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Kingsford, Quarter, by Ralph Henry Barbour—A Project Gutenberg eBook
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<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 57740 ***</div>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 560px;">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="560" height="812" alt="cover" title="cover" />
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="noic">Kingsford, Quarter</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 436px;">
<a id="i_frontis">
<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" width="436" height="600" alt="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption">THE GREAT GAME.</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<h1>Kingsford, Quarter</h1>
<p class="p2 noic">By</p>
<p class="noi author">Ralph Henry Barbour</p>
<p class="noi works">Author of “The Crimson Sweater,” “Tom, Dick, and Harriet,”<br />
“Harry’s Island,” “Captain Chub,” etc.</p>
<p class="p2 noic">With Illustrations</p>
<p class="noi illustrator">By C. M. Relyea</p>
<div class="pad4">
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 92px;">
<img src="images/logo.jpg" width="92" height="94" alt="logo" title="logo" />
</div>
</div>
<p class="noi adauthor">New York<br />
The Century Co.<br />
1910</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="noic">Copyright, 1909, 1910, by<br />
<span class="smcap">The Century Co.</span></p>
<p class="p2 noic"><i>Published September, 1910</i></p>
<p class="p6 noic">Electrotyped and Printed by<br />
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p class="noic">TO</p>
<p class="noi adauthor">CARLETON NOYES</p>
<p class="noic">AS A TOKEN OF A<br />
LONG FRIENDSHIP</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
<col style="width: 20%;" />
<col style="width: 70%;" />
<col style="width: 10%;" />
<tr>
<th class="pr smfontr">CHAPTER</th>
<th class="tdl"></th>
<th class="smfontr">PAGE</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">I.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Evan Happens in</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">3</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">II.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">The Boy in 32</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">14</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">III.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Evan Makes Acquaintances</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">28</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">IV.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Malcolm Warne</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">41</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">V.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Evan Is Warned</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">55</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">VI.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">The Hazing</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">71</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">VII.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">Up the Mountain</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">89</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">VIII.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">On Table Rock</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">104</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">IX.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">Dinner Is Served</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">112</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">X.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Stories and Slumber</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">121</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XI.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Jelly Climbs a Tree</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">131</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XII.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">In the Fog</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">145</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XIII.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">Evan Retires</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">157</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XIV.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">The Football Meeting</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">167</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XV.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Contribution-box</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">182</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XVI.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">Rob Plays a Trump</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">195</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XVII.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">The Independents Organize</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">205</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XVIII.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Duffield Takes Hold</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">220</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XIX.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Devens Agrees</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">233</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XX.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">Independents vs. Second</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">246</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XXI.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Devens Resigns</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">262</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XXII.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">The School Takes a Hand</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">277</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XXIII.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">The Independents Dissolve</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">296</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdrt">XXIV.</td>
<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">The Game with Adams</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">312</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_frontis">The Great Game</a></td>
<td class="tdrb"><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> </td>
<td class="smfontr">PAGE</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p007">“Look pleasant, kid,” he continued threateningly</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">7</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p021">“I play foot-ball,” answered Evan. “I want to try for the
team here”</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">21</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p047">“Hello!” he said. “Oh, beg pardon. Where’s Rob?”</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">47</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p057">“Ever played foot-ball?”</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">57</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p067">“Talk about your palatial mansions!” exclaimed Rob</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">67</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p083">He went through the motions of kicking from placement</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">83</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p199">It was a silent and very disgusted throng of spectators</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">199</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p217">“If we don’t make Hop and Prentiss sit up and take
notice before the season’s over, I’ll eat my hat!”</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">217</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p229">“Now then, you fellows—I’m here to show you what I know
about foot-ball and you’re here to learn”</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">229</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p251">The game between the Independents and the Second School
Team</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">251</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p273">“Then that’s settled, eh?” asked Hopkins beamingly</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">273</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p289">The meeting broke up in confusion</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">289</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl"><a href="#i_p305">The meeting resolved itself into a parade that made the
round of the buildings and sang foot-ball songs</a></td>
<td class="tdrb">305</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<p class="noi title">KINGSFORD, QUARTER</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 98px;">
<img src="images/i_chdeco.jpg" width="98" height="11" alt="chapter decoration" title="chapter decoration" />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br />
<small>EVAN HAPPENS IN</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Evan climbed the second flight of stairs,
pulling his bag heavily behind him. For
the last quarter of an hour he had been wishing
that he had packed fewer books in it. At
the station he had stopped to telegraph to his
family announcing his safe arrival at Riverport,
and so had lost the stage to school and
had walked a full mile and a quarter. That is
ordinarily no task for a well-set-up, strong lad
of fifteen years, but when he is burdened with
a large suit-case containing no end of books
and boots and other stuff that ought to be in
his trunk, and when the last half-mile is steadily
uphill, it makes a difference. Evan was
aware of the difference.</p>
<p>At the top of the final flight he set the bag<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
down and looked speculatively up and down
the long, dim hallway. In front of him the
closed door was numbered 24. At the office
they had assigned him to 36 Holden. He had
found the dormitory without difficulty, and
now he had only to find 36. He wondered
which way the numbers ran. That he wasn’t
alone up here on the second floor was evident,
for from behind closed doors and opened doors
came the sound of much talking and laughter.
While he stood there resting his tired arms,
the portal of number 24 was flung open, and a
tall youth in his shirt-sleeves confronted him.
Behind the tall youth the room seemed at first
glance to be simply seething with boys.</p>
<p>“Where is room 36, please?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“Thirty-six?” The other considered the
question with a broad smile. Then, instead of
answering, he turned toward the room. “Say,
fellows, here’s a new one. Come and have a
look. It’ll do you no end of good.”</p>
<p>In a second the doorway was filled with
curious, grinning faces. Perhaps if Evan
hadn’t been so tired he would have accepted
the situation with better humor. As it was,
he lifted his suit-case and turned away with a
scowl.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
<p>“He doesn’t like us!” wailed a voice.
“Ah, woe is me!”</p>
<p>“Where’s he going?” asked another.
“Tarry, stranger, and—”</p>
<p>“He wants 36,” said the tall youth.
“Who’s in 36, somebody?”</p>
<p>“Nobody. Tupper had it last year; he and
Andy Long.”</p>
<p>“Say, kid, 36 is at the other end of the hall.
But don’t scowl at me like that, or I’ll come
out there and give you something to be peevish
about.”</p>
<p>Evan, obeying directions, turned and passed
the group again in search of his room. He
paid no heed to the challenge, for he was much
too tired to get really angry. But he didn’t
take the scowl from his face, and the boy in
the doorway saw it.</p>
<p><a href="#i_p007">“Look pleasant, kid,” he continued threateningly</a>.
He pushed his way through the laughing
group and overtook Evan a little way down
the hall. He was a big chap, good-looking in
a heavy way, and seemed to be about seventeen
years old. He placed a hand on Evan’s shoulder
and with a quick jerk swung him around
with his back to the wall. Evan dropped his
bag and raised his hands defensively.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
<p>“What do you want?” he demanded.</p>
<p>“Didn’t I tell you to look pleasant?”
growled his tormentor, with an ugly grin on
his features. “Didn’t I? Well, do it!”</p>
<p>“You let me alone,” said Evan, the blood
rushing into his cheeks.</p>
<p>“Of course I’ll let you alone, kid; when
I get ready. Off with that scowl; do you
hear?”</p>
<p>“You take it off!” answered Evan, pushing
the other away from him.</p>
<p>“The new one’s game!” cried the tall
youth. The others were flocking about them.
Evan’s arms were beaten down swiftly and
pinned to his sides in a strong grip, and a hand
was passed roughly over his face, hurting so
that, in spite of him, the tears rushed to his
eyes. With an effort he shook off the other’s
grip, stumbled over the suit-case, and staggered
against a door. The next moment he
was falling backward, the door giving way behind
him. He landed on his back, his head
striking the thinly carpeted floor with a force
that made him see all sorts and sizes of blue
stars and for an instant quite dazed him. Then
he heard a drawling voice somewhere at the
back of the room say:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 403px;">
<a id="i_p007">
<img src="images/i_p007.jpg" width="403" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_5">“‘LOOK PLEASANT, KID,’ HE CONTINUED THREATENINGLY.”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8-<br />9]</a></span></p>
<p>“Welcome to my humble domicile.”</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes, his assailant was
standing over him, and the group in the doorway
held several anxious faces.</p>
<p>“Aren’t hurt, are you?” asked the cause
of his mishap. “Give me your hand.”</p>
<p>Evan obeyed and was pulled to his feet.
He had quite forgotten his anger. “I’m all
right,” he said dully, feeling of the back of
his head.</p>
<p>“That’s right,” said the other, with a note
of relief in his voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt
you. It was the door, you see.”</p>
<p>“Up to your tricks again, eh, Hop?”</p>
<p>It was the drawling voice Evan had heard
a moment before, and its owner, a tall, somewhat
lanky boy, came into view around the
table. “You’ve got the keenest sense of humor,
Hop, I ever met with. Why didn’t you
drop him out of the window?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you dry up, Rob. I didn’t do anything
to him. The door was unlatched, and
he fell against it. It’s none of your business,
anyway.”</p>
<p>“It’s my business if I like to make it mine,”
was the reply. He pulled up a chair and waved
Evan toward it. “Sit down and get your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
breath,” he directed. Evan obeyed, his gaze
studying the youth called Hop.</p>
<p>“Now, then,” said his new acquaintance
quietly, “all out, if you please, gentlemen.
I’ll look after the patient. Leave him to me.”</p>
<p>The group at the doorway melted away, and
Hop followed. As he passed out, he turned
and found Evan’s gaze still on him.</p>
<p>“Well, you’ll know me, I guess, when you
see me again,” he said crossly.</p>
<p>“I think I shall,” answered Evan, calmly.</p>
<p>His host chuckled as he closed and bolted
the door. Then he came back and sank into a
chair opposite Evan, his legs sprawling across
the floor.</p>
<p>“Well?” he asked kindly. “Any damage?”</p>
<p>“No, I guess not. My head aches and I’m
sort of dizzy, but I’ll be all right in a minute.”</p>
<p>“I guess so. Just come, did you?”</p>
<p>“Yes; I was looking for my room when
that chap—”</p>
<p>“Frank Hopkins.”</p>
<p>“When he got mad because I scowled at
him. We tussled, and I fell through the door.”</p>
<p>“That was partly my fault. I’m sorry.
You see, I’d been fixing the latch so I could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
open it from bed, and I hadn’t quite finished
when you bumped against the door. What’s
your name?”</p>
<p>“Kingsford.”</p>
<p>“Mine’s Langton; first name Robert; commonly
called Rob; sometimes Lanky. Glad
to meet you. Nice of you to drop in so casually.”</p>
<p>Evan laughed.</p>
<p>“That’s better. Wait a minute.” Rob got
up and went to the wash-stand and dipped a
towel in the pitcher. “Put that around your
head,” he directed. “It’s good for aches.
Too wet, is it? Let me have it.” He wrung
some of the water out on the carpet and handed
it back. “There you are. What room have
they put you into?”</p>
<p>“Thirty-six.”</p>
<p>“No good,” said Rob, with a shake of his
head. “You’ll freeze to death there. The
Gobbler had it two years ago, and he did something
to the steam-pipes so that the heat
doesn’t get around any more. He vows he
didn’t, but I know the Gobbler.”</p>
<p>“Can’t it be fixed?”</p>
<p>“It never has been. They’ve tried dozens
of times. I have an idea what the trouble is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
and I told Mac—he’s house faculty here—that
I could fix it if he’d let me. But he never
would.”</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose I’ll have to live there just
the same,” said Evan, with a smile.</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know. Where do you come
from, Kingsford?”</p>
<p>“Elmira, New York.”</p>
<p>“Really? My home’s in Albany. We’re
natives of the same old State, aren’t we? I
guess we’ll get on all right. What class are
you in?”</p>
<p>“Junior.”</p>
<p>“So am I. That’s another bond of sympathy.
I call this great luck! I hate to live
alone. Sandy Whipple was with me last year,
but he had typhoid in the summer and isn’t
coming back for a while. And now you happen
in. Well, make yourself at home, Kingsford.
