CHAPTER XXISCRUB VERSUS SCRUB
“Me, sir!” Loring looked startled.
“I suppose you couldn’t. I forgot for the moment that you can’t get about as easily as the rest of us. It only occurred to me that, knowing what you do already, Deane, you’d be just the fellow. But never mind. I’ll find some one.”
“Why, I could go, Mr. Babcock,” said Loring eagerly. “It—it sort of surprised me, that was all. And I’m not sure that I could do what you’d want, sir.”
“I think you could. You see, I don’t want a report on the playing. I just want you to look around over there and see what goes on. There may be a nigger in the wood-pile, or there may not. If there is, you may not spot him, but it’s worth trying; and you’re the man for the job since you know the situation better than any of us. See who they use as substitutes and try to figure out why. If your hunch is the right one, Deane, they’ve got an end or a back over there that they’ve been keeping under cover. Look for him.”
“Yes, sir. It’s sort of like spying, though, isn’t it?”
“We call it scouting. It’s quite legitimate. They do it, and we do it, just as all the schools and colleges do, and they’ll expect us to have scouts there to-morrowjust as we expect them to have scouts here. In fact, I think I’d tell them that you’re from Wyndham. Maybe they’ll get you a good place to see from.”
“That’s one difficulty,” said Loring. “I’ll have to go over by automobile, and I suppose I couldn’t get near enough to see much without getting out.”
“Unless they’ve changed their arrangements there,” replied the instructor, “you are allowed to park on one side of the field, and if you got there early enough you could pretty near have your choice. I’ll see about a car—”
“No, please, sir! Wattles will attend to that. I’d a great deal rather not have you or any one pay for anything, Mr. Babcock.”
“But, Deane, the Athletic Association is perfectly able to stand the expense, and it’s only fair that it should. An automobile will cost twenty dollars or so, I imagine, and there’s no reason why you should pay it.”
“I’d rather, if you don’t mind, sir,” Loring persisted.
“Well, suit yourself. I’ll see you again on Friday and we’ll talk it over before you go. By the way, you’d better have some one with you, hadn’t you?”
“I’ll take Wattles, sir. Good night, and thanks for bothering with that play.”
“If it works as I hope it’s going to, Deane, thanks will be going the other way. Good night.”
The second cheer meeting—there had been one on the eve of the Toll’s game—was held Thursday after study hour, and some new songs were tried out—Mr.Parks at the piano—and some old ones were resung. And, of course, there was a good deal of enthusiasm and noise. There was another and even more demonstrative affair Saturday evening, at which Mr. Babcock and Mr. Clendenin, who was Chairman of the Athletic Committee, and Captain Dave spoke, but before that other events transpired.
The Scrub got badly mauled on Thursday, for the First Team, recovering its self-esteem and poise, went after revenge. Yet the Fighting Scrub proved once again its right to the nickname and the nine points scored by the adversary were hard earned. Loring’s forward-pass play—known now as Number 30—was twice used by the First, the second time for a long gain that led to the field-goal. This in spite of the fact that the Scrub knew the play and was watching for it. Friday was another hard day, for “Cocky” was driving the team with Wolcott in mind and making no preparations for the next day’s visitors. There was only one period of scrimmaging, but it lasted fifteen minutes and held at least one spectacular incident. That was Clif’s interception of Ogden’s forward-pass. Ogden, a second-string half, was being tried out at fullback and was making a good impression. Ogden, while not so heavy as Hanbury or Badger, still had a good deal of weight and wore it where it did the most good when he hit the Scrub line. And Ogden was faster than any of the other candidates for the position of alternate to “Big Bill.” That pass was made from kicking position after the First had hammered its way to the Scrubtwenty-seven and two slams at the line had yielded but four yards. It was a quick, short heave over right tackle and was meant for Stiles or Archer, the latter having lately displaced Couch at left end, but Clif had swept around back of his line with the snapping of the ball, for “Wink” Coles had “called” the play, and it was Clif, and neither Whitemill nor Archer who was on the spot when the pass went over. Clif made the catch while still going at brisk speed and he kept on going, heading first for the side-line and then turning in. Since the First Team left end and right half were already out of the way, he had only Stoddard and Ogden to challenge him at first. But by the time he was well straightened out, running some five yards inside the border, Cotter, First’s speedy left tackle, had taken up the chase. Cotter soon distanced the others, and it was he who finally threw Clif out of bounds at the First’s thirty-eight. That the Scrub only got five yards more in three downs spoke well for the big team’s defense. “Sim” Jackson’s toss to Adams grounded and First took the pigskin. But Clif had covered some forty-eight yards in that romp of his, and, back in the gymnasium, once more enjoyed the applause of his teammates.
There were two games played on Wyndham Field on Saturday. At two o’clock the Wyndham and Wolcott Scrub Teams met and, since the High Point contest was not to begin until three, the School surrounded the farther gridiron and cheered lustily for the Scrub. When it was obliged to leave in order to be present atthe kick-off of the more important contest the score was 7 to 7, the third period was a minute or two old and it was anybody’s game. There were some staunch supporters, however, who remained until the last, and they were well repaid, for it was the final fifteen minutes that held the real thrills.
