Kitabı oku: «Dick Merriwell's Trap: or, The Chap Who Bungled», sayfa 14
CHAPTER XXVIII – A SLIPPERY TRICK
In the following manner the two teams faced each other on that dark, wet, dreary Saturday afternoon:
A snow-storm had been threatening, but had turned to a rain-storm, the weather becoming milder. It was not a downpour – just a weak, unpleasant drizzle.
But a drizzle could not keep the cadets from turning out to witness the game. They packed the seats reserved for them. There was not the usual large gathering of spectators from the village and surrounding country, although the attendance was not light.
The visitors were the first to come trotting out on the field. They wore some sort of leathery-looking suits, and in the rain those suits glistened strangely. They did not resort to the practise of falling on the ball in warming up, but passed the ball from hand to hand and did a little kicking.
The Fardale team came jogging out in their well-worn suits. They went at the preliminary practise in the usual manner.
Brad Buckhart squinted at the New Era players, a peculiar expression on his face.
“Whatever sort of suits have they got on?” he said, turning to Jolliby.
“Ask me sus-sus-sus-something I cuc-cuc-can answer,” stuttered the tall boy.
“This rain makes ’em shine like grease,” said Brad. “They’re a queer-looking bunch.”
The cadets had given their team a cheer on its appearance. The band was not out. But the boys were prepared to sing and root in earnest.
Dick Merriwell had looked the enemy over. One of the fellows attracted his attention. When he drew aside with the referee and the captain of the visiting team, he said:
“Captain Huckley, there is a man on your team whom I know to be a slugger, as well as a professional. His name is Porter. I have played baseball against him, and know what he is.”
“Porter?” said Huckley, not at all pleased. “I think you must be mistaken about his character. He’s all right.”
“Then he has changed greatly for the better,” said Dick. “He has no great liking for me. I had some trouble with him once.”
“Well, you can’t ask me to break up my team just because you happened to have some trouble with one of the men on it.”
“I don’t ask you to break the team up; but you may find it a good plan to give Porter warning to play straight football. Those fellows up there on the seats won’t stand for crooked work.”
“That’s all right,” came with a sneer from Huckley. “We’ll have a snap with your little team to-day, Captain Merriwell. There won’t be any need of our resorting to anything but the simplest kind of football.”
“That remains to be demonstrated. Perhaps you may change your mind later.”
“Time is passing,” said the referee. “The game will begin late now.”
“We’re ready,” announced Dick grimly. “Flip the coin. Mr. Huckley may call it.”
“Heads,” said Huckley, as the coin spun in the air.
“Tails,” announced the referee. “Your choice, Captain Merriwell.”
There was not much wind, and Dick decided to kick off. So Fardale took the ball and the eastern goal to defend.
Singleton kicked, but, in spite of the fact that there was no wind, the ball flew off to one side and went out of bounds. When it was brought back the big fellow took plenty of time and smashed it hard and fair.
Up into the air and away sailed the ball. Over the muddy field raced Buckhart and Shannock.
Sampson caught the ball. He made no attempt to return the kick, but leaped forward.
Buckhart seemed to have the fellow foul. He tackled, but somehow he failed to hold the fellow, his hands slipping off in a most surprising way.
Sampson dashed onward.
Gardner fancied he saw his opportunity. He closed in on the runner and made a beautiful leap for a tackle.
“He’s got him!” cried the cadets.
But, although Gardner’s hands fell fairly on the runner, he was unable to hold Sampson, who slipped away from him and still kept on.
Darrell was the third man to tackle the runner, and he brought him down, although Sampson nearly slipped from his grasp in the struggle. But New Era had carried the ball back to her forty-yard line.
“Whatever have those galoots got on?” growled Buckhart, as he hurried to get into the line-up. “Why, I tackled the fellow all right, but he went out of my hands like grease.”
Gardner said nothing. He felt chagrined over his failure to stop Sampson. There was plenty of confidence in the New Era players as they lined up for the scrimmage.