It isn’t a bad room, you see. That’s
your side over there.”</p>
<p>“But—this isn’t 36, is it?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“Not a bit of it. This is 32. I told you,
didn’t I, that 36 was no good?”</p>
<p>“But they’ve put me there! Won’t I have
to go?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. I’ll settle it with the Doctor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
You’re inclined to colds, you know, and
36 wouldn’t do for a minute. You leave it
all to me. Any consumption in your family?”</p>
<p>“No. Why in the world do you ask that?”</p>
<p>“Well, if you had a consumptive uncle or
cousin or something, it would help. I’d tell
the Doctor that your lungs were weak and that
your Uncle Tom had consumption. But never
mind. I’ll fix it.”</p>
<p>“But—but do you really want me here?”</p>
<p>“Of course I do! Didn’t I just say that
I was down in the mouth because I didn’t have
a room-mate? Besides, I like your looks. And
we’re both New Yorkers, and we’re both juniors.
That ought to settle it, I should say.”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s awfully good of you,” said
Evan, gratefully, “and I’ll be glad to room
with you if they’ll let me. Only—”</p>
<p>“Only nothing!” said the other, decisively.
“Fate threw you in here, and here you stay!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br />
<small>THE BOY IN 32</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Rob Langton was sixteen years of age,
tall, a trifle weedy, like a boy who has
grown too fast. He always seemed to be in
difficulties with his arms and legs. Even his
hair, which was dark and long, looked as
though in a constant state of mutiny. There
was one obstreperous lock which stood straight
into the air on the top of his head, and several
thick ones which were forever falling over
his eyes and having to be brushed impatiently
back. Comb and brush and water had little
effect on Rob’s hair.</p>
<p>His face was thin, with a broad, good-humored
mouth, a firm chin, a straight nose, and
two very kindly brown eyes. Evan liked him
from the very first moment of their meeting.
And doubtless Evan’s sentiment was returned,
otherwise Rob Langton would never have
adopted him on such slight acquaintance, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
Rob, while generally liked throughout Riverport
School, had few close friends and was
considered hard to know.</p>
<p>The two boys examined each other quite
frankly while they talked, just as boys do.
What Rob saw was a well-built, athletic-looking
youngster, fairly tall, with a good breadth
of shoulder, alert and capable. There was a
pair of steady blue eyes, a good nose, a chin
that, in spite of having a dimple in the middle
of it, looked determined, and a well-formed
mouth which, like Rob Langton’s, hinted of
good humor. Evan’s hair, however, wasn’t in
the least like that of the older boy. In the first
place, it was several shades lighter, and, in the
second place, it was very well-behaved hair
and stayed where it was put. Even the folded
towel which he wore around his forehead
hadn’t rumpled it.</p>
<p>“I ought to be in the middle class,” Rob
was explaining cheerfully. “When I came
last year I expected to go into the junior, but
Latin and Greek had me floored, and so, rather
than make any unnecessary trouble for the faculty,
I dropped into the preparatory. The fact
is, Kingsford, I hate those old dead languages.
Mathematics and I get on all right, and I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
mind English, but Greek—well, I’d like to
punch Xenophon’s head! Dad has it all cut
out that I’m to be a lawyer; he’s one himself,
and a good one; but if I can get my way I’m
going to Cornell and go in for engineering.
They call it structural engineering nowadays.
That’s what I want to do, and there’s going
to be a heap of trouble in our cozy little home
if I don’t get my way. What are you going
to be?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know—yet. I haven’t thought
much about it. My father’s a doctor, but I
don’t go in for that. I don’t like sick folks;
besides, there doesn’t seem to be much money
in doctoring.”</p>
<p>“Well, some of them seem to do pretty
well,” replied Rob, thoughtfully. “You might
be a specialist and charge big fees. When Dad
was ill two years ago we had a fellow up from
New York in consultation. He and our doctor
got together in the library for about ten minutes,
and then he ate a big lunch and went home
again. And it cost Dad five hundred dollars.”</p>
<p>“That sounds all right,” laughed Evan,
“but I guess he had to do a lot of hard work
before he ever got where he could charge five
hundred dollars.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
<p>“I suppose so. Do you ever invent?”</p>
<p>“Invent? What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Invent things, like—like this.” Rob began
a search through his pockets and finally
pulled out a piece of brass, queerly shaped and
notched, some three inches long.</p>
<p>“What is it?” asked Evan, as he took it
and examined it curiously.</p>
<p>“Just a—a combined tool, as you might
say. I call it ‘Langton’s Pocket Friend.’
Here’s a screw-driver; see? And these
notches are for breaking glass after it’s cut.
Up here there’s a little steel wheel for cutting
it, only I haven’t put that in. This is
just a model, you know; I filed it out coming
down on the train this morning. Then this
slot is for sharpening pencils. There’s a nail-file
here, you see, only it isn’t filed, of course,
because this is just brass. The spur is for
cutting wire, or you can open a can with it if
the tin isn’t very thick. Then this end here
is to open envelops or cut pages with. There
are two or three other things I’ve thought of
since that I can work in. Of course, if I ever
made them, they’d be of steel.”</p>
<p>“That’s fine,” said Evan. “Did you think
of it yourself?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
<p>“Yes. I’m always tinkering with some silly
thing. That’s the reason I don’t cut more of
a figure with studies, I guess. Dad has patented
two or three things for me, but I’ve
never been able to sell the patents.”</p>
<p>“What are they?” asked Evan, interestedly.</p>
<p>“One’s a snow shovel made of wire netting
like an ash sifter. It only weighs twelve
ounces and works finely. But no one would
buy it. Another’s a top with a slot just above
the peg so you can put in a cap. Then when
you throw it on the ground the peg comes up
against the cap and explodes it.”</p>
<p>“I should think that would be a dandy
idea.”</p>
<p>“Well, one man I tried to sell it to said if
I could induce boys to spin tops around the
Fourth of July he would buy my patent. You
see, folks are so fussy now that you can’t buy
paper caps except around the Fourth.”</p>
<p>“I see. And what was the other thing?”</p>
<p>“That’s the best of the lot,” said Rob,
thrusting his hands into his pockets and
sprawling his legs across the floor. “I’ve
still got hopes of that. It’s a patent match safe
to carry in your pocket. It looks just like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
any other match safe, but when you want a
match you don’t have to open it. You just
push a little button, and a match pops out.
Maybe I’ll sell that yet. It’s a mighty good
idea, and there ought to be money in it.”</p>
<p>“I should think you’d want to be an inventor
instead of an engineer.”</p>
<p>“There isn’t much money in inventions,
except for the patent lawyer; at least, that’s
what Dad says. Besides, engineering is a
good deal like inventing. You have problems
to solve, and there’s always the chance of discovering
a better way to do a thing. Dad says
I’ve got a good deal of ingenuity, but that if
I don’t look out I’ll never be anything but a
potterer.”</p>
<p>“A potterer? That’s a funny name for
you.”</p>
<p>“Yes; he means a chap who just potters
around doing a lot of little things that don’t
amount to anything. How’s your head?”</p>
<p>“Much better. Do you think I’d better unpack
my bag, or shall I wait until I’m sure
about my room?”</p>
<p>“Go ahead and unpack. It’ll be all right.
Even if it isn’t, 36 is just across the hall, and
I’ll help you carry things over. Trunks ought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
to be up pretty soon, too. Say, do you go in
for anything?”</p>
<p>“In for anything?” repeated Evan, doubtfully.</p>
<p>“Yes, foot-ball or hockey or track or rowing
or—”</p>
<p><a href="#i_p021">“I play foot-ball,” answered Evan. “I
want to try for the team here.</a> Do you think
I’d stand any show, Langton?”</p>
<p>“Do I think—” Rob stopped and chuckled.
Evan flushed.</p>
<p>“What’s the matter? I’ve played a good
deal, and I dare say I know as much about it
as—as lots of fellows here.”</p>
<p>“As I do, you were going to say,” laughed
Rob. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Kingsford.
I dare say you can play better than a good
many fellows on the team, but I don’t think
your chances are very bright, and if you ask
me why,—well, I can only say because the
Riverport Eleven is what Dad would call a
close corporation.”</p>
<p>“What’s that?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<a id="i_p021">
<img src="images/i_p021.jpg" width="600" height="401" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_20">“‘I PLAY FOOT-BALL,’ ANSWERED EVAN. ‘I WANT TO TRY FOR THE TEAM HERE.’”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22-<br />23]</a></span></p>
<p>“I’ll try again,” said Rob, thrusting his
hands in his pockets and falling into the queer
drawl which he affected at times. “The team
is like a very select club, Kingsford. If you
know enough about foot-ball to kick the ball
instead of biting it, and stand pretty well with—er—the
manager or captain or some of the
members, you can make it. Of course they’re
always glad to have you go out and ‘try for
the team’; it looks well and sort of adds interest.
And of course you’re supposed to subscribe
toward expenses. And when the team
goes away anywhere to play, they allow you
to go along and yell yourself hoarse. But don’t
think for a moment, my friend, that you can
make the team here by just playing good
ball.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t sound very encouraging,”
said Evan, with a frown. “Especially as I
don’t know a single fellow here—except you.”</p>
<p>“Well, at least you’ve got a speaking acquaintance
with one other,” said Rob, dryly,
the smile still lurking about the corners of
his mouth.</p>
<p>“Who do you mean? The fellow who—”</p>
<p>“Yes, Frank Hopkins. He’s ‘the fellow
who’—”</p>
<p>“Well, that doesn’t help any, I guess.”</p>
<p>“No; no, I don’t honestly think it does,”
answered Rob, with a queer look. “Because,
you see, Kingsford, Hop is the captain.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>
<p>“Foot-ball captain?” cried Evan, in dismay.
Rob nodded with a wicked grin.</p>
<p>“Well, if that isn’t luck!” exclaimed Evan,
subsiding on the foot of his bed to consider the
fact. “I guess that settles my chances all
right, Langton.” Rob nodded.</p>
<p>“As I don’t want to nourish idle hopes,
Kingsford, I’ll just remark that I think
you’ve got the answer.”</p>
<p>“Shucks!” said Evan, disgustedly. “And
I thought I was going to have a great time this
fall playing foot-ball. I wish I’d stayed at
home, as my fond mother wanted me to. Say,
you’re not fooling, are you?”</p>
<p>“Not a bit. Of course I’ve exaggerated
a trifle about the exclusiveness of our foot-ball
society; it isn’t quite as bad as I made it out;
but it’s bad enough. If you happen to be a
crackajack player with a reputation behind
you, one of those prep school stars that come
along once in a while, you’re all right. But
otherwise, Kingsford, you’ll have a mighty
hard time breaking into Hop’s foot-ball trust.
I know, for I tried it myself last year.”</p>
<p>“Oh, do you play?”</p>
<p>“I used to think so, but after working like
a horse for three weeks and then pining away<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
for a fortnight on the side-lines, I changed my
mind. I know <em>how</em> to play, but I don’t <em>play</em>.
You catch my meaning, I hope.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Evan, gloomily. “Still, I
guess I’ll have a try.”</p>
<p>“Of course you will,” said Rob, cheerfully.
“It won’t do any harm, and you might even
have a little fun. Besides, miracles still happen;
you might get a place on the second team
as third substitute. By the way, where do you
play?”</p>
<p>“I’ve played quarter mostly; sometimes
half. I was quarter last year.”</p>
<p>“On your school team?”</p>
<p>“Yes, grammar school. We won every
game except one, too.”</p>
<p>“Well, you might let that information leak
out in Hop’s direction; perhaps he will give
you a fair show. Only thing is, I’m afraid
he’s taken a—a sort of prejudice against
you.”</p>
<p>“I guess he has,” laughed Evan. “And,
for that matter, I’m not crazy about him.
Still, if he will let me on the team, I’ll forgive
him for mashing my nose flat.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t look flat,” said Rob, viewing
it attentively. “It’s a trifle red, but otherwise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
normal. By ginger! I wonder what time
it is. I’m getting hungry. Oh, there’s no
use looking at that clock on the mantel there.
