeculiar knack of drop-kicking, coached the splinter-youth all summer attheir country place near Pittsburgh. Under the instruction of Hicks, Sr.,the youth developed rapidly, and when he returned to the campus for hisfinal year, he was a sure, dependable drop-kicker, inside the thirty-yardline. As Theophilus stated, beyond that he lacked the power, but in thatzone he could boot 'em over the cross-bar from any angle.
"He's been practicing all this season, in secret!" quavered the littleSenior, "and he's a—afiend, Butch, at drop-kicking. And yet, here it istime for the last game of his college years, and—he lacks confidence totell you, or Coach Corridan. Oh, I'm afraid he will be angry with me forbetraying him, and yet—I justcan'tlet him miss his splendid chance,now that Thor is out and old Bannisterneedsa drop-kicker!"
Big Butch was silent for a time. The football leader was deeply impressedand thrilled by Theophilus Opperdyke's story of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'sambition. As he roosted on the Senior Fence, the behemoth gridironstar visioned the mosquito-like youth, whom nature had endowed with asplinter-structure, sneaking out on Bannister Field, at every chance, topractice clandestinely his drop-kicking. He could see the faithful HumanEncyclopedia, vastly excited at his blithesome colleague's improvement,retrieving the pigskin for Hicks. He thrilled again as he thought of thebean-pole Hicks, who could never gain weight and strength enough to makethe eleven, loyally training and perfecting himself in the drop-kick,trying to develop into a sure kicker, within a certain zone, hopingsometime, before he left college forever, to serve old Bannister. With Thorin the line-up at fullback, he would not have been needed, but now, withthe Prodigious Prodigy out, it was T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s big chance!
And Butch Brewster understood why the usually confident Hicks, even withthe knowledge of his drop-kicking power, hesitated to announce it to oldBannister. Until Butch had told the Gold and Green football team of Hicks'being in earnest in his ridiculous athletic attempts of the past threeyears, no one but himself and Hicks had dreamed that the sunny youth meantthem, that he really strove to win his B and please his dad. The appearanceof T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., on Bannister Field was always the cause ofa small-sized riot among the squad and spectators. Hicks was jeeredgood-naturedly, and "butchered to make a Bannister holiday," as he blithelyphrased it. Hence, the splinter-Senior was reluctant to announce that hecould drop-kick. He knew that when tested he would be so in earnest, thatso much would hang in the balance and the youths, unknowing how importantit was, would jeer. Then, too, knowing his long list of athletic fiascos,ridiculous and otherwise, Hicks trembled at the thought of being sent intothe biggest game to kick a goal. He feared he might fail!
"You are ahero, Theophilus!" said Butch, with deep feeling. "I canrealize how hard it was for Hicks to tell us. He would have kept silentforever, even after his training in secret! And how you must have suffered,knowing he could drop-kick, and yet not desiring to betray him! But yourlove for old Bannister and for Hicks himself conquered. I'll take him outon the gridiron, before the fellows come from class, and see what hecan do. Aha! There is the villain now. Hicks, ahoy! Come hither, youKellar-Herman-Thurston. Your dark secret is out at last!"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., peering cautiously from the Gym. basement doorway,in quest of the tardy Theophilus, who was to have accompanied him on aclandestine journey to Bannister Field, obeyed the summons. Bewildered,and gradually guessing the explanation from the shivering little boner'salarmed expression, the gladsome youth approached the stern Butch Brewster,who was about to condemn him for his silence. "Don't be angry with me,Hicks,please!" pled Theophilus, pathetically fearful that he hadoffended his comrade, "I—I justhadto tell, for it was positively yourlast chance, and—and old Bannister needs your sure drop-kicking! I neverpromised not to tell. You never made me give my word, so—"
"It was Theophilus' duty to tell!" spoke Butch, hiding a grin, for thegrind was so frightened, "and yours, Hicks, knowing as you do how we needyou, with Thor hurt! You graceless wretch, you aren't usually so like yemodest violet! Why didn't you inform us, then swagger and say, 'Oh, justleave it to Hicks, he'll win the game with a drop-kick?' Now, you come withme, and I'll look over your samples. If you've got the goods, it's highlyprobable you'll get your chance, in the Ballard game; and I'mglad, oldman, for your sake. I know what it would mean, if you win it! But—now thatthe 'mystery' is solved, what's that about your being a 'Class Kid,' ofYale, '96?"
"That's easy!" grinned T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his arm across Theophilus'shoulders, "I was the first boy born to any member of Yale, '96; it is thecustom of classes graduating at Yale to call such a baby the class kid!Naturally, the members of old Eli, Class of 1896, are vastly interested inme. Hence, my Dad wrote they'd be tickled if I won a big game for Bannisterwith a field-goal!"
A moment of silence, Theophilus Opperdyke, gathering from Hicks' arm,across his shoulders, that the cheery youth was not so awfully wrathful athis base betrayal, adjusted his big-rimmed spectacles, and stared owlishlyat Hicks.
"Hicks, you—you are not angry?" he quavered. "You are not sorry. I—Itold—"
"Sorry?" quoth T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., "Class Kid," of Yale, '96, with aCheshire cat grin, "sorry? I should saynot—I wanted it to be known toButch, and Coach Corridan, but I got all shivery when I tried to confess,and I—couldn't! Nay, Theophilus, you faithful friend, I'm soglad, oldman, that beside yours truly, the celebrated Pollyanna resembles Niobe,weeping for her lost children."