There was a sudden signal, a single word spoken, and the ball was snapped and passed to Sampson.
The runner went straight into Fardale’s center, which was the strongest point of the home team’s line.
Those fellows in the shiny suits hit the line hard, and Sampson came through on the jump. It seemed that a dozen hands grabbed him, but he twisted and squirmed and slipped away and kept on for ten yards before being stopped. Merriwell was in the scrimmage, and he made a startling discovery.
“Boys!” he palpitated, as they prepared to line up again, “their suits are greased!”
It was a fact!
The leather suits, each suit made in one piece, were greased! That explained how it was that the tacklers had been unable to hold the man who carried the ball even when they clutched him with their hands.
That explained how Sampson had been able to slip through the center of Fardale’s line when many hands were placed upon him to restrain him.
If anything, the dampness added to the slippery condition of the leather suits, and the New Era players were like a lot of greased pigs.
Merriwell was thunderstruck. Never had he heard of such a trick, and when the truth dawned upon him he felt completely nonplused.
New Era gave Fardale little time for thought. She had the cadets “going,” and she meant to keep up the work. Again a word was spoken as a signal, and again the ball went to Sampson. There was a rush toward center, but Sampson circled to come around the right end.
Dick dashed to meet the fellow. He doubted if it would be possible to hold Sampson if he made a fair tackle. Therefore, as Sampson came round the end Dick charged him at full speed, plunged into him heavily and bowled him over.
The ball flew from Sampson’s hands.
Dick had expected the shock, and he recovered in a most amazing manner. With a dive, he caught up the ball and leaped away.
A New Era man grabbed for him. He thrust out his hand, caught the fellow under the chin and pushed him off with a thrust that actually lifted him off his feet.
Another came down on Dick, but Merriwell was like a cat on his feet and dodged away.
“I must do it!” thought Dick, as he darted toward the enemy’s goal-line.
They were after him. They sought to pen him in. He flew through them. The cadets rose on their seats and roared.
“Go, Merriwell!” they shrieked. “Go on, Merriwell!”
Considering the condition of the field, considering the fact that there were pools of water and the ground was wet and slippery, Dick’s speed was surprising. His dodging was even more surprising. It seemed that Dick was certain of getting through for a touchdown.
Austin cut down on him from one direction. Dick got past the visiting full-back. Then, with a clear field before him, he turned to make straight for the goal.
The other players, spread out and strung out, were coming after him. In that moment, when success seemed certain, Dick slipped. He had kept his feet in turning, twisting and dodging, but now he slipped and came near going down. He was up and away again, but Austin was close upon him.
“He’ll make it!”
“No, he won’t!”
“Austin has him!”
It was true that Austin had made a beautiful tackle, catching Dick about the legs and bringing him down so near the goal-line that another bound would have carried the ball over.
Then the pursuing players came pouring down upon them. In the lead was Porter, New Era’s right end.
Porter jumped into the air to come down on Dick with both feet, evidently hoping to put Captain Merriwell out of the game.
As Porter jumped into the air Dick rolled to one side, seeking to break Austin’s hold on his legs.
That saved him from serious injury. Porter struck him with one foot only, and then, as he reeled to fall, Brad Buckhart booted him with all the strength of a muscular leg, lifting him clean over the goal-line.
There was a mad roar of rage from the cadets who had witnessed Porter’s dastardly act. Another roar of satisfaction as they saw Buckhart lift the fellow with a swinging kick. Then it seemed that those watching lads would rush down from the seats and come pouring on to the field.
“Hold them back!” cried Professor Broad, the athletic instructor and master of the gym.
Thirty or forty lads, many of them wearing chevrons on their sleeves, joined with Professor Broad in restraining the excited witnesses.
On the field it seemed that a fight was imminent. Some of the New Era men wanted to tackle Buckhart, and he promptly invited them to come on.