It hasn’t gone right for months. I borrowed
one of the cog-wheels last spring, and now it
has the blind staggers.”</p>
<p>“It’s twelve minutes to six,” said Evan,
looking at his watch. “When do we have
supper?”</p>
<p>“In twelve minutes if we get there. I’ll
wash while you get your things out. Yes,
that’s your closet. There’s some truck in
there that belongs to Sandy. Pitch it out on
the floor, and I’ll ask Mrs. Crow to store it
away for him. Hold on! That vest isn’t his;
it’s mine. Confound that fellow! I looked
for that thing all summer. Thought I’d lost
it. You see, Sandy Whipple and I are just
the same size, and so we wear each other’s
clothes most of the time. I guess you and I
can’t exchange that way, Kingsford. Your
trousers would be several inches too short for
little me. How about collars?”</p>
<p>“Thirteen and a half,” said Evan.</p>
<p>“My size exactly! Thirteen and a half,
fourteen, or fourteen and a half; I’m not
fussy about collars. All through here.” Rob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
tossed the towel in the general direction of the
wash-stand and looked around for his cap.</p>
<p>“Where do we eat?” asked Evan, filling the
bowl.</p>
<p>“Dining-hall’s in Second House. If we
hurry, maybe we can get at a side table. I’m
as hungry as a bear. I forgot all about dinner
this noon. I got so interested in that silly piece
of brass that they’d stolen the dining-car before
I knew it. Ready? Sometime I’m going
to fix it so we can go down by the window. It
would be lots nearer than going by the stairs,
and I’ve got a dandy idea for a rope ladder!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br />
<small>EVAN MAKES ACQUAINTANCES</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">It was still broad daylight when they left
the entrance of Holden Hall and started
across the yard, the golden end of a perfect
September day. Down the long sloping hill,
beyond the athletic field, the waters of Lake
Matunuxet showed blue between the encircling
foliage. Farther east the river wound its way
through marsh and meadow toward the bay,
some three miles distant. The railroad embankment
was visible here and there, and due
east the little town of Riverport lay huddled.
The school buildings described a rude crescent,
with Holden, the newest of the three dormitories,
at one point and the gymnasium at the
other. Next to Holden stood Second House,
with the laboratory tucked in behind. Then
came Academy; then First; then the gymnasium.
Behind First House stood the principal’s
cottage, and here the land sloped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
abruptly upward in forest, and Mount Graytop
raised its bald crown of scarred and riven
granite hundreds of feet above the surrounding
country. The elms in the yard still held
green, although here and there a fleck of russet
showed. On the lower slopes of the mountain
a well-defined belt of maples was already turning
yellow.</p>
<p>Rob and Evan were not the only boys who
had recognized the advisability of being early
on hand at supper in order to choose tables
to their liking. The corridor leading to the
dining-hall was pretty thickly sprinkled with
boys of all ages between twelve and eighteen.
Rob was greeted many times, and Evan was
introduced to at least a dozen fellows whose
names he didn’t remember five minutes afterward.
It was all very confused and noisy and
jolly, and in the middle of it the doors were
flung open, and the waiting throng surged into
the dining-hall and made a decorous but determined
rush for the tables.</p>
<p>Evan followed Rob down the room and
across to a table under one of the broad windows.
Here, however, a difficulty presented
itself. The table seated eight, and seven of
the places were already occupied. Evan, observing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
that, hung back, but Rob beckoned him
on. At one side of the vacant seat sat a stout,
cherub-faced youth of about Evan’s age. Rob
drew back the vacant chair and fixed his gaze
on the stout youth.</p>
<p>“Why,—Jelly,—” he drawled in mock
surprise, “what are you doing here? You’re
surely not thinking of sitting with your back
to the window in all this draft, you with your
delicate constitution? What would your parents
say, Jelly? No, no, out you go. We
can’t have you falling ill; flowers are too expensive.”</p>
<p>“I got this place, Rob, and I’ve a right to
keep it,” answered the boy. He spoke defiantly
enough, but his tones lacked conviction,
and he paused in the operation of unfolding
his napkin. Rob patted him tolerantly on the
shoulder.</p>
<p>“It isn’t a question of right, Jelly; it’s a
question of what is best for you. You know
you can’t stand a draft; I know it; we all
know it. It’s your welfare we’re considering.
Now if you look sharp you can sneak across
and drop into that chair that Hunt Firman has
temporarily vacated; but you want to be
quick.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
<p>Jelly was quick. He was out of his chair
and around the table on the instant; and before
Firman, who had gone across to a neighboring
table to greet an acquaintance, was
aware of it, Jelly had stolen his place. A contest
ensued, Firman trying to oust Jelly without
drawing the attention of the faculty, and
Jelly, stable with his one hundred and forty-odd
pounds, paying no attention to threats or
blandishments.</p>
<p>“I’ll lick you after supper!” hissed Firman.</p>
<p>“Wonder if we’ll have ham to-night,” remarked
Jelly, serenely, to the table at large.</p>
<p>“Get up, do you hear? That’s my place,
you big roly-poly!”</p>
<p>“I smell hot biscuits, anyway. Pass me the
butter, Ned.”</p>
<p>“You wait till I get hold of you! Rob, make
him give me my seat. It’s all your fault, anyhow.
You might—”</p>
<p>A bell tapped somewhere, and an instant
hush fell over the hall. Firman ran to cover,
subsiding in the first unoccupied chair he could
find, leaving Jelly master of the situation. The
laughter died into chuckles, the chuckles to
snickers, and the snickers to silence, and from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
the head of the hall came the deep voice of the
principal, Dr. Farren, asking grace.</p>
<p>“I’d rather be on this side, anyway,” announced
Jelly, as soon as conversation began
again. “It’s too cold over there in winter,
Rob.”</p>
<p>“Well, by that time, Jelly,” was the sober
reply, “we may have you so strong and sturdy
that you can stand it over here.”</p>
<p>Even Jelly joined in the laugh that ensued.
Evan was aware that the six boys who, with
Rob and himself, filled the table were viewing
him with unconcealed interest and was relieved
when Rob proceeded to introduce him.</p>
<p>“Fellow Luculluses,” said Rob, “I take
pleasure in introducing to you my friend Mr.
Kingsford. Mr. Kingsford is honoring the
school with his presence for the first time. He
hopes to remain with us at least until the end
of the term. Kingsford, on your right you will
find Mr. Law, of the well-known firm of Law
and Order. Next, Mr. Pierce. Next, a gentleman
whose acquaintance I haven’t the pleasure—”</p>
<p>“Peterson,” prompted Jelly.</p>
<p>“Mr. Peterson. Next to Mr. Peterson, Mr.
George Washington Jell; Mr. Jell speaking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
eloquently, as you can see, for the excellence
of the board provided. At the other end of
the table you may dimly observe Mr. Devens.
And here we have Mr. Wright, on my right.
Now everybody knows everybody, and Jelly
is requested to stop taking all the biscuits, as
there are others here present.”</p>
<p>It was a very jolly meal, with a good deal of
laughter and much fragmentary conversation.
The supper was excellent, and Evan was hungry
and did full justice to the hashed chicken
on toast, baked potatoes, cold lamb, hot biscuits,
preserves, and cake. He also accepted
a second cup of cocoa at Rob’s suggestion, and
then drank a glass of milk just to make certain
of keeping life in his body until morning. And
while he ate, as he took only a small part in
the talk, he had opportunity to look about
him.</p>
<p>The dining-hall was large and cheerful and
well lighted. It occupied all one end of Second
House, and so had windows on three sides.
Between the windows were pictures, most of
them photographs of Roman and Grecian ruins,
while at either side of the door stood pedestals
holding, on one side, a bust of Socrates and,
on the other, a bust of Washington. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
were twenty-odd tables, accommodating at
present one hundred and seventy students and
the faculty and staff of the school. Dr. Farren
occupied a small table at the head of the hall
with the school secretary, Mr. Holt, and the
matron, Mrs. Crane, or, as she was called,
“Mrs. Crow.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know how she got that name,”
said Rob, as he pointed out the dignitaries.
“Maybe it’s on account of her black hair.
Anyhow, it isn’t because the fellows don’t like
her. She’s a dear. That’s Holt next to her.
He’s secretary. No one knows him very well.
And there’s the Doctor. The rest of the faculty
is scattered. The white-haired chap over
at the far table is just ‘Joe’; real name Alden;
Greek and Latin. The slim, youngish
fellow over there is ‘Mac,’ who tries his level
best to make me discern the beauties of algebra.
He also teaches history, and it’s a
cinch. The big fellow down here on your left
is ‘Tommy’ Osgood. Tommy teaches chemistry
and is also and likewise physical director;
and he’s a tartar. Mr. Cupples, affectionately
known as ‘Cup,’ is down there by the door.
Cup pours French and German into you. Now
you know the faculty. Be kind to them and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
very patient. After supper I’ll take you over
to Mrs. Crow’s. You’d better get on the right
side of her, because she’s a mighty good sort
and can do a lot for you if she wants to. And
I’ll try and see the Doctor and tell him about
your consumption.”</p>
<p>“I never had a cold in my life,” laughed
Evan.</p>
<p>“Knock wood. And if the Doctor calls you
over to the office, try and look as delicate as
possible. You might cough a little, too. A
hacking cough would help a lot.” Rob turned
from Evan and addressed Gus Devens, a large,
ruddy-faced youth. “I say, Gus, what does
the foot-ball situation look like to your practised
eye?”</p>
<p>“Like the dickens,” answered Gus, promptly
and heartily.</p>
<p>“About the same as usual, then,” suggested
Pierce. “Say, fellows, why doesn’t some one
do something?”</p>
<p>“Such as what?” asked Rob.</p>
<p>“Fire Hopkins!” blurted Jelly.</p>
<p>“Oh, Hop means well enough,” said Joe
Law.</p>
<p>“Yes, he does!” answered Devens, sarcastically.
“I’ll wager I could pick a better team<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
out of the two lower classes than Hop will get
together this fall. Adams will lick us again
as sure as fate. They’ve got almost all of
last year’s team left. Hop may mean well
enough—only I don’t believe it—but he certainly
doesn’t <em>do</em> well enough. I’m sick of
seeing the school beaten every year.”</p>
<p>“We won year before last,” said Law.</p>
<p>“Yes, we’ve won once in five years,” said
Rob. “I suppose that’s all we ought to expect.
They tell us that defeat is much better
for us morally than victory, victory enlarging
the cranium and making us vain and
arrogant and unlovely. Remember ancient
Rome.”</p>
<p>“What about ancient Rome?” demanded
Jelly.</p>
<p>“Eh? Oh—oh, nothing; just remember it.
I heard Mac say that once in class, and it
sounded rather well.” When the laugh had
passed, Rob addressed Devens again: “Are
you going out this year?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I suppose so,” answered Devens, disgustedly.
“This will make the third time.
But I’m sick of getting knocked around on
the second team. I’m going to tell Hop that
if he doesn’t give me a fair show for the first,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
I’ll quit, and he can find some one else to do
the human stone wall act for him. Look here,
you fellows, you all know, every one of you,
that I can play all around Bert Reid.”</p>
<p>“That’s no joke,” said Wright, and the
others concurred.</p>
<p>“Well, then, why can’t I get on? Favoritism,
that’s all it is. Every one knows it,
and there’s no harm in saying it. I don’t talk
like this outside of school, of course, but—”</p>
<p>“What we ought to have is a coach,” declared
Peterson.</p>
<p>“Of course we ought, and we’ve tried hard
enough to get one ever since I’ve been here,”
answered Devens. “One year it’s one reason
and the next year it’s another; anyway, we
don’t get him.”</p>
<p>“Hop said last year he’d be mighty glad
to have a coach,” said Law.</p>
<p>“Yes, but he wanted a fellow he knew and
wouldn’t talk about any one else. If the Doctor
would take a decent interest in things—”</p>
<p>“He always begins to hum and haw about
‘the danger of investing sport with undue
prominence,’” said Pierce, disgustedly.</p>
<p>“Oh, the Doctor means well, too,” protested
Rob. “I’ve got an idea in my head, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
chaps, and some day soon I’ll spring it. I’m
going to let it seethe a bit first.”</p>
<p>“Another of your numerous patents?”
asked Jelly, with a grin.</p>
<p>“Maybe. Look here, Gus, my friend Kingsford
wants to try for the team. I told him
what he was up against, but he has the—the
indomitable will and reckless courage of his
forebears, and refuses to be intimidated. You
sort of put him up to the tricks, will you?
