Kitabı oku: «Left End Edwards», sayfa 6

But Tom's day or two stretched into a week or two, and one by one fellows disappeared from the awkward squad, some to the private walks of life and the consolation of hall football and some, fewer in number these, to the squad ahead. Brimfield played its first game of the year one Saturday afternoon with Thacher School, and came through with flying colours. But Thacher presented a line-up considerably younger and lighter than Brimfield's, and the victory brought no great glory to the Maroon-and-Grey. Steve and Tom watched that contest from the side-line, Tom with absorbed interest and Steve rather disgruntedly. His visions had not included any such situation as this!

That evening Steve made his first big mistake.

CHAPTER XI
"HOLD 'EM, THIRD!"

The term was a fortnight old when Thacher went down in defeat, 10 to 3, and by that time both Steve and Tom had made acquaintances here and there, and so when, after study hour that Saturday night, Steve announced carelessly that he was "going around to Hensey to see a fellow," Tom took it for granted that his chum was off to look up some new friend. Perhaps, since they usually made calls together, he wondered a little that Steve didn't ask him along, but he didn't mind being left out on this particular occasion since he was having a good deal of trouble just then with trigonometry and wanted to put in more time on Monday's lesson.

When Steve entered Hensey he passed into the first corridor and knocked on the door of Number 7. The card there held the names: "Andrew Loring Miller—Hatherton Williams." A voice bade him enter and Steve walked in. Andy Miller and his room-mate were both in, Andy sprawled on the window-seat, which was much too short for his long body, and Williams seated at the study table. Andy jumped up as the visitor entered.

"Glad to see you, Edwards," he said cordially. "Shake hands with Williams. Hat, this is Edwards of the fourth. Sit down, won't you?"

Williams, who was a heavy, dark-complexioned youth of eighteen with a flat nose and a broad mouth, shook hands politely, murmuring something that Steve took to mean that he was pleased to meet him, and sank back to his seat. Steve took the easy-chair that Andy pushed forward.

"Well, how are you?" asked the football captain genially. "Haven't run across any more confidence-men, I hope."

Steve smiled none too heartily and cast a glance toward Williams. But the latter's blank expression showed that the allusion meant nothing to him and proved that, as far as Williams was concerned, Miller had kept his promise of secrecy.

"No, not yet," answered Steve. "I thought I'd just drop in a minute and call."

"Of course. Glad you did. How's your friend?"

"Tom! He's fine, thanks. I—he wasn't through studying, so I didn't wait for him."

"And how's football going?" asked Andy. "Getting on pretty well?"

"I think so. Not so very well, though. I—I don't seem to please Marvin very well with tackling."

"Oh, you'll get onto that all right," said Andy cheerfully. "Fact is, I don't think a fellow ever really learns much at the dummy. It's dumping a chap in real playing that shows you what's wanted. Don't you think so, Hat?"

"Dummy practice is a good thing," answered Williams morosely.

He sat tilted back on the chair, hands in pockets, staring at the floor. He seemed a gloomy sort of fellow, Steve thought, and was relieved when Williams added: "Guess I'll run over to Johnny's for a minute," and, muttering something about being glad to have met the visitor, found a cap and wandered out.

"I suppose," said Steve, when the door had closed, "it's necessary for a fellow to learn how to tackle, but it seems to me that if you aren't awfully good at it you might get a chance to show what you can do besides that."

"I guess I don't quite understand what you mean," responded Andy.

"I mean that if I can't tackle the dummy well enough to please Marvin," answered Steve a trifle bitterly, "I do as well as lots of other fellows, and—and it doesn't seem fair to keep me back just for that. Lots of fellows have been taken on to the second squad that can't play as well as I can, Miller."

"Oh! I see." Andy's eyes narrowed a little and he looked at Steve more intently. "You mean that you aren't getting a fair show, Edwards?"

"It doesn't seem so to me. I played with my high school team for two years at left end and—and did pretty well. Of course, I don't say that I'm as good as some of the fellows here, but I do think that I'm as good as—as a lot of them; and a heap better than three or four that have gone to the second squad lately. I don't get a chance to show what I can do where I am now, Miller. Marvin doesn't even let me into signal drill more than half the time, and then he puts me at half or tackle and I've never played either of those places. And when I told him so the other day he just laughed and said that one place was as good as another on the third! And he rags me every day about my tackling and—and I don't think it's fair! If he will give me a chance I'll pick up tackling all right. You say yourself that a fellow learns it more from playing than from dummy work."