“Sail right in, you galoots!” he cried, swinging his clenched fists in the air. “If that’s the kind of game you want to play, you’ll get all that is coming to you! You hear me shout!”
Captain Huckley restrained his men.
“The whole thing was unintentional,” he said.
“Not on my part,” promptly confessed Brad. “I kicked the onery skunk, and I meant to do it, you bet! He tried to stamp out my pard, and I’d shot him full of holes if I’d had a gun!”
From behind the ropes where he was being held in check, Chester Arlington cried:
“That’s the stuff, Buckhart! Get at him again!”
The excited cadets had been checked, but they were standing, looking black enough as they glared through the rain at the mud-bespattered players.
“Put him off the team!”
Somebody raised the cry, a dozen caught it up, it swelled louder and louder, it rose to a mad roar for the removal of Porter.
“Put him off! Put him off! Put him off!”
“Are you all right, captain?” asked big Bob Singleton, who had pulled Merriwell to his feet.
“All right,” assured Dick, squirming a little. “Nearly lost a rib, but I’m all right.”
“Porter jumped you with both feet. It was lucky you rolled just as you did.”
“Porter, eh? Where’s Captain Huckley?”
“Here,” was the answer.
“You know what I said about that fellow. He – ”
“No use to fuss about him now,” said Huckley. “The umpire disqualified him. He’s out of the game.”
This was true, and a substitute had been called to take Porter’s place.
The game went on, Fardale lining up with the ball within two yards of New Era’s goal.
The ball was snapped and passed back to Darrell. In a most surprising manner, two or three of New Era’s forwards slipped through Fardale’s line and had Hal before he could make an advance. Down he went. A loss of three yards! This was bad work.
“Hold fast in the line,” urged Dick. “Don’t let them through like that!”
“Talk about greased lightning!” grumbled Harry Dare.
“Can’t hold them,” said Gardner desperately. “Hands slip right off!”
“Whatever sort of a game is this?” growled Brad Buckhart, in deepest disgust. “Are they allowed to wear suits like that? Are they allowed to grease themselves so a fellow can’t get hold of them at all?”
The New Era players laughed in the faces of the Fardale lads.
“There are some things about this game you chaps do not know,” sneered Durban, who had taken Porter’s place.
“We may be able to teach you a trick or two before the game ends,” flung back Buckhart.
But Fardale could not seem to do much with these slippery fellows, and she failed to advance the ball, failed in trying for a field-goal, failed so dismally that the watching cadets groaned with dismay.
New Era took a turn at rushing the ball along the muddy field. She plowed into Fardale, and soon it seemed that the cadets had no show at all.
Chester Arlington, his rain-hat slouched over his face, was pale to the lips as he saw those greased players slip through Fardale’s line for steady gains, saw the ball carried along the muddy field toward Fardale’s goal, realizing in his heart that the home team was playing against a terrible handicap.
“Just my luck!” he thought. “Here I’ve been betting against Fardale and losing right along; to-day I bet on her, and these duffers come along with a trick that makes our team look like a lot of dubs. I’m beaten again! Lord have mercy! the old lady will have to cough up now, and that’s a fact!”
He groaned aloud when the thought of the dreadful condition financially that he would be in if Fardale lost that game. If Fardale lost! There seemed no doubt about that, for New Era walked straight along to a touch-down and then kicked a goal.
Fardale kicked off again. Nelson caught the ball and ran, slipping from the hands of three tacklers who got hold of him fairly. It was awful!
Dick Merriwell brought Nelson down at last, but the ball was in the center of the field.
“Bub-bub-blame this greasy business!” chattered Chip Jolliby, in deepest disgust. “There must be sus-some kuk-kind of a rule against it.”
He was covered with mud to the eyes, presenting a comical, as well as a wretched, spectacle.
“Hi don’t like this kind of football, don’t y’ ’now!” wailed Billy Bradley. “Hit’s hawful – simply hawful!”