See that he doesn’t get into any more trouble
than necessary.”</p>
<p>“Glad to,” answered Gus Devens, with a
friendly nod to Evan. “Played, have you,
Kingsford?”</p>
<p>“Yes, quite a little.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Half and quarter; quarter mostly.”</p>
<p>“Whew! we certainly could use a good
quarter,” said Wright. “Miller’s the limit.
I hope you get a show, Kingsford.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but don’t expect it,” remarked Jelly,
despondently. “Just look at the way they
treated me last year!”</p>
<p>A howl of laughter arose, and Jelly viewed
his table-companions indignantly.</p>
<p>“That’s all right, you fellows, but I did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
as well as Ward did. He didn’t get through
me very often, I can tell you! You know he
didn’t.”</p>
<p>“You did great work, Jelly,” said Rob,
soothingly. “They ought to have kept you
on the second. I have an idea that the reason
Hop dropped you was only because he was
afraid that sometime you’d fall on the ball
and squash the air out of it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you run along,” growled Jelly. “I’m
going to try again this year, anyway, and I’m
going to make the second for keeps.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you go out and be the ball?”
asked Wright, pleasantly. Jelly pushed back
his chair and walked disgustedly away, and
his departure was the signal for a general exodus.
Rob’s progress was often interrupted,
and Evan had to shake hands with many more
new acquaintances, most of whom, as there
were a great many new-comers wandering
around the corridors that night, shook hands
with him in a perfunctory way, muttered that
they were glad to know him, and paid him no
further attention. But Evan didn’t mind.
Although this was his first experience of boarding-school,
he held no romantic notions of such
places and so was not disappointed because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
so far nothing romantic had happened. He
drew out of the way and waited for Rob to get
through talking, thinking to himself that it
would be nice to have as many acquaintances
as his new room-mate had, and making up his
mind that some day the fellows of Riverport
School should be as glad to talk to him as they
now were to Rob Langton. While he stood
there waiting, Frank Hopkins passed, talking
to the tall youth of whom Evan had asked his
way that afternoon. If they saw him they
made no sign.</p>
<p>Presently Rob parted from the last of his
acquaintances and, followed by Evan, reached
the door.</p>
<p>“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he apologized.
“Some of those chaps, though, I wanted to
be nice to—for a reason. I’ll tell you why
some day soon. Now let’s cut across to First
House and call on Mrs. Crow.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br />
<small>MALCOLM WARNE</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">They found the door of the matron’s office
wide open and boys coming and going
every minute. It was a good deal like a reception,
Evan thought, as Rob, taking him by the
arm, guided him into the room. The matron
was a small, plump, middle-aged woman with
red cheeks and very black hair, whom every
fellow liked at first glance and usually worshiped
devotedly by the end of his first term.
Old boys returning to school made a bee-line
from the stage to Number 1 First House, and
shook hands with Mrs. Crow before they
thought of anything else. Her sitting-room,
or office as she preferred to call it, was a veritable
museum of gifts from boys or their parents,
gifts ranging from sea-shells to the mahogany
arm-chair presented to her by last
year’s graduating class. And there wasn’t a
thing so tiny and trivial that she couldn’t tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
you at once the name of the giver. She had
very pleasant, kindly black eyes and a sweet
voice, and loved a joke better than her afternoon
tea. Rob wormed his way into the group
about her, dragging Evan after him.</p>
<p>“How do you do, Mrs. Crow?” he cried,
seizing her hand and shaking it violently.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?”</p>
<p>“Why, Rob, how you do grow! Oh, my poor
hand! Of course I’m glad to see you, even if
you did forget to come and say good-by to me
last June.”</p>
<p>“I tried to, really, Mrs. Crow, but I couldn’t
stand the—the ordeal. It would have saddened
my whole summer. I want you to know
my brother Evan. Evan, this is Mrs. Crow,
of whom I talked incessantly all summer.”</p>
<p>“How do you do?” asked Evan, taking the
hand held out to him. Mrs. Crow gazed from
Evan to Rob doubtfully. Some one sniggered.
Evan felt somewhat embarrassed and looked
appealingly at Rob’s beaming countenance.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe it,” said the matron, finally.
“He’s never your brother, Rob Langton; he
doesn’t look the least bit like you. Now is
he?”</p>
<p>“My foster-brother, Mrs. Crow.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
<p>“He’s just fooling,” said Evan. “My
name’s Evan Kingsford, Mrs. Crow—I mean
Mrs.—”</p>
<p>“Never mind,” she laughed; “they all call
me that. I’m very glad to meet you, Mr.
Kingsford. I hope you’ll like us. Let me see,
you’re in Holden, aren’t you, if I’m not mistaken?”</p>
<p>“Yes, ma’am. I was sent there at first.”</p>
<p>“I remember; number 36.”</p>
<p>“Wrong, Mrs. Crow; he’s with me in 32,”
said Rob.</p>
<p>“Really? But I’m sure my list says 36.”</p>
<p>“They had him down for there, but he’s
very delicate, and 36 is such a cold room that
I rescued him. I’m going over to explain to
the Doctor about it now. Come on, Evan.”</p>
<p>“Well, I hope he will let you make the
change,” said Mrs. Crow, dubiously. “But
you know he doesn’t like to have the rooms
empty.”</p>
<p>“Then you tell him to let us have 36 for a
parlor,” laughed Rob, dragging Evan away.</p>
<p>“You must come to my teas, Mr. Kingsford,”
called the matron. “Any Friday between
four and six. Don’t forget, please.”</p>
<p>“I think,” said Rob, when they were outside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
again, “that I’d better see the Doctor
alone. You go on over to the room and get
your things unpacked. I’ll be along in a few
minutes. There you are, over there, the last
building. Don’t get lost.”</p>
<p>Rob turned toward Academy Hall and the
office, while Evan picked his way through the
twilight across the yard under the elms. When
he reached the second floor he found the door
of 24 open and a group of fellows, among whom
he instantly recognized Frank Hopkins and the
tall youth, standing around it. The conversation,
which had been eager and animated, died
down as he came into sight. It was rather an
ordeal to pass that group, but he made the best
of it, viewing them calmly and casually as he
took the last few stairs and turned down the
corridor. To his surprise, some three or four
of the fellows nodded to him, and he returned
the greeting in like manner. But Hopkins only
stared disdainfully, while the tall youth grinned
annoyingly and began to hum in time to Evan’s
footsteps. The latter was glad when he was
in 32 with the door closed behind him. Through
the open transom, however, he heard the talk
and laughter begin again, and caught the
words, “Mighty well built, though, Hop.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
You’d better nab him for the team.” He
couldn’t hear the foot-ball captain’s reply, but
it was evidently humorous, judging from the
laughter it summoned.</p>
<p>With reddening cheeks and a rather lonesome
feeling he began the unpacking of his
trunk, which, with Rob’s, stood in the center
of the room. His mother had placed a letter
on top of the till, and, although it was a very
sweet and dear letter, it rather increased his
homesickness as he read it. He went on with
his unpacking, feeling a little bit choky about
the throat, and was glad when there came a
knock at the door.</p>
<p>“Come!” he called.</p>
<p>The boy who entered paused in surprise
when he saw Evan.</p>
<p><a href="#i_p047">“Hello!” he said. “Oh, beg pardon.
Where’s Rob?”</a></p>
<p>“He’s over at the office,” answered Evan.
“He will be up in a few minutes. Won’t you
wait?”</p>
<p>“Thanks.” He glanced doubtfully about
the room and then closed the door behind him
and sat down. “Are you going in with Rob?”</p>
<p>“Do you mean am I going to room here?”
asked Evan. “Yes; that is, I expect to. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
gave me 36, but Langton asked me to come in
with him, and he’s trying to fix it up for me
with the principal. That’s what he’s doing
now.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I see,” murmured the other. He
seemed rather disappointed, Evan thought, and
wondered why. “I suppose you and he are
old friends?” asked the stranger.</p>
<p>“No; I never saw him until this afternoon.
It—it was very decent of him to ask me, I
think.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said the other, thoughtfully.
“Don’t let me stop you, please. I’ll just
wait a minute for Rob.”</p>
<p>Evan went on with his unpacking, catching
now and then as he went to and fro between
trunk and closet and bureau a glimpse of the
caller. He was a very good-looking fellow,
with dark hair and eyes and a softness about
mouth and chin that was almost girlish. He
sat with elbow on knee, and chin in hand, looking
dreamily across the room, evidently quite
forgetful of Evan’s presence. After a while
the silence grew oppressive.</p>
<p>“My name’s Kingsford,” announced Evan.
The other looked up slowly and nodded.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 443px;">
<a id="i_p047">
<img src="images/i_p047.jpg" width="443" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_45">“‘HELLO!’ HE SAID. ‘OH, BEG PARDON. WHERE’S ROB?’”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48-<br />49]</a></span></p>
<p>“Thanks. Mine’s Warne.” Then he went
back to his rapt study of the opposite wall.
Evan was distinctly relieved when he heard
Rob’s footsteps in the hall.</p>
<p>“Well,” said Rob, as he came in, “it’s
all— Hello, Mal! Where’d you come from?
Been waiting long? Kingsford, let me make
you acquainted with Mr. Warne, a particular
friend of mine. Mal, this is Mr. Kingsford.
He and I are going to try it together.”</p>
<p>Malcolm Warne shook hands with a smile
which displayed a set of very white teeth. It
was a nice smile and lighted up the somewhat
serious face very pleasantly.</p>
<p>“Happy to meet you,” said Warne. Then,
to Rob, “So he was just saying. I hope you
will—like it—both of you.” He had a very
soft voice, spoke slowly, and had a way of
chopping off the ends of his words that was
unfamiliar to Evan.</p>
<p>“Oh, we’ll get on all right, I think,” said
Rob, easily. “Sit down, Mal, and tell us what
you did all summer. By the way, though,
Kingsford, it’s all right about the room. Doctor
agreed with me that a chap with any tendency
toward colds, grippe, pneumonia, and
consumption ought not to live in 36. He got
rather interested in your case, and I shouldn’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
be surprised if he sent the doctor around to-morrow
to report on you. If he comes, please
cough for my sake! Well, I’ve got to get my
trunk unpacked. Go ahead and talk, Mal.”</p>
<p>“No, I reckon I’ll go on. I just dropped
in to say howdy to you.”</p>
<p>“What? ‘Go on’ nothing! Sit down, you
idiot, and tell me what’s been happening with
you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, nothing much. I had a very quiet
summer. I was at home most of the time,
although we went down to Virginia Beach in
August for a couple of weeks. I’ll see you
to-morrow, Rob. Good night, Mr. Kingsford.
Pleased to have met you. Get Rob to bring
you over to see me soon. So long, Rob.”</p>
<p>“Well, if you insist on going,” said Rob,
following the caller to the door. “What’s
the matter, Mal? Anything wrong?” They
passed out, Rob drawing the door shut behind
him. Evan heard their low voices outside in
the hallway for several minutes. Then Rob
reappeared, looking worried.</p>
<p>“Now there’s a crazy idiot,” he said, with
a frown, thrusting his hands into his trousers
pockets and spreading his long legs apart.</p>
<p>“Why?” asked Evan.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p>
<p>“He wanted to come in here with me, and
he never said a word about it. Says he was
waiting to make sure I hadn’t any one in view.
He’s too blamed sensitive.”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s easily fixed,” said Evan,
lightly. “It won’t take me ten minutes to
move across to 36. That’s where I belong,
anyway, Langton. I’d rather do it, really.”</p>
<p>“Not much! But I’ve got an idea.”</p>
<p>He hurried out, crossed the hall, knocked on
the opposite door, and threw it open.</p>
<p>“Hello, Spalding!” Evan heard him say.