CHAPTER XIII
HICKS—CLASS KID—YALE '96
"Brekka-kek-kek—Co-Ax—Co-Ax!Brekka-kek-kek—Co-Ax—Co-Ax!Whoop-up! Parabaloo! Yale! Yale! Yale!Hicks! Hicks! Hicks!"
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., swathed in a cumbersome Gold and Green footballblanket, and crouching on the side-line, like some historic Indian, felt athrill shake his splinter-structure, as the yell of "old Eli" rolled fromthe stand, across Bannister Field. In the midst of the Gold and Green flagsand pennants, fluttering in the section assigned the Bannister cohorts, hegazed at a big banner of Blue, with white lettering:
YALE UNIVERSITY—CLASS OF 1896
"Oh, Butch," gasped Hicks, torn between fear and hope, "just listen tothat. Think of all those Yale men in the stand with my Dad! Oh, suppose Ido get sent in to try for a drop-kick!"
It was almost time far the biggest game to start, the contest with Ballard,the supreme test of the Gold and Green, the final struggle for The StateIntercollegiate Football Championship! In a few minutes the referee'sshrill whistle blast would sound, the vast crowd in the stands, on theside-lines, and in the parked automobiles, would suddenly still theirclamor and breathlessly await the kick-off—then, seventy minutes of grimbattling on the turf, and victory, or defeat, would perch on the banners ofold Bannister.
It was a thrilling scene, a sight to stir the blood. Bannister Field, thearena where these gridiron gladiators would fly at each other's throats—orknees, spread out—barred with white chalk-marks, with the skeleton-likegoal posts guarding at each end. On the turf the moleskin clad warriors,under the crisp commands of their Coaches, swiftly lined down, shifted tothe formation called, and ran off plays. Nervous subs. stood in circles,passing the pigskin. Drop-kickers and punters, tuning up, sent spirals, orend-over-end drop-kicks, through the air. The referee, field-judge, andlinesmen conferred. Team-attendants, equipped with buckets of water,sponges, and ominous black medicine-chests, with Red Cross bandages, ranhither and thither. On the substitutes' bench, or on the ground, crouchednervous second-string players; Ballard's on one side of the gridiron, andBannister's directly across.
A glorious, sunshiny day in late November, with scarcely a breath ofwind, the air crisp and bracing; the radiant sunlight fell athwart thewhite-barred field, and glinted from the gay pennants and banners in thestands! Here was a riot of color, the gold and green of old Bannister; inthe next section, the orange and black of Ballard. The bright hues andtints of varicolored dresses, and the luster of the official flowersall contributed to a bewilderingly beautiful spectacle! Flower-venders,peddlers of pennants, sellers of miniature footballs with the collegecolors of one team and the other, hawked their wares, loudly calling abovethe tumult, "Get yer Ballard colors yere!" "This way fer the Bannisterflags!" Ten thousand spectators, packed into the cheering sections of thetwo colleges, or in the general stands, or standing on the side-lines,impatiently awaited the kick-off. At the appearance of each football star,a tremendous cheer went up from the mass. Across the field from each other,the two bands played stirring strains. The confident Ballard cohortscheered, sang, and yelled and those of Bannister, notquiteso sure ofvictory, with Thor out, nevertheless, cheered, sang, and yelled as loudly,for the Gold and Green.
The sight of that vast Yale banner, so conspicuous, with its big whiteletters on a field of blue, amidst the fluttering pennants of gold andgreen, excited comment among the Ballard followers. The Bannister students,however, knew what it meant; Mr. Thomas Haviland Hicks, Sr., and thirtymembers of Yale, '96, were in the stand, ready to cheer Captain Butch'seleven, and hoping for a chance to whoop it up for T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.,if he got his big chance.
Two days before, when little Theophilus Opperdyke, after a terriblestruggle with himself, divided between loyalty to Hicks and a love forhis Alma Mater, had betrayed his toothpick class-mate to Captain. ButchBrewster, that behemoth Senior had rounded up Coach Corridan, and togetherthey had dragged the shivering Hicks out to the football field. Here, whilethe rest of the student body, unsuspecting the important event in progress,made good use of the study-hour, or attended classes in Recitation Hall,the Gold and Green Coach, with the team-Captain, and the excited HumanEncyclopedia, watched T. Haviland Hicks, Jr. show his samples ofdrop-kicks. And the success of that happy-go-lucky youth, after his nervoustension wore off, may be attested by the Slave-Driver's somewhat slangyremark, when the exhibition closed.
"Butch," said Head Coach Patrick Henry Corridan, impressively, "what ittakes to drop-kick field-goals, from anywhere inside the thirty-yard line,T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., is broke out with!"
The proficiency attained by the heedless Hicks in the difficult art ofdrop-kicking, gained by faithful practice for a year, aided by his Dad'svaluable coaching, was wonderful. Of course, Hicks possessed naturally theneeded knack, but he deserved praise for his sticking at it so loyally. Hehad no surety that he would ever be of use to his college, and, indeed,with the advent of Thor, his hopes grew dim, yet he plugged on, in case oldBannister might sometime need him—and yet, but for Theophilus, he wouldnot have summoned the courage to tell! To the surprise and delight of theCoach and Captain, Hicks, after missing a few at first, methodically bootedgoals over the crossbar from the ten, twenty, and thirty-yard lines, andfrom the most difficult angles. There was nothing showy or spectacular inhis work, it was the result of dogged training, but he was almost sure,when he kicked!