“Brace up!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs. “I wish to thutteration I could git some dry dirt on my hands, then I guess I could hold on to one of them ’tarnal critters.”
Buckhart was blustering, but bluster did not amount to anything in this game. New Era had Fardale on the run, and she kept the work up. Again the ball was rushed down to Fardale’s line, the cadets being unable to hold the greased players. This time, however, Austin failed to kick a goal.
Dick talked to his men.
“Hold ’em, fellows,” he urged – “hold ’em as well as you can this half. I have an idea. We’ll get after them hard in the last half. They’re not our match. We can down them handily on even terms.”
Dick was satisfied from what he had seen of New Era’s playing that the team was not a match for Fardale on even terms. Had the suits of the visitors not been greased they could not have held their own with the cadets.
Having arrived at this belief, Dick began to think swiftly, and an idea soon flashed through his head. So he urged his men to hold New Era down as well as possible in the first half, promising a change in the final half.
The boys responded as well as they could under such discouraging conditions. Covered with dirt and grease, they stuck their toes into the mud and fought every inch of the ground. But New Era pushed her advantage, and before the half ended she had made three touch-downs, failing, however, to kick but one goal. And the whistle blew for the end of the half with the ball again less than seven yards away from Fardale’s line.
CHAPTER XXIX – THE MAGIC POWDER
Sympathizers with the cadets crowded about the gate as they passed out to trot over to the gym.
“Too bad, fellows!”
“Go for them next half!”
“Don’t give up!”
Some of them shook hands with the players as the latter passed out.
“You’re all right, Captain Merriwell!”
“We’re betting on you yet!”
Dick laughed. His hand was grasped once or twice. He felt something left in his palm. Looking down, he discovered a folded bit of paper.
As he trotted toward the gymnasium Dick unfolded the paper. On it he read, written with a lead-pencil:
“To solve the mystery of the spook, look at Chester Arlington’s watch. Ask him to let you see it. Ask Abe Gorman has he seen it before. —
A Friend.”
Dick thrust the paper into a safe place and kept on to the gym. Chester Arlington was there. He had his coat and vest off, his sleeves rolled up, and he was ready to give attention to any one who needed it.
Dick seized Elmer Dow at the door of the gymnasium and said something to him in a low tone.
“Have to go to the village for the stuff,” said Elmer.
“No,” declared Dick. “I bought a lot to use on rainy days when we had to play ball.”
Then he told Elmer where to find whatever it was that he wanted, and Dow hurried away.
Bradley’s shoulder had been twisted again, and Arlington was at work on him.
Abe Gorman was once more taking interest in the eleven, and, as he had managed the team, he was present in the gym.
“What time is it, Arlington?” asked Dick of Chester.
“Don’t know. There’s my coat and vest on that peg. Look at my watch.”
Chester seemed so busy that he scarcely realized who had asked to know the time.
Dick stepped over to the wall and took a watch from Chester’s pocket. He had noted that Gorman was close at hand. In a low tone, he said:
“Look here, Gorman; do you know this watch?”
Abe looked at it, started, gave a jump and grabbed it.
“Do I know it?” he cried excitedly. “It’s mine! Why, where did you – ”
He stopped short, seeing that the watch was attached to a chain that was hooked into the vest hanging on the wall.
“Whose coat and vest are these?” he asked harshly.
Chester had been attracted by Abe’s words. He left Bradley and stepped over.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Does this coat and vest belong to you?” demanded Gorman.
“Sure thing,” nodded Arlington.
“Well, will you explain how you happened to have my watch in your pocket?”
“Your watch?”
“Yes.”
“Why – ”
“Here it is! I saw Merriwell take it from your pocket. It’s attached to this chain.”
Arlington seemed thunderstruck. Dick was watching Chester closely, and he thought:
“The fellow is amazed, or he’s an excellent actor.”