“Want to use your window a second. Oh,
Mal! Come back a minute, will you?” Evidently
Warne heard, for Rob only sent one
hail across the yard.</p>
<p>“Here’s the idea,” he went on, as he returned
to 32. “We’ll get Warne to move into
36. He never knows whether he’s hot or cold,
and he’s dead anxious to get out of the room
he’s in. He’s in First House with a chap
named Gammage; decent chap enough, but he
and Warne don’t hit it off. Mal’s a Southerner,
from North Carolina—or South, I’ve
forgotten which. Where <em>is</em> Wilmington, anyway?”</p>
<p>“Wilmington? In Delaware, isn’t it?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
<p>“Is it? Then I guess Wilmington isn’t the
place; I’m pretty sure he’s from one of the
Carolinas. Anyway, he’s an awfully nice fellow,
and I want you to like him. Here he
comes. Say, Mal, I’ve thought of a great
scheme. Sit down and I’ll unfold it. Kingsford
here was booked for 36. So that leaves
36 empty. You see the Doctor and get him to
let you move into it. You don’t mind rooming
alone, do you? Besides, you can make this
room home if you like to.”</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t mind that a bit,” said Warne.</p>
<p>“Good! But I ought to tell you that 36 is
a cold old hole; there’s something wrong with
the pipes—some bronchial trouble, I guess.
Anyway, in cold weather you’ll pretty nearly
freeze. But you can always study over here,
you know.”</p>
<p>“I don’t mind a cold room. That’s one
thing Gammage and I are always scrapping
about. He likes it about eighty. Do you think
the Doctor will let me change?”</p>
<p>“I don’t see why not. Tell him that you
don’t get on with what’s-his-name; tell him
you like a cold room. He ought to be glad to
have some one in 36 that won’t kick all the time
for heat. He’s over at the office now. Go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
ahead and tackle him before he gets any one
else down for the room. And come right back
and let’s hear what he says.”</p>
<p>Malcolm Warne was back in ten minutes,
looking very pleased.</p>
<p>“He said yes, Rob. My, but I’m tickled.
I’d sleep in an ice-chest to get rid of Gammage.”</p>
<p>“That’s fine, Mal. I told Kingsford that
you were disappointed about rooming in here,
and he offered to get out. But I knew you
wouldn’t want him to do that.”</p>
<p>“No, indeed,” said Malcolm, warmly, glancing
gratefully across at Evan. “It was very
good of you, though, Kingsford.”</p>
<p>“Not a bit,” murmured Evan.</p>
<p>“I say, you chaps,” began Rob. Then he
paused doubtfully. The others waited, looking
inquiringly at him where he stood rumpling
his mutinous locks with a paper-cutter.</p>
<p>“Why, just this,” he went on presently.
“Here are three of us, all pretty good fellows—speaking
for the rest of you, that is. Now
let’s cut out this surname nonsense. My
name’s Rob, yours is Malcolm, or Mal for
short, and yours is Evan. There, that’s
settled.” He tossed the paper-knife down.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
“Now I want to show you fellows a little idea
that occurred to me coming back from the
office a while ago. Bring up your chairs.”</p>
<p>“What is it?” asked Evan, exchanging an
amused glance with Malcolm.</p>
<p>“It’s an improved foot-scraper for doorsteps.
It’s all well enough to get the mud off
the soles of your shoes, but why not clean it
off the uppers, too? Now, look here. Where’s
my pad? Either of you got a pencil? Thanks.
Now then!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br />
<small>EVAN IS WARNED</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">“What’s the name?”</p>
<p>It was the tall youth whom Evan had
begun to thoroughly detest who asked the question,
and who, with note-book in hand and pencil
poised, impatiently awaited an answer.</p>
<p>“Kingsford,” replied Evan.</p>
<p>“What age?” continued the other, looking
as though he had never seen Evan before.</p>
<p>“Fifteen.”</p>
<p>“What class?”</p>
<p>“Junior.”</p>
<p><a href="#i_p057">“Ever played foot-ball?”</a></p>
<p>“Three years.”</p>
<p>“Whereabouts?”</p>
<p>“Elmira, New York.”</p>
<p>“What position, I mean, you ninny!”</p>
<p>“Quarter—and half, a little.”</p>
<p>“We don’t need backs. Want to try for
end?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
<p>“I suppose so; yes.”</p>
<p>“Don’t do it if it’s going to hurt you,”
sneered the other, turning away to catechise
the next candidate. Evan looked after him
angrily and then turned to his nearest neighbor,
who happened to be Mr. George Washington
Jell, resplendent in a new pair of khaki
trousers which, because they had to be of generous
proportions about the waist, fell ungracefully
half-way to his feet.</p>
<p>“Who’s that chap?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“Edgar Prentiss. He’s manager. He’s
pretty much the whole show, for that matter.
He and Hop are as thick as thieves, and Hop
does about as Prentiss says. He’s no good;
I hope he stubs his toe.”</p>
<p>“So do I,” agreed Evan, with enthusiasm.
Jelly beamed on him.</p>
<p>“He’s a regular cad; no one likes him—except
Hop. I made a good joke about him
last year. Want to hear it?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Evan, good-naturedly. “What
was it?”</p>
<p>“It’s a conundrum. What is a foot-ball
manager? Give it up? He’s the captain’s
apprentice. See? Prentiss—apprentice?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 418px;">
<a id="i_p057">
<img src="images/i_p057.jpg" width="418" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_55">“‘EVER PLAYED FOOT-BALL?’”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58-<br />59]</a></span></p>
<p>Evan had to laugh, not so much at the
joke as at Jelly’s eagerness for appreciation.
“That’s all right,” he said. “What are you
trying for, Jell?”</p>
<p>“Guard—or ’most anything. But, say,
don’t call me Jell; no one ever does; and it
sounds funny. Besides, I don’t mind. I know
I’m fat, and I can’t help it. I’d rather be
fat than be a bean-pole like Prentiss.”</p>
<p>“Ends and backs this way!” called a voice,
and Evan trotted down the field to where a lad
wearing a tattered light blue jersey and an air
of authority was impatiently awaiting.</p>
<p>Practice was neither hard nor long that first
afternoon. Some thirty-odd candidates had
reported, of whom twenty or so represented
what remained of last year’s first and second
teams. The new candidates numbered scarcely
more than a baker’s dozen. Frank Hopkins,
although in foot-ball attire, took no part in the
drudgery of passing and falling on the ball,
contenting himself with wandering about the
field or talking with Prentiss on the side-line.
The real work was in charge of three of
the first team members, Carter, Connor and
Ward. There was very little system in evidence,
and the veterans shirked barefacedly.
Toward the end of the hour there was a good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
deal of rather aimless punting across the field
and then the fellows were dismissed with instructions
to report every afternoon at four
o’clock.</p>
<p>Evan, a little tired and sore, for the day had
been a very warm one and a lazy summer had
put him rather out of condition, walked up to
the gymnasium with Gus Devens and Jelly.</p>
<p>“How did you get on?” asked Devens.</p>
<p>“All right, I guess. I told Prentiss I was
out for quarter or half but he said they didn’t
need those things and told me I’d better try
for end. I’ve never played end, but I suppose
I could learn.”</p>
<p>“I dare say. How about you, Jelly?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I saw Hop this noon and
told him I wanted a fair show and he said I’d
get it. Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. All
I want now is a shower.”</p>
<p>“Here too,” agreed Devens. “Anything
doing to-night, Jelly?”</p>
<p>“A little something, I guess,” replied Jelly
cautiously, with a quick glance at Evan. “I
haven’t heard much about it.”</p>
<p>Evan looked at the others inquiringly, but
asked no questions, and Devens changed the
conversation.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
<p>“That’s a nice pair of trousers you’ve got
there, Jelly. Why don’t you take a turn in
them around the bottoms so as to keep them
out of the mud?”</p>
<p>“You dry up,” responded Jelly good-humoredly.
“I had to have them big so as I
could get them around me. I guess I’ll ask
Mrs. Crow to cut them off for me.”</p>
<p>“I would. Maybe she can make you an overcoat
of the trimmings. Got a locker, Kingsford?”</p>
<p>“Yes, thanks,” Evan replied as they
climbed the gymnasium steps and pushed open
the big oak door. “But I haven’t any towels
yet. Can you loan me one?”</p>
<p>“Sure thing—if I have any. I always forget
to have ’em washed.”</p>
<p>But investigation proved that he had three
clean ones in his locker and he handed one
over to Evan.</p>
<p>“Toss it in the bottom here when you’re
through with it, will you?” he asked. Evan
promised and went off to get ready for his
bath, encountering on the way Mr. George
Washington Jell, who, hopping around on one
foot, was pulling what appeared to be yards
and yards of khaki trouser off the other leg.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
<p>“Excuse me,” panted Jelly, as he bumped
into Evan. “Oh, that you? These fool
breeches—”</p>
<p>“Here, sit down,” laughed Evan, “and I’ll
pull them off. There you are. I really think
I’d have Mrs. Crow fix those. You’ve got
about a yard more than you need.”</p>
<p>“Or ankled,” growled Jelly, tossing the
discarded trousers on to the bench. “Thanks,
Kingsford. I’ll do as much for you sometime
maybe.”</p>
<p>“I hope you won’t have to,” Evan laughed.</p>
<p>A half-hour later he walked back alone up
the hill to Holden, and as he went he reviewed
his first day at Riverport. It had been pleasant
enough on the whole, he decided. Rob had
awakened him at a quarter past seven and
there had ensued a mad scramble into clothes
and across to Academy Hall for morning prayers.
Breakfast had been at eight, a jolly, leisurely
meal with the big windows open and
the September sunlight flooding the tables. At
nine he had gone to his first class, presided over
by Mr. Alden, or Old Joe as the boys called
him. This was his Latin class, and at eleven
came Greek, with Old Joe again presiding.
Previous to that there had been a half-hour of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
mathematics under Mr. McGill, and in the
afternoon, at three, there was English from
the principal, Dr. Farren. In all, aside from
physical training, which, as long as he was
playing foot-ball, was not required of him, he
had nineteen hours of recitations a week. This
didn’t sound much, but it was evident that
the work was going to be pretty stiff and the
nineteen hours in class meant a good many
other hours of hard preparation. Dr. Farren’s
English class looked formidable, and so
did the Greek, which study was entirely new
to Evan.</p>
<p>He hadn’t seen much of Rob save at meals,
for, although they attended the same classes,
their seats were in each case separated by the
length of the room, since Evan, as a newcomer,
was forced to accept whatever unclaimed space
he could find. But he was sure that he and Rob
were going to get on very well together and
was beginning to feel rather grateful to Frank
Hopkins for bringing about the meeting which
had resulted so fortunately. If Hopkins would
let him on to the team, thought Evan, he would
be more than willing to cry quits.</p>
<p>It was still only a little after half-past five
when he reached his room, and so, as Rob was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
not there and he had it quite to himself, he
decided to write a letter home. He had finished
two pages of his epistle when there was a
knock on the door and Malcolm Warne entered.</p>
<p>“Hello, are you all alone?” he asked.
“Where’s Rob?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since
English 3. Have you got moved?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I thought perhaps you’d like to
come over and see my room.”</p>
<p>“I would,” said Evan.</p>
<p>“It isn’t quite as nice as my other place,”
explained Malcolm as they crossed the corridor
together, “but it fixes up rather well, I
think. And it’s going to be peachy not having
any one in with me.”</p>
<p>“Well,” exclaimed Evan as he paused inside
the door of 36 and looked about him, “I
didn’t see your other room, but if it beat this
it must have been a wonder! Gee, but you’ve
got a lot of dandy truck! Where did you get
all the pictures? Is that couch yours? It looks
good enough to sleep on.”</p>
<p>“Sit down,” invited Malcolm. “Try that
wicker chair. Most of these things I brought
up with me when I came, although I’ve fetched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
one or two things since then. Glad you like
my pictures.”</p>
<p>“I like everything,” replied Evan warmly.
“It looks—it looks almost like home! I don’t
see how you ever got fixed up so quickly. Why
didn’t you let me help you?”</p>
<p>“Oh, it wasn’t any bother, and I liked doing
it. Besides, I reckon you were pretty busy
playing foot-ball, weren’t you? There’s Rob,
I think. I’ll call him in.”</p>
<p><a href="#i_p067">“Talk about your palatial mansions!” exclaimed
Rob</a> as he surveyed the room. “I
tell you what, Evan; we’ll use this for our
parlor and all sleep in 32.”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid Mrs. Crow wouldn’t stand for
that,” laughed Malcolm. “And then, too, you
say this is cold.”</p>
<p>“Cold! What of it? Who would care
whether he was cold or warm when he could
lie in the midst of such luxury?” Rob stretched
himself on the leather couch and crushed innumerable
pillows under his head. “We will
now have soft music and light refreshments,
Mal.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got some crackers,” said Malcolm
eagerly.</p>
<p>“Fetch them along. What do you think of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
all this, Evan? Isn’t our little friend a—a
one of those things commencing with an S?”</p>
<p>“Cinch?” asked Evan gravely.</p>
<p>Rob viewed him doubtfully.</p>
<p>“Cinch! That doesn’t begin— Oh, you
run away and play! Syb—sybarite! That’s
the word. What is a sybarite, Mal?”</p>
<p>“Oh, a man fond of good things, I reckon.
