CHAPTER XIIDEFEAT
Monday was an easy day for both First Team and Scrub, but on Tuesday the hard grind began again. “Cocky” never let a session go by without trotting his squad over to the tackling dummy, and Clif, for one, had grown to hate that limp and headless object with an almost passionate intensity. Perhaps this was largely because his tackling was not of the best and didn’t seem to improve with practice. Mr. Babcock frequently told him that he would never become a really good end until he could make his tackles surer. Secretly, though, Clif considered that he did as well as Jeff Adams, who had asserted his right to the left end position, and a heap better than a lot of the others. He wished he might convince Mr. Babcock of it!
The field was a busy place now, for the third gridiron was in use by the class teams, and from around the corner of East Hall floated frantic shouts and commanding bellows and the thud of booted balls. Practice over there was intensive, for, since there were four squads and but one gridiron, they worked two teams at a time, limiting that time to an hour.
On Monday the Scrub was enlarged by the addition of Joe Craigie, a guard candidate released by CoachOtis. The First was getting its stride now, and most of the positions were settled on. The impression that this was to be another winning year was gaining ground daily, for the team was ahead of the season in development and coming steadily. Mr. Otis, switching from last year tactics, was building his attack around Fargo. Last season, playing very modern football indeed, Wyndham had been beaten; although the defeat was attributable to the renowned Grosfawk rather than to Wyndham’s offense. A coach must build his game about his material, and “G. G.’s” principal assets this year were a powerful fullback who was seldom stopped without some gain and a flashy halfback, Jensen, who had a positive genius for finding fissures in the enemy line and making chasms of them. So, while the passing and running games were not neglected, it was the old, reliable line-bucking style of play that the Head Coach was teaching the First. And this meant that the Scrub had to stand some tough onslaughts those days. It was lucky for the Second that its line held such weighty, non-breakable veterans as Clem Henning and “Babe” and “Wink” and Al Greene and Jimmy Ames, for a lighter or less experienced lot of forwards would never have stood the strain. When “Big Bill” Fargo smashed in, you knew without being told or reading about it that something had happened!
Mr. Otis had sought to provide a strong, heavy line, sacrificing something of speed in the effort, and Raiford and Higgs and Quinlan, early season probabilities, had been put aside in favor of sturdier men.Billy Desmond seemed sure of right guard position, Carlson was in center in place of Higgs, and Weldon had ousted Raiford at right tackle. It was only at the end positions that “G. G.” placed speed above brawn, and Archer and Drayton were first choices there. Stoddard still had a perceptible edge on Houston at quarter, while Whitemill and Sproule were fighting for left half back’s place.
On Thursday the Scrub was instructed to use one forward-pass in every three plays in order that the First might work up a better defense before meeting Horner Academy on Saturday. Clif, who had shown fair ability as a receiver of thrown balls, came through with only an ensanguined nose, a strained wrist and a few minor abrasions, and considered himself lucky. He accused Tom of trying to kill him off by putting him into almost every forward-pass, but he was really very much tickled. One of the passes gave Clif a seventeen-yard run and led to the only score made by the Scrub that week. But most of the attempts to gain by the aerial route failed, for Coach Otis had worked out a very satisfactory defense and it was difficult for Tom and Sim to find an eligible and uncovered man to throw to. Although the Scrub was given the ball many times when she hadn’t earned it, the First held it some of the time and didn’t have very much trouble in making two touchdowns and a like number of field-goals. Friday saw another hard session and then, on Saturday, Nemesis in the shape of some twenty-five husky youths with blue-and-brown-striped stockings camealong and upset calculations horribly. Horner came from a long way off, but a hard railway journey had not hurt them a bit, it seemed.
Wyndham scored first, in the second quarter, when, held firmly on Horner’s nineteen yards, Stoddard kicked a goal from the twenty-eight. But that was the last of such performances, for after that the game was all Horner. The Blue-and-Brown took the ball on its forty-two when the third quarter arrived and rushed it straight down to Wyndham’s twenty-six, using off-tackle and round the end plays varied with one forward-pass that was good for eight yards. Wyndham held for two downs and then succumbed before a tricky play that should have been either a kick or a pass and was a quick quarterback plunge at center that landed the ball just short of the required distance. A wedge on the left of the dark blue line made it first down, and from the fifteen Horner took the ball over in six plays, battering at Desmond and Weldon until the right of the Wyndham line finally crumpled and the last charge yielded four long yards and a touchdown.