“What sort of a joke is this?” Arlington demanded. “Where is my watch?”
“I don’t know about your watch,” said Gorman coldly; “but I do know that this watch, found in your pocket, is my watch. I wish you to explain how its came there!”
Chester had turned pale.
“Why, confound it! I hope you don’t think I stole your old watch, Gorman?” he said hotly.
“I have not stopped to think much about it. I know it was stolen from my room, and I know it was found in your pocket.”
Other fellows were gathering around, and Arlington grew indignant.
“I’d have you understand,” he said fiercely, “that my father is D. Roscoe Arlington, and I do not have to become a petty thief! I can have a dozen watches, if I need them. Somebody put that watch there to injure me! Merriwell, you – you asked what time it was! I told you to look at my watch. You – you are the one who took it out of that pocket! You,” he almost shouted – “you have put up this job on me!”
In his great excitement, Chester seemed almost ready to hurl himself at Dick.
“Steady!” flung back the captain of the eleven. “No fellow ever knew me to put up a dirty job on another. I found that watch in your pocket, Arlington.”
“Ready for the field!” cried the timekeeper. “Everybody hustle! Just time to get back.”
The football-players hurried toward the door. Dick, with the others, leaving Gorman and Arlington to settle the matter.
Elmer Dow came panting into the gym.
“Got it?” asked Dick anxiously.
For reply Dow thrust into Dick’s hands a large paper bag. Dick opened it quickly and peered within.
The bag contained a glistening white powder.
“That’s the stuff!” exclaimed the captain of the eleven exultantly. “Now we’ll see if there is no way of holding on to those greased New Era chaps!”
And he hurried to overtake his men.
When the Fardale team went on the field for the second half it was observed that across the breast of each man was a strange broad white streak. From a distance it looked like a broad chalk-mark, somewhat wider than a man’s hand.
New Era was confident. She expected to use Fardale worse in the second half than she did in the first. The shiny suits of the New Era men looked shinier and more slippery than ever.
The rain had stopped, but the field was a muddy spectacle.
After the kick-off the two teams went at each other in earnest. As they lined up for the scrimmage, the Fardale men were seen to rub their hands across their chests where the white streak could be seen.
When the crash came Fardale went into the enemy with ginger, and New Era found difficulty in slipping through after the fashion set earlier in the game. Somehow, for all of the greased suits, the Fardale lads were able to grasp the enemy and cling to them. New Era was surprised by her first repulse.
The two teams lined up again. Signal. Back went the ball to Sampson. He was the man to make a gain in an emergency.
A revolving formation smashed into Fardale’s right wing. Sampson was shot out of it with the ball. But not until the cadets had begun in the most surprising manner to yank the formation to pieces.
There seemed an opening between Bradley and Jolliby, and through this Sampson tried to plunge.
Dick Merriwell met him. Dick’s hands fell on him. Sampson gave a wrenching twist and sought to slip away, but he did not slip.
Dick held the fellow fast and flung him backward. Fardale closed in, and the rush was stopped. Still New Era was not satisfied. What had happened that she could not slip through the Fardale line after the same fashion as before?
Another line-up was followed by an attack on the left wing of Fardale’s line. Kinter and Sheehan sought to force Dare and Gardner apart. But Dare and Gardner had rubbed their hands across that magic belt of white on their breasts, and they gripped Kinter and Sheehan with hands that did not slip. The others who sought to aid Kinter and Sheehan were baffled, and when Nelson took the ball through the line he was grabbed and held.
Down! The cadets were roaring. They knew something had happened. They realized that the “greased pigs” were not having a snap, after the way of the first half.
New Era was held for downs. The ball went to Fardale. How the cadets on the seats did cheer!
Fardale had new life. She went into New Era smashingly. The ball was advanced – three yards, five yards, nine yards!
New Era was amazed. They saw the cadets rub their hands across their bosoms and then tackle surely and firmly. What sort of magic was this?