"So I did," said Andy thoughtfully. Then, after a moment: "Look here, Edwards, I think you've got a wrong idea in your head. If Marvin isn't satisfied with your tackling, it's because you don't do it right. Marvin's a good man and he knows football. Now, if you expect to play end you ought to know how to tackle, Edwards. What's the good of getting down the field, no matter how fast you may be, if you can't stop the man with the ball when you get there?"

"I can stop him! I've played for two years and–"

"What you've done before, Edwards, isn't any criterion with us. You may have been a regular wonder in—what's the place? Tannerstown–"

"Tannersville. I don't say I was a wonder, but–"

"Just a minute! You may have been a star on your high school team and yet not worth a copper cent to us, Edwards. I never saw your team play, but it's pretty likely that their brand of football and ours are different."

"I think we play as good football as you fellows played to-day," said Steve.

"Maybe. I'm not especially proud of the game we put up this afternoon. But that isn't the sort of football we play in mid-season, my friend. I'm sorry you think you aren't getting a fair deal, Edwards, but you mustn't expect me to interfere with Marvin. I couldn't do it. The most I can do is give you a little piece of advice which you won't care for probably. It's this: Do as you're told to do, Edwards, and do it as hard as you know how! Just as soon as you show Marvin that you are ready to go into the second squad, you'll get there. And don't get it into your head that Marvin has it in for you or doesn't know what he is doing. Marvin's a particularly bright young man. If he wasn't he wouldn't have the third squad to weed out, for that's a job that requires a whole lot more patience and brains than any other job I know of on a football field."

Andy paused, and Steve, who was gloomily regarding a scarred knuckle, made no reply.

"Use your head, man," continued the captain in a lighter tone. "You don't suppose, do you, that we are letting anything good get by us as long as we've got eyes to see with? Not much! You probably have an idea that Marvin is keeping you off the second. He isn't. You're keeping yourself off. Mull that over, Edwards. And don't—don't do this again."

Steve looked a question.

"I mean don't come to me or to Mr. Robey with any hard-luck stories. It isn't done. If I didn't know you a little, Edwards, I'd think you were pretty poor stuff. But I guess you didn't stop to consider how it would look. As you have done it, I'm glad you came to me instead of Mr. Robey. He wouldn't have liked it a bit." After a pause: "How's Hall getting on?"

"Pretty well, I guess," replied Steve. He stood up and frowned at the green globe of the reading lamp for a moment. Then, "I'm sorry I said anything, Miller," he remarked. "I guess it wasn't quite a fair thing to do. Only I thought—maybe–"

"You thought," said Andy cheerfully, "that perhaps I'd give you a lift. Didn't you, Edwards?"

"I suppose so."

"In other words, you wanted me to advance you over the next man on the strength of our acquaintance. Sounds as though you had rather a punk impression of me, Edwards."

"I haven't! I—I suppose, though, I didn't stop to figure it out much. It seemed to me that Marvin wasn't giving me a fair show, and here it is the last of September already, and I'm just where I started–"

"That's your fault, not Marvin's," responded Andy with a smile. He walked over and laid a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Brace up, Edwards," he said kindly. "Don't waste your time looking for favours. Don't want them. Buckle down and grit your teeth and just show Marvin and the rest of us that you're so good he can't keep you on the third! That's your line, old man. And now, just as a bit of encouragement, I'll tell you that Robey and I have noticed your work in the field and we've liked it. You carry yourself like a veteran and you follow the ball well, and we both expect big things from you some day. Perhaps you won't make good this year, but there's next year and the year after. Put your nose back on the grindstone, Edwards, grin hard and tell Marvin to turn faster!"

"All right," laughed Steve. "Thanks. I guess you're right. And—and I'm not sorry now I came."

"Good! Now sit down again and let's have a chin. How do you like the school? Have you met many of the fellows yet?"

"You're making the same mistake, Edwards," said Marvin the next Monday afternoon. He spoke a trifle wearily. "Get your body in front of the runner and not at one side. Bind his legs together with your arms, then block him with your body and lift him back. If you do that he's got to stop, and when he falls he will fall towards his own goal and not yours. Try it over now."