“G. G.” replaced Desmond with Smythe and, still later, sent half a dozen other substitutes dribbling in. But Horner couldn’t be seriously dented between tackles, and although, as a final desperate enterprise, “G. G.” sent Sproule in for Whitemill with instructions to round the ends, Wyndham came no nearer another score than the enemy’s thirty-two yards, from where, well along in the fourth quarter, “Big Bill”made a desperate and well-nigh hopeless try for a goal from placement. The ball came down near the five-yard line. Horner was still not through, and in the last six minutes of the twelve-minute period, she added insult to injury by plowing her way from midfield, where she had taken a short punt, to the seventeen yards and, when stubbornly held there, shooting a forward toss over the middle of the line for another score. As a doughty fullback kicked an easy goal after each touchdown the final humiliating score was 14 to 3.
Well, a team can’t always win, and Wyndham had feared Horner beforehand. Unfortunately, though, she hadn’t feared her enough. Wyndham’s defense against the forward-pass, which had worked nicely when opposed to her Scrub, had failed badly. Horner had tried the air three times and each time had succeeded. Her style of passing was, however, different from the Scrub’s, and the First had failed to solve it. Evidently, then, there was still much to be learned as to protection against the passing game. Even Coach Otis’s big line of forwards hadn’t gained much glory. More than one Horner plunge had torn it wide apart, while the enemy’s persistent attack on Desmond and Weldon had shown conclusively that the right side needed something at present lacking. Wyndham’s ends had been boxed time after time, and even “Big Bill,” the pride and boast of the School, had fallen down badly on the defense. Altogether, then, the coaches had much to ruminate on that Saturday evening. Especiallyas Horner Academy then rated about 60 to Wolcott’s 100!
But other things besides football games and practicings occurred during that week preceding Wyndham’s first defeat. For instance, there was a stupendous chess combat between Loring and Tom. That took place on Wednesday evening. Clif had almost despaired of inducing Tom to visit Loring. Tom was studiedly indifferent on Sunday and Monday, agreeing with his chum that it was extremely likely that Loring Deane could beat him at chess. Tom stated humbly that he really wasn’t much of a player. Clif contradicted the assertion indignantly, almost spoiling his conspiracy by declaring that maybe Tom could lick Loring after all. On Tuesday, having recovered from an attack of jealousy, Tom said that a fellow who didn’t have much else to do but play chess ought to be pretty good at it. On Wednesday he capitulated and followed Clif over to East Hall when supper was over. No one could well help being attracted to Loring, and Tom forgot his prejudice instantly. Soon they were seated with the chess-board between them and the game was on. Clif watched, at first with interest, then, as time passed, merely for want of other occupation. Wattles was not present. After serving Loring’s supper—Loring had all his meals in his room—he was free until half-past nine, at which time he returned to get the boy to bed. Sometimes Wattles went to the village and attended the moving pictures, but more frequently he was to be found in the libraryor reading room in West Hall. Clif wished he were present. Talking to Wattles would be far more amusing than watching the interminable game.
When, finally, Loring won, Clif got the impression that the host would have preferred to lose. Loring was almost apologetic and found numerous excuses for Tom. Tom, however, was a good loser, and he refused to take refuge behind the excuses. “Heck,” he said, “you just played better chess, Deane. Where I made my mistake—”
And then they played the whole thing all over again, and had scarcely more than finished when the gong warned of study hour!
The next evening Tom hurried through his supper and was almost impatient with Clif because the latter, in spite of many honorable wounds received in battle that afternoon, was hungry and insisted on satisfying his appetite. When they got to Loring’s room that youth was still eating, and Tom had to wait a good ten minutes while Loring finished and Wattles removed the tray and the small table was placed close to Loring’s chair. Then another battle began, and Clif selected one of the books on football and fairly turned his back on the game. This time, though, the contest was soon over, for Loring made a fatal mistake soon after the start. As there was scarcely time for another, the chessmen were put away, Clif returned the book he had been reading to the shelf and they talked. Presently Tom asked to see the collection of football diagrams of which Clif had told him and the rest of the time wasspent in discussing them. Tom was loud in his praise of them, but he thought some of them not workable, and that led to a three-cornered discussion during which the chess-board was again produced and several plays were rehearsed. Tom proved his contention with regard to one of them and Loring cheerfully crumpled a sheet of paper up and tossed it into the waste-basket. Going back to West, Tom confided to his companion that Loring Deane knew a lot of football and that it was a plaguey shame he couldn’t get out and play like other fellows.