Actually the Sybarites were inhabitants of
Sybaris, in southern Italy. Don’t you remember
that Seneca tells of a Sybarite who complained
that he hadn’t slept well, and when
they asked him why he told them that he had
found a rose petal doubled under him and that
it had hurt him?”</p>
<p>“Isn’t he a wonder?” demanded Rob admiringly
of Evan. “Do you wonder that he’s
a whole class ahead of us stupids? Frankly,
though, Mal, I don’t recall that story of Mr.
Seneca’s, but he said a whole lot of things
I’ve forgotten—or never heard of. Anyway,
that’s what you are, Mal, a sybarite, a blooming
sybarite.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<a id="i_p067">
<img src="images/i_p067.jpg" width="600" height="416" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_65">“‘TALK ABOUT YOUR PALATIAL MANSIONS!’ EXCLAIMED ROB.”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68-<br />69]</a></span></p>
<p>Malcolm passed the crackers around and
they tried their best to spoil their appetites
for dinner. Luckily the supply of crackers
gave out before their end was accomplished.
Rob, who, stretched luxuriously on the couch,
had been too busy eating to talk, suddenly
began to moan and grimace in a frightful manner
and roll around.</p>
<p>“What’s the matter with you?” asked
Malcolm.</p>
<p>“I—I think,” muttered Rob, speaking
thickly because his mouth was full, “I think
there must be a crumpled rose petal under
me.”</p>
<p>Investigation, however, proved the rose petal
to be nothing more romantic than a block of
wood in Rob’s pocket, a block which, so he
declared, was to be fashioned into the model
of his greatest invention as soon as he could
borrow somebody’s knife, his own having all
blades broken.</p>
<p>They went over to supper together and as
they parted from Malcolm at the dining-room
door the latter brushed against Evan and thrust
a bit of paper into his hand. Puzzled but discreet,
Evan dropped it into his pocket and
promptly forgot all about it until supper was
almost over. Then, remembering it because
Malcolm’s name was mentioned, he drew it
out cautiously and read it under the protection
of his napkin. The message, written in a tiny<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
neat hand on hardly more than a square inch
of paper, was short.</p>
<p>“Hazing to-night” (it ran). “Bunk in
with me and they won’t find you. Destroy this
and don’t tell.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br />
<small>THE HAZING</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Evan tore the note into tiny bits and scattered
them under the table, something undoubtedly
in defiance of the rules. After supper,
at which the foot-ball practice was the
main subject of discussion, Evan and Rob, accompanied
by Jelly, went back to Holden.
Malcolm Warne had not returned, but that
didn’t prevent Rob from taking possession of
36 and doing the honors. Jelly was properly
impressed with so much magnificence and declared
that next year he was going to make
his folks furnish his room just like Malcolm’s.
In a lull of the conversation Evan introduced
the subject which since the receipt of Malcolm’s
mysterious warning had occupied not a little of
his thoughts.</p>
<p>“Do they haze here, Rob?” he asked.</p>
<p>There was a quick interchange of glances
between Rob and Jelly. Then Rob smiled
carelessly and shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
<p>“You might call it that,” he said. “The
new ones have to go through a few stunts, but
they don’t amount to much. Faculty bars real
hazing, which it ought. You’ll probably be
requested to sing a song or do a dance some
night, but you needn’t be worried about it.”</p>
<p>“I’m not at all worried,” answered Evan
quietly. “I only wanted to know what to expect.”</p>
<p>“They made me recite ‘Curfew Shall Not
Ring To-night,’” said Jelly, smiling foolishly
at the recollection.</p>
<p>“It was funny, too,” laughed Rob. “Just
picture Jelly in his little white nightie spouting
that with inappropriate gestures!”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have minded if it hadn’t been
for the gestures,” said Jelly with a grin.
“They made me do all sorts of fool things,
like pulling the bell-rope and clasping my
hands.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and when it came to the last they
made him swing by his hands from the transom.
I can see him yet, kicking his legs back
and forth and gurgling ‘Curfew shall <em>not</em> ring
to-night!’”</p>
<p>“Well, I hope they don’t ask me for poetry,”
said Evan, “for I don’t know any.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
<p>“Better get Malcolm to coach you,” Jelly
suggested. “He knows every line of poetry
that was ever written, I guess. And I <em>have</em>
thought,”—dropping his voice to a hoarse
whisper—“that he even writes it!”</p>
<p>“Of course he does,” said Rob. “Every
Southerner reads poetry and writes it. Southerners
are romantic—whatever that is.”</p>
<p>Presently Malcolm returned, and Jelly took
his departure, declaring that he supposed he
would have to study although he had quite forgotten
how. At Rob’s suggestion Malcolm
brought his books into 32 and the three found
places about the old green-topped table and
prepared their lessons. It was hard going,
though, and there were many interruptions,
and after a while Malcolm gathered up his
books and declared that he would have to go
back to his own room if he was to do any
work.</p>
<p>“Sorry, Mal,” said Rob. “It’s my fault.
I can’t seem to get my mind on lessons to-night.
I’ve thought of a way to make that
foot-scraper a lot better. Supposing that instead
of having the brush—”</p>
<p>“Never mind,” laughed Malcolm. “You
tell me about it to-morrow. Good night.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
<p>“Aren’t you coming back after study?”</p>
<p>“No, I’m going to bed.” He shot a questioning
look at Evan. Evan smiled and shook
his head slightly.</p>
<p>“What are you idiots signalling about?”
asked Rob. “What’s up? Or isn’t it any of
my business?”</p>
<p>“It isn’t,” answered Malcolm. “You’d
better change your mind, though, Evan.”</p>
<p>“No, I guess not. I’m much obliged,
though.”</p>
<p>“Well, if you do—” Malcolm left the sentence
unfinished. “Good night, fellows.”</p>
<p>“Good night,” they echoed. Rob was already
busy with the problem of the improvement
of the foot-scraper, drawing strange lines
on a fly-leaf. Evan went back to his algebra.
After a while the bell in the tower of Academy
Hall struck nine and he closed his book with
a sigh and gathered his papers together. Rob
was still drawing, his unruly hair straggling
down over his puckered forehead. Evan
watched amusedly for a minute. Then,</p>
<p>“Got your lessons, Rob?” he asked gravely.</p>
<p>“Eh? What?” Rob looked up with a startled
frown. “What time is it?”</p>
<p>“Just struck nine.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
<p>“Jingo! I’ve got to get busy. Look at this,
though, Evan. I’ve got it dead to rights now.
I’ll bet it will work finely.” So for the next
five minutes Evan listened to an explanation
of the drawings and a eulogy of the invention.
Then Rob resolutely turned his mind to the
Anabasis, remarking sadly that it was all
Greek to him, and Evan finished his letter.
They went to bed at ten and Rob fell promptly
to sleep. Evan, however, with Malcolm’s warning
in mind, preferred to stay awake and await
developments. The dormitory was very quiet,
and when fully a half-hour had gone by, Evan
began to think that Malcolm had mistaken the
date. He closed his eyes at last, for he was
really very sleepy, and was afloat in that delicious
state between slumber and waking when
there sounded a quiet but peremptory knock
on the door. Rob didn’t hear it but Evan was
wide awake on the instant. He slid out of bed,
stumbled across the room and fumbled at Rob’s
patent latch.</p>
<p>“Open!” commanded a voice outside.</p>
<p>“All right,” answered Evan, “but you’ll
have to wait until I find the combination of
this plaguey thing.”</p>
<p>Then the latch slipped back and the door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
swung inward. In the hall were some twenty
boys variously attired.</p>
<p>“What’s wanted?” asked Evan innocently.</p>
<p>Frank Hopkins, who was apparently master
of ceremonies, replied grimly:</p>
<p>“You are. Come on.”</p>
<p>“What for?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“Never you mind. Just come along.”</p>
<p>“Hello! What’s doing?” Rob appeared
behind Evan, blinking. “Oh, I see. Buck up,
Evan, it’s soon over. I’ll join the mob and
see the fun.”</p>
<p>So Evan was marched off in custody, feeling
somewhat ridiculous in his night attire. However,
there were plenty of others who boasted
no more elaborate costumes than his, for pajamas
appeared to be the proper dress. There
was nothing solemn in the occasion. Every
one whispered or laughed under his breath and
a handful of more cheerful spirits joined arms
and did a snake-dance down the hall. Evan
was conducted to a room at the far end of the
corridor, a room which, because it was larger
than most, was regularly used on such occasions.
Here, standing dejectedly about, were
six other new boys, one of them, a youth of not
over twelve years, looking at once pathetic and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
ridiculous in a long nightgown several sizes
too large for him. Evidently Evan was the last
of the victims, for after he had entered with
his captors the door was closed and bolted.
The room was crowded to its full capacity and
there was a general scramble for posts of vantage.
The two beds served as grand-stands,
all those who could securing seats on the edge
and more standing up behind them. The others
formed a circle about the center of the
room, the study table having been pushed aside.
Evan wondered if Malcolm was there, but
failed to see him.</p>
<p>If Frank Hopkins was master of ceremonies,
Edgar Prentiss was undoubtedly his first
lieutenant and a most able one. Hopkins looked
over the initiates disgustedly.</p>
<p>“A mighty small crop this year,” he said,
“and a pretty poor one, too. Who’s first,
Ed?”</p>
<p>“Let’s have Little Nemo,” said Prentiss,
pointing to the boy in the nightgown. “Come
out here, Little Nemo. Step forward and make
a nice bow to the company.”</p>
<p>The youth obeyed, trying very hard to smile.</p>
<p>“What’s your name, kid?” demanded Hopkins.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>
<p>“George Winship.”</p>
<p>“Say ‘sir’ when addressing the Honorable
Court,” Prentiss commanded. “What are
you doing here?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know—sir.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know? What did you come here
for?”</p>
<p>“To learn, sir.”</p>
<p>“Good. Can you sing?”</p>
<p>“N-no, sir.”</p>
<p>“All right. Then go ahead and sing.”</p>
<p>“I can’t.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got to.” The boy looked distressedly
around the circle of amused faces.
“What—what shall I sing?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Anything,” answered Hopkins. “Only
get at it.”</p>
<p>“Do you know ‘Rock-a-bye, Baby’?” asked
Prentiss, scoring a laugh from the audience.
The boy shook his head.</p>
<p>“All I know is ‘Rock of Ages,’ I guess,”
he said apologetically.</p>
<p>“Let’s hear that, then,” said Prentiss. But
there was a murmur of disapproval and Rob
growled:</p>
<p>“Shut up, Prentiss; that’s a hymn. Cut
it out and let the kid go.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
<p>“Hello, Lanky Rob, you here?” returned
Prentiss. “Don’t butt in. Can you recite
anything, Little Nemo?” The boy shook his
head again.</p>
<p>“Sure?” demanded Hopkins suspiciously.</p>
<p>“Yes—sir.”</p>
<p>“What can you do, then? Haven’t you any
parlor tricks?” The boy considered a moment,
painfully anxious to oblige but at a loss
what to say. Then, his face lighting up,</p>
<p>“I can dance the Highland fling!” he announced
eagerly. A howl of amused approval
went up.</p>
<p>“Go ahead, kid!”</p>
<p>“Fling away!”</p>
<p>“I thought all along he was a Scotchman!”</p>
<p>“I—I usually have music,” said the boy
doubtfully.</p>
<p>“Sorry, but the bagpipes have just left,”
said Hopkins. “Let’s have it without music,
kid.”</p>
<p>So young Winship danced the Highland fling
for them, his face very serious and his long
nightgown flopping and writhing about him
with ludicrous effect. Some of the fellows
began to hum and after that the boy did rather
well, for he knew the dance thoroughly and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
light and graceful. But it was terribly funny
and even Evan had to laugh with the others.
