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CHAPTER VIII
THE RIVALS OF OAK HALL

For the moment after Dave made his announcement there was a dead silence. The faces of Gus Plum and his associates showed their disappointment.

"Going to play us, eh?" said the bully, slowly.

"You'll be beaten out of your boots," said Nat Poole, with a sneer.

"That remains to be seen," answered Roger. "We accept the challenge and we are here to arrange all the details of the game."

A talk lasting nearly a quarter of an hour followed, in which they went over such details as seemed necessary. Plainly Plum was ill at ease. He wanted to chose an umpire, referee, and linesmen from outside of Oak Hall, but the senator's son would not consent to this.

"I am satisfied to have Mr. Dale for umpire," he said. "And three of our head students can act as referee and linesmen." And so at last it was decided, but not without a great deal of grumbling.

"You won't win this time, Porter," remarked Nick Jasniff, as Dave and Roger were leaving. "After this game you'll never be heard of again in this school."

"'He laughs best who laughs last,'" quoted Dave, and walked away, arm in arm with Roger. Jasniff stared after him and so did Plum and Poole.

"They really mean to play after all," muttered Poole. "I was dead sure they'd decline."

"You never can tell what Porter will do," growled Gus Plum. "I'll wager he got Morr to accept."

"Well, we've got to wax 'em good and hard," remarked Nick Jasniff. "And we ought to be able to do that easily enough – with Henshaw and Babcock on our side. Those two fellows play as if they belonged to some college eleven."

"Yes, I hope great things from Henshaw and Babcock," answered the bully of Oak Hall.

When Roger and Dave returned to the members of their own eleven they were asked how Plum and his crowd had taken the acceptance of the challenge. Then the coming game was discussed from every possible point of view.

"Do you know, I'd almost rather beat Plum than some outside team," remarked Phil. "He deserves to be taken down."

"I don't like Nick Jasniff at all," said Dave, slowly. "In one way I think he is a worse fellow than either Plum or Poole."

"He has a bad eye," said Sam. "It's an eye I don't trust."

"Which puts me in mind of a story," added Shadow. "Now don't stop me, for this is brand-new – "

"Warranted?" queried Dave.

"Yes, warranted. Two Irishmen and a Dutchman got into an argument and when they separated all three were in bad humor. The next day one of the Irishmen met the other Irishman. 'Sure, Pat,' says he. 'I don't loike that Dootchmon at all, at all.' 'Nayther do I,' answered the other Irishman. 'He has a bad eye, so he has,' went on the first Irishman. 'That's roight, he has – an' I gave him that same this very marnin'!' says the other Irishman."

"Three cheers for the new joke!" cried Roger, and a general laugh arose.

"Well, I suppose all we can do is to start practice and keep it up until the day for the match comes," said Dave, after the laughter had subsided.

"That's it," answered the senator's son. "We'll do what we can this very afternoon."

The boys went to their classroom with their heads full of the coming football contest. Roger had already made up his eleven, largely from the material of the season previous. But the boys who had gone from Oak Hall left weak spots in the line which it was next to impossible to fill.

Then came another set-back, which made Dave and the others gloomy enough, and caused Gus Plum and his associates to smile grimly to themselves. Instead of remaining clear, a cold, dismal rain set in that very afternoon and kept up for two days. To practise on the football field was out of the question, and all Roger's eleven could do was to exercise in the gymnasium. Here there was always some one of Plum's crowd to look on and see whatever was being tried in the way of a trick or a new movement.

"I hope it rains Saturday, too," grumbled Phil. "We won't be able to make any kind of a showing at this rate."

"It will be just our luck to have good weather Saturday," sighed Shadow.

Even Dave was disheartened, but he did not show it. Instead he did all the practising he could in the gymnasium and helped Roger whip the eleven into shape. As he had said, he did not care for football as much as baseball, but he was resolved to do his best.

On Saturday morning all the boys were up early, to see what sort of weather they were going to have. The sun was under a cloud, but by nine o'clock it cleared up and a fine, warm wind from the south sprang up.

"That settles it, we have got to play," said Buster Beggs.

"Let us go out and practise as soon as we can," said the senator's son, and called the eleven without delay.

Of course the match had been talked over throughout the school and even outside. As a consequence, when the time came to play, a goodly crowd had assembled on the football field. There was cheering for both sides and the waving of a good many Oak Hall banners. In the small stand that had been put up sat Dr. Clay and about twenty visitors.

"I don't see anything of Henshaw and Babcock," said Dave, looking over the field. "They must be going to play."

"There they are, over in the corner, talking to Plum and Poole," answered Roger, pointing with his hand.

"They must be planning some new move," said Phil. "We'll have to watch out for them."