By the last of that week going over to Loring’s after supper had become a habit with Clif and Tom, and by Saturday evening the intimacy had reached the point where the chums were calling Loring by his first name and Loring was saying “Tom” and “Clif” quite naturally. Discussion of the First Team’s defeat by Horner delayed the chess game that evening, to Clif’s delight, and the subject was well thrashed out between them before the board was set out on the little table. In an argument between Tom and Loring on the subject of Stoddard’s choice of plays, Loring, in Clif’s opinion, won conclusively.
“Well, maybe he made mistakes,” Tom conceded at last, “but he’s better than Houston, isn’t he?”
“I think so,” answered Loring, “but neither of them is my idea of a corking quarter. But then, I’m not keen on their style, anyway.”
“How do you mean, Loring?” Clif asked.
“I mean that if I were a football coach I wouldn’task my quarterback to carry the ball much. Football’s a lot like war, Clif. The coach is the commander-in-chief who lays out the plan of the battle. The quarterback is the general who carries out his orders. But the coach can’t plan in detail because there’s no way to know beforehand what situations will arise. That’s where the quarter is called on for generalship. There’s no chance to confer with the coach. He’s got to size up each situation as it arrives and decide what to do. It’s up to him to move his forces so as to win. I’ve never played quarterback, but I think I know pretty well what a quarter’s up against. He’s got to consider a lot of things, such as the situation of the ball in regard to the goals and the side lines, the number of the down, the distance to be gained, the strength and weakness of the enemy, the ability and condition of his backs, a dozen more things. And he’s got to reach a decision in mighty short time usually. Well, now I think all that’s quite enough to saddle one fellow with when his side is on the offensive. He’s got enough to do without being called on to carry the ball, and if he was my quarter he wouldn’t be asked to get into the interference too often. If he could run the team I wouldn’t care whether he ever gained a foot of ground himself. Just knowing what plays to call and calling them correctly and keeping his team fighting every minute—why, I’d forgive him even if he wasn’t a wonder on defense. He could fumble a punt now and then and I’d still call him a corking quarter!”
“Yes, that’s so,” said Tom. “Still, lots of fellowscan run the team and carry the ball, too. Some of the finest quarterbacks have been all-around men.”
“I know, but they aren’t so numerous, Tom. The average fellow, especially if he is prep school age, can’t do a lot of things at once and do them all well. Any quarter, I don’t care who he is, will be of more value to his team if he just has to run it and isn’t expected to carry the ball himself.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Tom doubtfully. “If he’s a cracker-jack runner and hard to stop—”
“Make him a halfback then and find another quarter,” said Loring.
“Yes, but he might have ability to run the team, too,” objected Tom. “No, I don’t believe I agree with you, Loring. I’ve seen some mighty good quarters who could do both things.”
“I’m not saying there haven’t been some or won’t be more,” replied Loring pleasantly. “But they’re the exceptions. A fellow only has one brain and it will hold only so much. When he tries to get too much into it he crowds it. If he has too much on his mind he’s bound to trip up now and then, and now and then is far too often. To-day Stoddard wouldn’t have made three or four glaring mistakes in judgment if he’d had only the running of the team to think about. I’ve never played the game, Tom, but you can’t make me believe that a fellow, the average fellow, anyhow, can take the ball, run thirty yards with it, dodging three or four tacklers, be thrown hard and sat on and thenget up with a clear head and know almost instantly what the next play ought to be!”
“He surely can’t,” agreed Clif. “I think you’re dead right, Loring.”
“Heck, might as well let the quarter sit on the bench alongside the coach, then,” grumbled Tom. “Nothing to do but call his signals!”
“Why not do away with the quarter entirely?” asked Loring, laughing. “Let the coach run the team from the side-line by radio!”
“Fine,” applauded Clif. “Then, if he lost his game, he could blame it on static!”
“Well, we’ve got a quarter who knows both branches of his trade pretty well,” said Clif. “Sim’s a mighty fine player, I think.”
“That’s Jackson?” asked Loring. “He’s the dark-haired chap, isn’t he? Well, have you ever noticed how seldom he takes the ball himself?”
Tom blinked. “I guess we haven’t got many plays for quarterback,” he answered. Then he caught an amused twinkle in Loring’s eyes. “Oh, come on and let’s play,” he laughed.