And when Steve had tried it over, Marvin glanced at him sharply. It seemed to him that for almost the first time the candidate had really tried! He hadn't made a clean tackle, but he had profited by the instruction that had been heaped upon him for two weeks, and little Marvin mentally patted himself on the back and was very pleased with himself, for Marvin, although he would probably never play through a big game, and knew it, was as unselfishly devoted to the interests of the team as any fellow there.

"That's a heap better, Edwards," he said eagerly. "Now see if you can't do it just right the next time."

After that it seemed to Marvin that Steve tried harder and it seemed to Steve that the little quarter-back was more appreciative. On Tuesday, as the squad jogged away from the tackling pit, Marvin said:

"Edwards, let me see you after practice, will you?"

Steve, assenting, examined Marvin's face doubtfully. A week ago he would have expected trouble from such a request, but to-day Marvin's face held only good-will and a sort of eager friendliness, and while Steve wondered more than once during the remainder of practice what Marvin wanted of him he had no unpleasant forebodings.

There was to be a game on the morrow, the only mid-week contest of the season, and the first squad was released early. That gave Coach Robey a chance to give undivided attention to the second and third and he made the most of it. He and Andy Miller, the latter trailing a grey blanket after him, joined the third squad when the first team and substitutes had trotted away to the gymnasium and at once displayed a flattering but embarrassing interest. The Third was practising signals, eleven men in the line-up and two or three more following and watching. Marvin was driving them from a position at the rear, occasionally darting into the line, to correct a fault or illustrate a play. Unfortunately, Carmine, who was at quarter, noticed the coach's advent and immediately got flustered. When two plays had gone wrong Mr. Robey said:

"Marvin, you get in there and play quarter for a minute and give that man a chance to remember his signals. You come back here and look on, son."

After that the squad ran through plays with vim and snap. Now and then there was a mix-up, but the signals went pretty well. After each play the coach or Captain Miller, or sometimes both, criticised and explained. The plays were few and simple; straight plunges by the backs with an occasional forward pass; but almost every time the critics found some fault to correct. Steve was playing at left tackle, fighting valiantly against an imaginary opponent, and once, trotting back to his position after a short charge over the turf, he caught the eyes of Andy and Mr. Robey fixed on him speculatively. He hoped as he settled down again and listened for the signals that Captain Miller had not told the coach of that visit on Saturday night! He wanted to forget that himself and he wanted Andy Miller to forget it.

"That'll be all, Marvin," said Mr. Robey presently. He clapped his hands. "Everyone in, please!" he called. The players flocked to the bench and picked up sweaters and blankets, while Mr. Robey and Andy conversed over the coach's little black book. Finally: "We'll have a short scrimmage, fellows," he announced. "Second squad take the east goal and kick off to the third. Pick out your men, Brownell. You too, Marvin. Who do you want to start?"

It was the first scrimmage for the third squad fellows and they raced on eagerly. Steve was sent in as left tackle again and Tom beside him at guard. The pigskin soared away from the toe of a second squad forward, was gathered in by a third squad half-back near the twenty-yard line and was down five yards further on. "Line up, Third!" piped Carmine shrilly. "Give it to 'em hard now!"

There wasn't the finished skill displayed by the 'varsity team, but there was enough enthusiasm to almost make up for the lack of science. Back came the ball, the forwards sprang together, a half darted past right tackle, spinning like a top, faltered, went on, was stopped short by the Second's backs and borne back, grunting "Down! Down!" with all the breath left in his body.

"Second down!" proclaimed Joe Lawrence, the manager, jumping into the mêlée. "Six to go."

Mr. Robey and Andy Miller followed the teams closely, watching and shouting directions, the coach on the third squad side and Andy behind the second.

"Good work, you fellow!" applauded Andy, darting up to slap the half on the back and send him back to his place breathless but grinning. "That's the way to do it! Now, then, once more. You've got six to go. Let me see you get it. Play lower, you fellows in the line! Get down there! Lift 'em and throw 'em back! That's the ticket!"

But the gain was scant and Carmine walked back to kick.

"Get through and block this!" panted the second's quarter, dodging back and forth for a likely opening.

"You fellow on the end there!" cried Andy. "Play back further and stop that tackle!"

"Watch for a forward pass!" warned a second squad back. "Spread out, Billy!"

"Hold 'em!" shouted Carmine.