Winship ended amidst a howl of approval and
much clapping.</p>
<p>“You’re all right, kid,” they assured him,
and Hopkins let him go to find a place amongst
the audience. The next youth was all ready
with a song, but he was much too anxious and
so Hopkins refused to allow him to sing and
made him recite instead. He was a serious
youth, and after he had reeled off two verses
of “The Launching of the Ship” some one in
the background threw a pillow at him and he
was allowed to go in peace. The next victim
had an extensive repertoire of popular songs
and made such a hit that he was kept at it
until he ran out of breath. And so it went for
almost an hour. A stout youth was made to
stand on his head—a feat which he only accomplished
after innumerable failures—and
then was required to imitate the cries of every
animal any one in the audience could think of.
His imitations were not successful as imitations
but they were funny, notably when he
was instructed to make a noise like an eel and
whistled through his teeth. There was more
dancing and a pale-faced, red-haired boy recited<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
“Casey at the Bat” and won liberal
applause. Evan was saved for the last, a fact
which caused him some uneasiness. He would
have much preferred to have some one other
than Hopkins managing affairs. His turn
came at last and Hopkins told him to step out.</p>
<p>“What’s your name, little boy?”</p>
<p>“Evan Kingsford.”</p>
<p>“‘Sir!’”</p>
<p>“Sir.”</p>
<p>“Kingsford, eh? Not—not Kingsford the
great quarter-back, of course?”</p>
<p>“No—that is, no, sir,” answered Evan,
flushing a little in spite of his determination
not to let them worry him.</p>
<p>“Then you don’t play foot-ball?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, I do.”</p>
<p>“What position?”</p>
<p>“Quarter-back,” answered Evan good-naturedly.</p>
<p>“Ah! What did I tell you, Ed? It is—it
really is the famous Mr. Kingsford of whom
we have all heard. There’s no use trying to
deceive us, Mr. Kingsford. All is discovered.
We know you. You were quarter-back on the
All-America Girls’ Preparatory School Team
last year!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
<p>Every one laughed at that, Evan as quickly
as any.</p>
<p>“Now, Mr. Kingsford,” went on Hopkins,
very much pleased by his wit, “we will ask
you to give us a few lessons in the rudiments
of foot-ball. A little more room, please. Ed,
produce the pigskin.”</p>
<p>Prentiss pulled a foot-ball from under the
bed. A strong cord was attached to the lacings,
and Evan viewed it with misgivings. Hopkins
placed the ball on the floor, retaining the end
of the cord.</p>
<p>“Now, Mr. Kingsford, kindly show us how
to kick. Aim the ball toward the wall, please,
so as not to break a window.”</p>
<p>Evan knew well enough what to expect, but
<a href="#i_p083">he went through the motions of kicking from
placement</a>. Of course the ball wasn’t there
when his foot swung at it, and of course the
audience was vastly amused. This performance
was gone through with several times,
Prentiss at each attempt shading his eyes with
his hand and announcing the distance made,
as:</p>
<p>“Fine work, Kingsford! Forty-five yards
and excellent direction!” “Fifty-odd that
time, but a little too low. Try again.” “Better,
much better! Sixty yards at least and a
beautiful corkscrew! Wonderful! Marvellous!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 389px;">
<a id="i_p083">
<img src="images/i_p083.jpg" width="389" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_82">“HE WENT THROUGH THE MOTIONS OF KICKING FROM
PLACEMENT.”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84-<br />85]</a></span></p>
<p>Evan was almost as much amused as the
others, and Hopkins didn’t like that. So,</p>
<p>“Now, Mr. Kingsford, if you please, we will
have a little falling on the ball.” A chorus of
delighted laughter greeted this announcement.
Falling on the ball wasn’t quite as funny as
kicking it, to Evan at least, although every
one else enjoyed it hugely. The floor was very,
very hard and, of course, the ball was never
there when he dropped, never save once when
he was too quick for Hopkins and managed to
snuggle the pigskin under his arm before the
captain could yank it away. This feat won
applause from the spectators and a scowl from
Hopkins.</p>
<p>“Put more ginger into it, Mr. Kingsford,”
commanded the latter. “You’re not half trying.
That’s better!” Evan’s elbow and hip
crashed against the floor and the foot-ball
bounded out of his reach. The audience howled
approval.</p>
<p>“Now try a dive, Mr. Kingsford. Stand
off there about six feet and let us see what you
can do with a moving ball.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
<p>But Evan was feeling pretty sore and lame
by this time, and he rebelled.</p>
<p>“I guess I’ve done enough,” he said good-humoredly.
“This floor isn’t quite as soft
as the turf.”</p>
<p>“Enough,” said Prentiss, “why, we can
never see enough of such clever work, Mr.
Kingsford!”</p>
<p>“Well, I’ve had enough, if you haven’t,”
replied Evan doggedly.</p>
<p>“You’ll do as we tell you,” said Hopkins.
“We’re managing this show. Now you get
over there and—”</p>
<p>“I won’t, I tell you. I’m not going to break
my bones for you. I’ve done as much as any
of the others already, and I don’t intend to get
all lamed up.”</p>
<p>“That’s right, Hop,” said Rob, and some
of the others agreed. But Hopkins wasn’t
ready to let go.</p>
<p>“You dry up, Rob!” he snarled. “You
haven’t got anything to say about this. You
haven’t any business in here anyhow; you’re
a junior. This is upper class, and so you shut
up.”</p>
<p>“You can make me, I guess—not,” drawled
Rob.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
<p>“There are plenty of us here to run you out
of the room,” answered Hopkins angrily.</p>
<p>“All right, come try it. Let’s have a little
rough-house,” replied Rob smilingly. But
there was an expression about his eyes and
mouth that Hop didn’t just like, and while he
was hesitating some of the others broke in.</p>
<p>“Oh, cut out the slanging!”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Lanky!”</p>
<p>“Go ahead with the show, Hop!”</p>
<p>Hopkins glared angrily at Rob and then
turned his attention again to Evan.</p>
<p>“Come on, fresh kid,” he commanded. “Do
as we tell you.”</p>
<p>“I’m through,” said Evan quietly.</p>
<p>“Then we’ll make you! Put him over
there, Prentiss.”</p>
<p>“Better not try it,” said Evan as the tall
Prentiss came toward him. He was still smiling,
but the smile was rather set and his eyes
were fixed very steadily on Prentiss. Also, he
stepped back and clenched his fists in a very
business-like way. But Prentiss was no coward,
and, besides, he was much bigger than
Evan. There might have been real trouble in
another moment had not the light suddenly
gone out, plunging the room into complete<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
darkness. A howl of laughter went up and
good-natured rough-house began as the fellows
swarmed from their places. Some one found
the foot-ball and it went banging about in the
darkness regardless of heads.</p>
<p>“Light! Let there be light!”</p>
<p>“I want to go home!”</p>
<p>“Look out for the table, fellows!”</p>
<p>And above the pandemonium could be heard
Hopkins angrily demanding that some one turn
the light on again. Evan, in the thick of the
swaying, laughing throng, felt a hand on his
arm.</p>
<p>“This you, Evan?” whispered Rob’s voice.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“This way then, quietly. Make for the
door.” Evan followed and in another moment
they were in the dimly-lighted hall running for
their room. Once inside Rob bolted the door
and closed the transom. Then, much pleased
with his strategy, he sat down on his bed and
chuckled. From the other end of the hall came
the sound of stampeding youths and from the
floor below Mr. McGill’s deep voice:</p>
<p>“Fellows, be quiet up there! Go to your
rooms!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br />
<small>UP THE MOUNTAIN</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">For several days after the hazing, fellows—many
of whom were only dimly familiar to
Evan—accosted him as he passed with such
remarks as: “Kick it again, Kingsford!” or,
“Sixty yards easy that time!” But it was
all good-natured, and Evan only smiled and
went on, and presently the joke died out. It
was a very busy first week of school for Evan.
In the first place, it was no easy matter to get
shaken down to his studies, many of which were
either quite new to him or presented in an entirely
new way. And there was daily practice
on the gridiron after recitation hours, and
plenty of hard work in the shape of study in
the evenings. But there was fun too, and, on
one occasion at least, even adventure.</p>
<p>It was Malcolm Warne who suggested the
trip up Graytop. Football practice was over
and as Evan started up the slope toward the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
gymnasium he encountered Malcolm and Rob.
Rob was lazing along with his hands in his
pockets and a good-natured grin on his face,
and Malcolm was talking earnestly to him as
though striving to arouse him from his mental
indolence. It was Rob who called to Evan.</p>
<p>“Hello, there, you Evan! Come over here.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got to change.”</p>
<p>“What of it?” asked Rob. “You can stop
a minute, can’t you? What do you suppose this
chump wants to do? You’d never guess!”</p>
<p>“I’m not even going to try,” replied Evan,
with a glance at Malcolm’s amused countenance.
“I’m too tired.”</p>
<p>“Well, he wants to climb Graytop.”</p>
<p>“Does he?” Evan turned and let his gaze
travel up the side of the mountain. “Why
not?”</p>
<p>“I guess you never tried it,” said Rob.
“Moreover, he wants us to go with him.”</p>
<p>“Now?” asked Evan, startled.</p>
<p>“No, to-morrow,” answered Malcolm. “It’s
Saturday, you know. We can start in the morning,
take some grub and cook dinner on the
top. It’s a lot of fun. Rob is such a lazy-bones
that he thinks he can’t climb it.”</p>
<p>“Me?” said Rob indignantly. “Why, I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
been up there a half-dozen times. It’s one of
the easiest things I do. I was only considering
Evan. He’s young and tender and it’s a hard
climb up there. You don’t want to go, do you,
Evan?”</p>
<p>“Sure I do,” answered his room-mate heartily.
“I should think it would be lots of fun.
I love to picnic on mountain-tops.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m not going to lug the basket,”
sighed Rob.</p>
<p>“We won’t take any basket,” explained
Malcolm. “I know a trick worth two of that.
We’ll divide the stuff into three lots and each
of us will take our share in a pack.”</p>
<p>“A what?”</p>
<p>“A pack; done up in a bundle and tied on
our backs.”</p>
<p>“You must think I’m a mule,” Rob grumbled.
“All right, though, I don’t want to spoil
anyone’s fun.”</p>
<p>And so it was finally settled that they were
to start out bright and early after breakfast
the next morning. The matter of rations was
left to Malcolm because, as Rob put it, he could
look pathetic and move the cook’s heart. It
was necessary to obtain permission for the expedition
and Rob attended to that that evening.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
<p>“I told Doc,” he related after supper, “that
we were taking Evan up to show him the
beauties of the surrounding country. And Doc
was real pleased; said it was very thoughtful
of me and showed a nice disposition. I guess
I made a hit all right.”</p>
<p>“What are we going to take to eat?” asked
Evan.</p>
<p>“Steak and potatoes and bread and coffee,”
answered Malcolm. “We’ll broil the steak
over the fire and bake the potatoes—”</p>
<p>“And boil the bread and toast the coffee,”
interrupted Rob flippantly. “You talk like a
guinea-pig, Mal! Isn’t there going to be any
pie or doughnuts?”</p>
<p>“Yes, if I can raise them.”</p>
<p>“I hope you can. Doughnuts ought to be
raised, oughtn’t they? I’ll carry the doughnuts
because they’ll be light.”</p>
<p>“You’re an idiot,” laughed Malcolm.
“We’ll have to take a coffee-pot along, too.
Last year some of us went up there and took
a lot of coffee and forgot the pot.”</p>
<p>“And this is the chap to whom we are going
to entrust our young and innocent lives!” exclaimed
Rob dejectedly. “A chap who has a
record like that! I refuse to go along!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
<p>“Oh, you’ll go all right enough when you
see the steak and things I’ll get,” scoffed
Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Huh! I know all about picnic steak. It’s
burned black on the outside and is all red
and raw in the middle. And it tastes of
smoke.”</p>
<p>“Not the way I cook it,” laughed the other.
“You wait.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I suppose you do it in a chafing-dish!