Presently Babcock, a fine, sturdy player, came forward, followed by Henshaw. Both were frowning, and when Babcock said something to his companion Henshaw nodded vigorously. Plum and Poole came behind, and neither appeared particularly happy.

The game was to be played under the rules of that year, with two halves of thirty minutes each. When it came to the practice Roger's team did what it could. The players were full of energy, but the team work was not at all what it might have been.

"Want to tune up!" sang out one looker-on, to Roger. "Get together!"

"We are trying to," answered the senator's son.

Plum's eleven did much better in practice, working in perfect harmony. Only Poole made fumbles, for which the bully of the Hall upbraided him roundly.

"Oh, don't howl at me," growled Poole. "I am doing as well as you are."

At length the game was called and the two elevens lined up. They were pretty well matched, although Henshaw and Babcock stood out above the others.

"Wish that pair were on our side," sighed Roger. "Each of them has weight, wind, and cleverness – just the things a good football player ought to possess."

There was no time to say more. The toss-up gave Plum's eleven the ball and a few minutes later it was put into play and sent twenty yards into our friends' territory. Then came a scrimmage and the leather went back and forth rapidly. The play was ragged, for neither side had as yet settled down to hard work. There was no brilliant play, and when the ball was carried over the line by Henshaw the applause was rather tame.

"An easy touchdown!"

"Now make it a goal."

This was not so easy, for the wind had freshened. The ball sailed outside of the posts, so that the Arrows received but five points.

Again the ball was put into play and now the work on both sides became more earnest. Several of Gus Plum's players became rough and Plum himself tried to "spike" Dave with his shoe. Dave gave the bully a shove that sent him headlong.

"A foul! Time!" was the cry.

"He tried to spike me!" cried Dave, hotly.

"I didn't!" roared the bully.

"He did – I saw it!" put in Roger.

"Have you spikes in your shoes?" demanded the umpire.

"No," muttered Gus Plum, but his face grew red.

The umpire made him show the bottoms of his shoes. Each had a small spike in it – something quite contrary to the rules, as all football players know.

"Change your shoes at once, or get out of the game," was the decision rendered, and Gus Plum ran off the field with a redder face than ever.

The first half of the game closed with the score 12 to 0 in favor of Gus Plum's eleven. A safety for Roger's team had been made by Dave, who saw it was the only thing to do when crowded by Babcock, Henshaw, and two others. The second touchdown made by the Arrows came through Babcock aided by several others.

"We could whip them if it wasn't for Babcock and Henshaw," said Luke Watson. "Those two chaps are dandy players and no mistake."

During the intermission it was seen that Gus Plum was having another lively interview with Babcock and Henshaw. But the two expert players would not listen to the bully of Oak Hall.

"Something is wrong in their camp, that's certain," was Phil's comment.

"Look here, if you say anything, I'll put you off the team!" cried Gus Plum, to Babcock and Henshaw, so loudly that many standing around could hear him.

"All right, put me off if you wish," answered Babcock sharply.

"I'll never play with you again anyway!" added Henshaw. "I've done my best to-day, but this ends it, if I never play again as long as I stay at Oak Hall."

"You're out of it, both of you!" roared Gus Plum, in a sudden rage. "Dawson, take Henshaw's place, and Potter, you take Babcock's place. I'll show you that I can run a team to suit myself."

"Very well," said Babcock, and turning on his heel he left the field. Henshaw, without saying a word, followed his friend.

All who witnessed the scene were curious to know what it meant, but none of the other Arrow players would explain. Soon it was time for the second half of the game. Two of Roger's players had been slightly hurt, and their places were filled by two substitutes, which weakened the eleven still more.

"Henshaw and Babcock are out of it!" cried Phil, to Roger and Dave.

"That gives us a better chance to win," said the senator's son.

"If it isn't too late," returned Sam Day; "12 to 0 is a pretty hard lead to overcome."

"We'll do our best," said Dave. "Let every man go in for all he is worth!"

The play was fast and furious from the very start, and inside of two minutes Roger's players had the leather close to the Arrows' goal line. But then Nick Jasniff with extreme roughness hurled Sam Day to the ground. Jasniff was off-side at the time and his movements were consequently contrary to the rules.

"You may retire from the field," said the referee, after he and the umpire had talked the matter over.

Poor Sam was in bad shape when picked up and carried from the field, but fortunately he recovered inside of an hour. In the meantime another player was put in his place and another in the place of Jasniff and the game went on.

CHAPTER IX
THE END OF THE GAME

"A touchdown for the Morr team!"

"That's the way to do it!"

"Now make it a goal!"

The leather had been carried over the line after hard work. Without delay it was placed in position for the kick and went sailing directly between the two posts.