Then came the signals, back sped the ball—a poor pass—the second came tearing through, Carmine dropped the ball and swung his leg and away it floated. A second squad back caught it near the side-line, tucked it under his arm and started back. The third squad's right end had been blocked and now, eager to make up for lost time, he overran and missed his tackle entirely and the second's back came speeding up the field near the side-line, a hastily-formed interference guarding him well. Ten yards, fifteen, twenty, and then Carmine wormed through and brought the runner to earth.

"That's one on you, right end," said Andy sternly. "You got boxed to the king's taste that time. Now, third, see what you can do on the defence."

"Draw your line in, Carmine," called Marvin. "Look where you are, man! The ball's almost on the twenty yards! Peters, close up there! Now push 'em back, third!"

"Who's that right end, Dick?" asked Andy of Marvin.

"Chap named Holt. He isn't very good."

"How would it do to try Edwards there? He looks clever."

"That's his position, Andy, but the kid can't tackle. I'll give him a try, though. That's rotten, third! Blaisdell, where were you then? For the love of mud, man, watch the ball! Five yards right through you! Now get back there and stop them!"

"Second down, five to go," called Lawrence. "You left end on the second, you were off-side then. Next time I'll penalise you. Watch out for it."

"Same formation!" piped the second's quarter. "Make it good, fellows! Let's score now!"

"Hold 'em, third! Don't give 'em an inch. Get down there, Peters!"

"Third down!" called Lawrence a moment later. "You've got three and a half to go, second!"

"That's the stuff!" cried Carmine jubilantly, dealing blows of approval on the bent backs of the forwards. "That's the way to stop 'em! Now once more, third!"

Then, "Fourth down and a yard and a half to go," announced Lawrence.

"Kick formation!" called the attacking quarter. "Simmons back!"

"Block this! Block it! Get through now, fellows!"

"Hold hard there, second!" There was a moment of silence. Then the ball shot back. Simmons caught it waist-high, dropped it, kicked and went down under the charge of the desperate second squad players. But the ball sailed over the cross-bar and the second had scored.

"That'll do, Holt," said Marvin. "Edwards, you play right end. Saunders!" A substitute struggled out of his sweater and came racing on. "Go in at left tackle, Saunders. Pearse, you'd better kick off."

The game went on, the second squad bringing the pigskin back twelve yards on the kick-off and then hammering through for fifteen more before the third forced them to punt. Carmine caught on his thirty-five yards, made a short gain and was downed. Twice the third got through for a yard or two and then Carmine again fell back to kick. This time the pass was a good one and Carmine got off an excellent punt that went over the head of the opposing quarter-back and bobbed along toward the goal. The left half scuttled to his assistance and, when the ball was in the quarter's arms, threw himself in front of the first of the foe. But that particular adversary was canny. He twisted aside, leaped over the stumbling half and dived for the runner. It was a poor tackle and the man with the ball struggled on for three yards after he was caught, but the ball was down on the second's twenty-seven yards, and Steve, picking himself up from the recumbent enemy, heard Marvin shouting: "A rotten tackle, Edwards, but fine work down the field!" And, "Good stuff, you end!" approved the coach, while Tom, beaming, patted him ungently on the back.

The scrimmage was over a minute later, and, although the second had triumphed by that goal from the field, the third trotted back to the gymnasium feeling very well pleased with themselves. They had had their baptism by fire and had acquitted themselves well. Steve and Tom, panting but happy, had almost reached the gymnasium when Steve recollected his engagement with Marvin.

"I've got to go back," he said in dismay. "I promised Marvin to see him after practice."

"There he comes now," said Tom, nodding toward where the little quarter was approaching with Mr. Robey and Andy Miller. Steve stopped beside the path and Tom fell back to wait for him.

"I forgot you wanted me to wait, Marvin," said Steve apologetically, as the trio came up.

"Oh, that's all right, Edwards. I forgot myself. Another day will do just as well. I didn't know we were to have scrimmage to-day."

"You keep up that stuff you showed to-day, Edwards," said Mr. Robey, "and we'll have you on the second the first thing you know." Then his glance passed Steve to Tom. "You too, Hall. I watched you. You're doing well. Keep it up."

The three went on, and Steve and Tom silently followed. Neither spoke until they reached the steps. Then,

"I'm awfully glad," said Tom.

"So am I," replied Steve heartily. "Bet you you'll make the second before the week is out."

"I meant about you, Steve," said Tom simply.