Both Wyndham and Wolcott were reduced to line-ups largely composed of substitutes by that time, for the game had been a hard-fought and not over gentle affair. Although they were but Second Teams and no championship depended on their efforts, they were still Wyndham and Wolcott, rivals always. Each team played not for its own honor but for the honor of its School, and mighty deeds were performed before the question of supremacy was settled. At 7 to 7 the battle had waged into the third period and through it, and at 7 to 7 the last quarter had started. Then, when some three minutes had gone by, Wolcott’s brown-stockinged horde swept into its stride and, strengthened by the return of several first-string men who had been deposed in the first half, slammed its way down to the home team’s twenty-five-yard line. There the ball was lost only to be recovered again. From the thirty-two Wolcott started once more and tore forward. “Babe” Ridgway, who had stuck it out under a grueling attack through three busy periods, had to give way finally to Pat Tyson, and Pat was responsible for an advance that took Wolcott from the twenty-eight to the sixteen yards. Wyndham steadied then and held, momentarily, but when the enemy had reached the tenyards it was not to be denied, and at last, when two smashes at the center had netted but three, the Wolcott right half took the ball on a cross-buck and plunged inside Jimmy Ames for a first down. Three more plays put the pigskin across.
The period was fully half over and those six points looked enough to spell victory for the visitor, but the Fighting Scrub couldn’t spell that way. Scrub set itself to dispute the try-for-point, and when Al Greene strode over the sprawling body of his adversary and plunged toward the kicker that youth hurried his effort. The ball didn’t miss the goal by many inches, but miss it did, and the Fighting Scrub gave voice to joy and stumbled back to positions. Mr. Connover shuffled his men then. Tyson crossed over to right tackle and “Wink” Coles went to center. Hoppin replaced Thayer and Patch took Clif’s place. And with that final change “Steve” shot his last bolt. He hadn’t a single available player left to call on! But Wolcott didn’t know that.
Wyndham’s chance didn’t come along until the period was twelve minutes old. Then desperate, but still believing in its ability to even the score, “Sim” Jackson, who had spent the third quarter on the bench, dug deeply into his small bag of tricks and, finding nothing much there, used what was left. It wasn’t much of a trick, either, but it served. The Fighting Scrub tore itself literally in half and the two halves hugged the side-lines. The ball went with the left portion of the team. Wolcott moved this way and that, momentarily at a loss how to meet the extraordinary formation.That wide-open space in the middle of the field held a strong attraction for the visitor, and, although it finally divided its defense just as Wyndham had divided its attack, it was evident that the opening was much on its mind. The handful of Wolcott adherents and players on the side-line howled derision. Then “Wink” passed the ball at an angle to Heard, a back across the field started with the ball and ran toward his own goal, and Wolcott became loudly vocal with warnings and advice and swarmed in the direction of the ball. Heard stepped back and back, facing the middle of the field. Then, when further delay meant danger, he swung half about and threw the ball to his left. Jeff Adams, who had skirted around close to the side-line and was now well away, put up a pair of long arms and a pair of large, eager hands and plucked the ball out of the air. After that, very soon after, he set out for Wolcott’s goal as though he had important business somewhere in its vicinity!
But, although Jeff had a fair start, he wasn’t swift enough to cover fifty-odd yards before the enemy overtook him. He did consume thirty-three or possibly thirty-four, however, and when a fleet-footed, brown-legged enemy banged him vindictively to earth he was on Wolcott’s twenty-one! That bang was temporarily too much for Jeff and time was called while he was induced to put some air back into his lungs. Then, with the few Wyndham rooters that were present dancing about and waving sweaters and howling ecstatically, the Fighting Scrub returned to its struggle. Itwas fighting now not only against Wolcott but against time, for the final whistle wasn’t far off. Every one knows that you can’t use a trick play like that “split team” twice in succession and get away with it. Sim Jackson knew it. So he tried it again!
That is, he split the team as before, while Wolcott showed amazement plainly. The fool thing was a crazy quarterback trying it close to the twenty! Well, they knew what to expect this time and so, while their forwards watched their men their backs arranged themselves for a forward-pass. This time, naturally, Wolcott didn’t waste three men to look after three of the enemy who were almost the width of the field from the ball. Wolcott put its strength where the danger lay. Which was a fortunate thing for Wolcott, since no forward-pass was attempted and Hoppin, who carried the ball, would have gained much more than seven yards had the opponent divided its forward line evenly. But even seven yards is not to be sneezed at when it lays the ball close to the thirteen!
Wyndham closed up then and played rational football, and, with something under forty seconds left, cleared the goal-line in three plunges, beating the whistle by the tick of the watch. That touchdown—credit it to Stiles—tied the score, and when Lee Heard, plainly nervous, stepped far back to take the pass from “Wink” you could have heard a pin drop. Well, not just that, perhaps, for a pin doesn’t make much sound when it strikes a football field, I suppose, and there was a good deal of noise from the First Team gridiron; but thingswere awfully quiet just then. Even the Wolcott players, prancing and edging, madly anxious to break through, said nothing! Then, when Heard had trod around for a moment back there, he held his arms out straight and—oh, well, he made the goal. There’s no use in prolonging suspense. Wyndham won the game, completing her season with three victories, and a score or so of tired, dirt-stained boys hugged each other weakly and cheered the defeated rival.
Later, Clif and the others, refreshed and hurriedly rehabilitated, reached the other field in time to see the First play the final quarter of its game with High Point. It wasn’t very interesting, and even if it had been the Scrub players were still too excited over their own triumph to find it so. Ostensibly they watched the First Team substitutes vainly try to add to the Dark Blue’s score of 14 to 0, but actually they saw little that went on. They were going over the Wolcott Scrub contest almost play by play and deriving a soul-satisfying pleasure. The Fighting Scrub, however others might appraise it, thought very well of itself that Saturday afternoon!