"That's the talk!"

"Now go and make another!"

There were still eighteen minutes in which to play. The goal made Roger, Dave, and the others enthusiastic, and they "sailed in" as never before. On the other hand, the loss of Babcock, Henshaw, and Jasniff cast a gloom over Gus Plum's eleven and the bully could do little to rally them.

"It was a mistake to fire Babcock and Henshaw," said one of the tackles. "They were our best players."

"That's right," added the center rush.

"Do you mean to say they can play better than I and Nat?" demanded Gus Plum.

"They can play just as well," grumbled the tackle.

"Rot! Come on ahead and wax 'em!"

But the call to "wax" Roger's team was of small avail. With Babcock and Henshaw gone the Arrows could do little or nothing, and soon Dave kicked a goal from the field. Then came another touchdown, another goal from the field, and two more touchdowns. Each of the touchdowns resulted in goal kicks. The Arrows were in despair and could do absolutely nothing.

"Pile it on!" cried Roger, enthusiastically. "Pile it on, boys!" And they did pile it on, until the whistle blew and the game was over.

Final score – Plum's eleven 12, Roger Morr's eleven 45!

It was a terrible defeat for the bully of Oak Hall and he could scarcely wait for the game to come to an end. He fairly ran for the gymnasium when it was over and did his best to keep out of sight for the rest of the day and all day Sunday, and Nat Poole went with him.

The cheering for Roger and his eleven was great, and all the players came in for their full share of glory. Dave had done some remarkably clever work, for which his friends shook his hand and congratulated him.

"Well, you gave Gus Plum's crowd all that was coming to them," said one of the students to Dave. "I don't think he'll ever organize another football eleven in this academy."

What this student said was practically true. During the following week the Arrows held several stormy sessions and the upshot was that the eleven disbanded. Nearly all the players were angry because Gus Plum had put Henshaw and Babcock out of the game, for to this they attributed their defeat. It leaked out that Plum had wanted the two players to play some rough trick on Roger's eleven, and both Babcock and Henshaw had declined, stating that it was against the rules and unsportsmanlike. This had angered the bully, and hence the quarrel and separation.

"I want to play fairly and squarely or not at all," said Babcock, and Henshaw said practically the same thing. Gus Plum denied the report, but nobody believed him.

During the following week Dave was taking a walk along the river bank when he heard loud talking close at hand. Looking through the bushes he saw Sam Day and Nick Jasniff.

"You had no business to jump on me as you did at the game," Sam was saying. "It was outrageous."

"Oh, stop your yowling," grumbled Jasniff. "It wasn't done on purpose."

"It was done on purpose, Nick Jasniff, and I think you were a brute to do it."

Sam had scarcely uttered the latter words when Nick Jasniff, who carried a heavy stick in his hand, leaped forward and struck out. The stick landed on Sam's head and he went down in a heap.

"Don't!" he groaned. "Don't hit me again!"

"Won't I, though!" cried Nick Jasniff, in a passion. "I'd like to know what's to hinder me?" And he raised the stick again.

"Stop, Jasniff!" came from Dave, and leaping through the bushes he came up behind the student and caught the stick in his hand. "What do you mean by attacking Sam in this fashion?"

"Let go of that stick!" ejaculated Jasniff, and tried to pull it away. Then a tussle ensued which came to an end as Dave twisted the stick from the other youth's grasp and flung it into the river.

"What do you mean by throwing my cane away?" cried Jasniff.

"I want you to leave Sam alone."

"I've a good mind to give you a drubbing."

"Better not try it, Jasniff," answered Dave, as calmly as he could. He stood on guard against any treachery.

"Think you're the king of the school, don't you?"

"No, but I am always ready to stand up for a friend."

By this time Sam was staggering to his feet. He rushed at Nick Jasniff and sent him backward into the bushes.

"You will hit me with your stick!" he exclaimed. "Thank you, Dave, for what you did, but I can take my own part." And he stood over Jasniff with clenched fists.

"Two to one, eh?" sneered Jasniff, as he got up slowly. "That's fighting fair, ain't it?"

"It is fairer than hitting a fellow with a stick," retorted Sam. "But I can fight you alone, if you want to fight."

"I'll not soil my hands on you further," grumbled Nick Jasniff, and backing away, he walked off towards the school at a rapid pace.

"The coward!" murmured Sam, as he and Dave watched the departure.

"Do you know, Sam, I don't like that fellow at all," said Dave. "I've said so before. He's a bad egg if ever there was one."

"I believe you. Cadfield told me that there was a report in the town Jasniff came from that he had once set fire to a farmer's barn because the farmer caught him stealing peaches, but the whole matter was hushed up."