Fardale did not give up the ball. She walked steadily along the muddy field with it, playing hard, swift and handsomely.
Not until Fardale had advanced to within five yards of the goal did she lose the ball. Then it was lost on a fumble by Darrell, Sheehan coming through and falling on it. But now New Era was rattled. The visitors realized now that without the advantage of the greased suits they would not stand much show in the game, and something had happened which seemed to rob those greased suits of their effectiveness.
The muddy hands of the Fardale lads soon destroyed the whiteness of the line across their breasts; but one or two of them seemed to be carrying a white powder, which was passed from hand to hand. Each of the cadet players took a handful of this powder and smeared it across his breast, partly renewing the white line.
New Era, in her excitement, started with an off-side play that set her back half the distance to the goal-line. On the very next play there was holding in the line, and the ball went to Fardale.
The cadets signalized their recovery of the ball by pushing it over for a touch-down at the very first attempt.
Singleton kicked for a goal, but with the stopping of the rain a wind had risen, and he did not take it into consideration, with the result that the ball was deflected so that it struck one of the uprights and bounded off.
Score: New Era, 16; Fardale, 5.
Fardale’s chances looked desperate, but she was right in the game with vim and ginger at the next kick-off. Plainly she was playing to win, if such a thing was possible. By this time New Era had fathomed the secret of Fardale’s success in seizing and holding the visiting players in the greased suits. It was resin – powdered resin!
Dick Merriwell had sent Elmer Dow for a bag of the stuff, which he had used while pitching to handle a wet and slippery baseball. This powdered resin had been smeared across the breasts of the Fardale players, who rubbed their hands in it frequently, and thus were enabled to grasp and hold the greased visitors.
Somehow Fardale’s success in meeting and spoiling the effectiveness of New Era’s trick seemed to take the heart out of the enemy. Seeing this, the cadets played with renewed energy, and it was not long before the ball was again carried to New Era’s line and pushed over for a touch-down.
This time Smart held the ball, and Dick did the kicking. Dick waited for the wind to lull a little, and then he kicked with all the skill and judgment he could command. The oval sailed straight over the center of the cross-bar.
Score: New Era, 16; Fardale, 11.
Chester Arlington was shaking with excitement. He had shouted until his voice was a husky whisper.
“Keep it up!” he croaked. “One more touch-down! One more goal! We’ll win!”
But the time was short, and, for all of her success, Fardale’s chances seemed small. Dick urged his men to do their best, and they responded after the manner of true Fardale boys.
Getting the ball, New Era attempted to keep it in her possession and kill time, knowing that would enable her to win. But Fardale was fierce, and a fumble gave Ted Smart his chance. He dropped on the ball, with six or seven fellows on top of him.
Fardale had the ball, though Smart was carried from the field for the first time during the season, being replaced by Toby Kane.
Fardale went into the enemy with such fierce rushes that New Era was beaten backward yard by yard, fighting every foot of the distance. Every spectator was standing now, for all understood what might happen. Fardale could tie the score with a touchdown. With a touch-down and goal she could win the game.
With less than a minute to play, Fardale was still nine yards from the goal.
“A kick from the field!” cried somebody. “She’s going to try to tie the score!”
It seemed like a kick for a field-goal, but the movement had been made to deceive New Era. The ball was passed to Dick, who went into New Era’s center directly behind Obediah Tubbs.
The fat boy walked in with his arms swinging, and he hurled players to the right and left. Once before he had won a game by tearing a hole through center at a critical period, and now he repeated the performance. He ripped up New Era’s center in splendid style, and through the opening went Dick Merriwell. Right over the line shot Dick, Sampson tackling him and pulling him down a second too late. It was a touch-down.
The score was tied and time was up!
But a touch-down made under the circumstances gives the team making it an opportunity to kick for goal, so the ball was brought out. Darrell held it, and Dick Merriwell drove it over the cross-bar, winning the game by one point.