"He doesn't appear to be any too good to set fire to a barn. We'll have to keep our eyes open for him after this."

"I certainly shall. I don't want to be struck down with a stick again," answered Sam.

With the brisk autumn winds blowing, kite-flying was in favor with many of the students of Oak Hall and numerous were the big and little kites that were sent up. Some were curiously painted, some were of the box variety, while others were in the shape of eagles and other big birds. Most of the kites were raised from a meadow near the river, and every afternoon a crowd of students would go down to watch the sport.

Roger made for himself an immense eagle kite, while Phil tried his hand at a plain affair, shaped like a diamond and eight feet high and five feet across.

"That ought to be strong enough to pull a wagon," was Dave's comment, as he surveyed Phil's creation. "You'll have to get a pretty strong cord to hold it, otherwise it may drag you into the river – if the wind happens to be blowing that way."

One afternoon a number of the boys brought out their flat kites and started to see who could make his fly the highest. Among the crowd was Nat Poole, who had a gorgeous affair painted yellow and red.

"Wait till you see this soar upward," he said, boastfully. "I'll bet it will go up a hundred feet higher than any other."

Half a dozen kites were already in the air and soon more were raised. Then Poole ran his new kite up. It arose a distance of a hundred feet and then began to dart from side to side.

"You want more tail, Nat!" cried a friend.

"That kite isn't balanced right," said Ben.

"Oh, it's all right, only it isn't high enough," answered Nat Poole. He was not one to take advice, and so he did his best to get the kite to ascend without altering it.

Among those in the meadow at the time was Job Haskers. He was going on a visit to some ladies who lived not far from the Hall and was taking a short cut instead of journeying around by the regular road. He did not care for sports of any kind and so paid small attention to what was taking place. He was arrayed in his best, and on his head rested a new high hat, the silk nap polished to the best degree.

Dave was aiding Phil to manage his big kite and so did not notice the assistant teacher until Job Haskers passed close by.

"My! but he is dressed up!" Dave remarked to his chum.

"Must be going to see his best lady friend," was Phil's comment. "Oh, look at Nat Poole's kite!" he added, suddenly.

Dave looked and saw the kite in question far up in the sky and swooping wildly from side to side. Then the kite made a downward plunge, skimming over the meadow like a wild bird.

"Look out, or somebody will get hit!" cried Dave, and fell down as the kite passed within a foot of his head. Then the kite went up again, only to take another plunge.

As this was occurring, Job Haskers was starting to leap over a small brook that flowed across the meadow into the river. Another wild plunge, and down came Poole's kite on the teacher's head, smashing the silk hat flat and sending Job Haskers face first into the stream of muddy water!

The score of boys who witnessed the mishap could not help but laugh, and a roar went up. The teacher floundered around wildly and it was several seconds before he could pull himself from the brook. His face and the front of his clothing were covered with mud, and he was more angry than words can describe.

"You – you – Who did that?" he spluttered, after ejecting some of the dirty water from his mouth. "I demand to know who did it!" And he shook his fist at the students.

"The kite did it," answered one boy, who stood behind some others.

"Whose kite was it?"

At this there was a silence, no one caring to tell upon Nat Poole, who stood with the kite string still in his hand and his mouth wide open in amazement and terror.

"I say, whose kite was it?" bawled the irate teacher, and then, as he rubbed the water from his eyes, he caught sight of the kite and the string. "Ha! so it was yours, Master Poole!"

"I – er – I didn't mean to do it," stammered Nat Poole. "The – the kite came down all of a sudden."

"Infamous! Look at me! Look at my hat!" Job Haskers caught up the battered tile. "This is an outrage!"

"Really, I didn't mean to do it, Mr. Haskers," pleaded Poole. He was fairly shaking in his shoes. "The – the kite got the best of me!"

"A likely story! You boys are forever trying to play your tricks on me! I know you! You'll pay for this silk hat!"

"Yes, sir, I'll do that," answered Nat, eagerly.

"And you'll pay for having this suit of clothes cleaned."

"Yes, sir."

"And you'll pay all other damages, too."

"Yes, sir."

"And you'll go to your classroom and stay there until supper time," went on Job Haskers, in high anger. "Stay there every day this week, too. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir, but – "

"I will not listen to a word, young man. Go, – go at once! If I had my way I'd dismiss you from the school!" roared the assistant teacher.

And then and there he made Nat Poole take up his kite and march off to the academy, there to stay in after school every day for a full week. More than this, he brought in a bill for fifteen dollars' worth of damage, to the silk hat and the suit of clothing, and this bill Aaron Poole had to pay, even though the miserly money-lender did his best to evade it.