The worst of it is, fellows, that after you’ve
climbed up there you’re so hungry that you
can eat anything. Last time I went up I had
to gnaw the bark off the trees for the last half-mile
to keep up my strength.”</p>
<p>“I wondered who had been blazing the trees
up there,” said Malcolm innocently.</p>
<p>“Somebody’s telling whoppers,” laughed
Evan, “for I can see from down here that
there aren’t any trees on the top.”</p>
<p>“There were, but Rob ate them all down!
Well, nine o’clock sharp, you fellows—don’t
forget.”</p>
<p>Rob groaned.</p>
<p>“Forget! I wish I could. I shall dream of
it all night. If I have the nightmare, Evan,
please wake me up.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
<p>“You have something that sounds like a
nightmare about every night,” answered Evan
dryly. “You’re lucky you didn’t get in here
with him, Malcolm. He’s the noisiest brute
when he’s asleep I ever heard.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe it!” said Rob indignantly.
“I never hear a sound!”</p>
<p>“Because you’re making too much noise.”</p>
<p>“He’s probably inventing things in his
sleep,” Malcolm laughed from the doorway.
“Good-night.”</p>
<p>“Good-night. By the way, Doc says we
must be careful about fires up there, because
things are so dry. Guess he’s afraid you’ll
burn the old mountain down, Mal. Well, see
you in the morning.”</p>
<p>When morning came, and when Evan, after
lying half awake for a time with the consciousness
of being disagreeably chilly, finally
dropped himself on his elbow and glanced
toward the windows, it seemed that the weather
didn’t approve of the expedition, for the morning
world was gray and damp and cold. The
wind was blowing out of the east and a thin
fog drifted in from the bay. Evan fumbled
for his watch and found that it was time to
get up. But the idea of arising in his pajamas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
and putting down the window didn’t appeal
to him, so he huddled himself under the blanket
again and called to Rob.</p>
<p>“O Rob! Time to get up!”</p>
<p>There was no answer from across the room,
however, and Evan tried again.</p>
<p>“O Rob! Get up, you lazy beggar, and close
the window!”</p>
<p>There was a grunt and Rob flopped over and
flattened himself out more comfortably, with
his face buried in his arm.</p>
<p>Evan threw a pillow across, but missed. A
second landed on Rob’s head, but only drew
a grunt.</p>
<p>“Sluggard!” muttered Evan contemptuously.</p>
<p>With both pillows gone he could no longer
be comfortable, and so, after a minute’s hesitation,
he scrambled out of bed and dashed
across to the window and sent it down with a
crash loud enough to awaken anybody but Rob.
Shivering, Evan got some of his clothes on.
Then he pulled blanket and sheet from the
slumberer and gleefully watched results. Rob
drew his legs up with a protesting murmur and
sleepily groped for the bed-clothes. Not finding
them, he opened one eye and discovered his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
plight. Then he opened the other eye and regarded
Evan blinkingly.</p>
<p>“Huh?” he muttered inquiringly.</p>
<p>“Get up,” said Evan sternly.</p>
<p>“Huh?” Rob’s eyes closed slowly.</p>
<p>“Get up, you silly chump. Don’t you know
you’re freezing?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I—know.” Rob made a supreme
effort and turned over. “What time is it?”</p>
<p>Evan told him. “And look at the weather,”
he added. “Isn’t it rank?”</p>
<p>Rob cast an uninterested glance toward the
windows and then sighed and arose.</p>
<p>“Gee, but it’s cold!” he muttered as he went
over and regarded the gray and misty landscape.
“What rotten weather,” he sighed.
“Still, it’s mostly fog and maybe it will burn
off before long.”</p>
<p>“I suppose we might leave our climb for
another day,” Evan suggested.</p>
<p>“Oh, this isn’t bad. I rather like a cloudy
day. Besides, it will be cooler, and climbing
that old hill is rather warm work.”</p>
<p>“Thought you didn’t want to go.”</p>
<p>“Well, when I once make up my mind that
a thing has to be done,” responded Rob as he
splashed and spluttered over the basin, “I like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
to do it and get it over with. Br-r-rr! This
water feels as though it had ice in it.... Besides,
Mal would be disappointed.”</p>
<p>“All right; I’m game,” Evan assented.</p>
<p>They were ready to start shortly after nine.
Malcolm had secured his provisions and had
discovered a potato-sack in the cellar. This
he cut into three squares. Then he divided the
load and wrapped the portions up in the pieces
of sacking. These were tied to the shoulders
of the three members of the expedition with
pieces of twine. As they started off towards
the Doctor’s cottage they created quite a sensation
among the fellows they met and were
the recipients of many inquiries, while humorous
comments on their appearance were not
wanting. Mr. George Washington Jell hailed
them from the steps of Academy and hurried
after them.</p>
<p>“Where are you fellows going?” he asked.
“Up Graytop?”</p>
<p>“We are,” replied Rob soberly.</p>
<p>“Let me go, will you, Rob?”</p>
<p>“No, Jelly, I will not.”</p>
<p>“Oh, go ahead! Why not?”</p>
<p>“Because I have some consideration for
your welfare, Jelly. You’d be just skin and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
bones by the time you got to the top—if you
ever did! And besides, I have troubles of my
own, Jelly, and can’t stop to pull you over the
rocks or carry you in my arms when you get
tired.”</p>
<p>“I won’t get tired, honest, Rob. I’m a
dandy climber!”</p>
<p>“You look it,” laughed Malcolm.</p>
<p>“You don’t mind if I go, do you?” asked
Jelly, turning his attention eagerly to Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Indeed I do, Jelly. You see, we have only
an ordinary amount of food with us, and either
you’d starve or we would.”</p>
<p>“If you’ll just walk slow I’ll run back and
get some more,” said Jelly. “It won’t take
me but a minute. Go on, Rob, let me go
along.”</p>
<p>Rob looked inquiringly at Malcolm and Evan.
Evan laughed.</p>
<p>“Let him come, Rob,” he said. “The more
the merrier. But he <em>will</em> have to get some more
grub.”</p>
<p>“We-ll,” began Rob. But Jelly was already
hurrying back toward the kitchen. “I
suppose we might as well take him,” said Rob.
“He’s a decent chap. But he will be just about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
all in by the time he gets up. We’ll go ahead
slow and let him catch up to us.”</p>
<p>But by the time they had reached the first
ascent it was evident that if they were to have
the pleasure of Mr. Jell’s society on the climb
they would have to wait for him. So they
perched themselves on top of the stone wall that
divides the school property from the woods and
waited.</p>
<p>“Let’s cut some sticks,” suggested Malcolm.
“They help a lot until you get to the
rocks.”</p>
<p>“Right you are,” Rob agreed. “We must
have some alpen-stocks. Who’s got a good
strong knife?”</p>
<p>Evan supplied that article, and they set out
in search of suitable branches for their purpose.
By the time they had cut and trimmed four
stout sticks Jelly was in sight, toiling breathlessly
up the slope with a package wrapped in
a flapping newspaper in one hand. When he
reached them he was so out of breath that they
mercifully perched themselves on the wall
again and allowed him to recuperate.</p>
<p>“All I could get,” panted Jelly, “was bread
and potatoes and six raw eggs. Cook was
grumpy as she could be. Said she’d given out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
all the food she was going to. Said somebody
had helped himself to a lot of crullers from the
pastry-room.”</p>
<p>Malcolm looked idly at the sky and hummed
a song.</p>
<p>“I thought they were doughnuts,” murmured
Rob.</p>
<p>“It was extremely thoughtless of ‘someone,’”
said Evan. “I hope you like eggs and
potatoes, Jelly. You must be a vegetarian.”</p>
<p>“No, he’s a Presbyterian; aren’t you,
Jelly?” said Rob.</p>
<p>“Don’t you worry about me,” answered
Jelly with a grin. “I swiped a pair of chops
when cook wasn’t looking. I <em>think</em> they’re
veal.”</p>
<p>“A pair!” laughed Malcolm. “How do
you know they’re a pair? Wouldn’t it be awful
if you’d got two rights or two lefts, Jelly?”</p>
<p>“Let us hope they’re not veal,” said Rob
gravely, “because you have to bread veal chops
and serve them with tomato sauce, and our culinary
arrangements are extremely limited.”</p>
<p>“It was very, very wrong of you,” observed
Malcolm sternly, “to steal chops from dear
cook. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you
choked yourself on the bones.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
<p>“Aren’t any bones,” replied Jelly triumphantly.
“They’re all meat. Besides, you
swiped the crullers.”</p>
<p>“Not at all,” answered Malcolm calmly.
“The crullers were lying there in a big pan
and I merely helped myself to our share instead
of waiting until dinner-time.”</p>
<p>“Well, I just took my chops instead of waiting,”
responded Jelly.</p>
<p>“I have a feeling,” said Rob, “that this excursion
is going to end in disaster. The presence
of a thief in our midst will certainly work
us ill. However, as I am particularly fond of
eggs, Jelly, we won’t send you back. You may
come along if you will promise never to steal
a pair of veal chops again. And now, if you
have sufficiently recovered your breath, we will
proceed. Where’s my alpen-stock? Ah, here
it is. I love my little alpen-stock.”</p>
<p>It was not hard work for the first quarter of
a mile, for the ascent through the maple woods
was easy and there was a well-defined path to
follow. The path led around the right elbow
of the hill and in the course of time reached the
summit from the farther side. But to make the
ascent by the path was not considered
“sporty” at Riverport, and presently, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
the maples had given place to black and yellow
birches and oaks and ashes, Malcolm, who was
in the lead, swung away from the path and
started almost straight up the mountain. The
alpen-stocks proved their value now and it
wasn’t long before the four boys were puffing
like porpoises and the muscles of their legs were
protesting vehemently. Jelly was soon occupying
a position well in the rear, the perspiration
trickling down his face and the sound of his
breathing reaching the others like the exhaust
of the steam pump in the boiler house at school.
He held his precious parcel of rations in one
hand and used his stick with the other, and
there were times when he wished heartily for
a third. The clouds still hid the sun, but
the morning had grown warmer, and here in
the woods what breeze there was failed to
penetrate. Suddenly there was a cry of dismay
from Jelly and the others turned anxiously.</p>
<p>“What’s the matter?” called Evan.</p>
<p>Jelly, some twenty yards down the slope, was
dimly visible through the trees. He was stooping
over his bundle and pulling the paper away
with frantic anxiety.</p>
<p>“Anything wrong?” called Rob.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
<p>“Wrong!” shouted Jelly at last in a despairing
voice. “My bundle’s leaking! I’ve
lost both chops and two eggs and a whole lot of
potatoes!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br />
<small>ON TABLE ROCK</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">A howl of laughter arose from Rob and
Evan and Malcolm. Jelly peered up at
them disgustedly.</p>
<p>“I don’t see anything to laugh at!” he
cried. “All I’ve got left is two eggs and three
potatoes!”</p>
<p>“That’s enough for anybody,” answered
Malcolm. Rob had seated himself on a tree-root
and was laughing helplessly.</p>
<p>“I’m going back to look for them,” called
Jelly. “You fellows wait. Don’t you run off
and leave me, now!”</p>
<p>“We won’t,” gurgled Rob. “But—but get
a move on!”</p>
<p>“Poor Jelly,” chuckled Evan. “He’s
nearly dead already. If he can’t find his ‘pair
of chops,’ Malcolm, have we got enough for him
to eat?”</p>
<p>“Nobody ever had enough for Jelly to eat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
yet,” answered Rob, wiping his eyes on his
sleeve.</p>
<p>“There’ll be enough at a pinch,” Malcolm
replied. “Personally I’m not sorry to get a
chance to sit down a moment. This is something
of a climb, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“You bet it is,” replied Evan, following the
example of the others and seating himself with
a sigh. “How much further is it?”</p>
<p>“We’ve done about half,” Malcolm answered,
“but the rest of the trip is the hardest.
What time is it, I wonder.”</p>
<p>It was twenty minutes to eleven.</p>
<p>“Time enough,” muttered Rob, leaning back
against a tree, “if Jelly doesn’t delay the
game too long. Isn’t he funny with his ‘pair
of chops?’”</p>
<p>“There he comes, I think,” said Evan. “I
hear something down there. O Jelly!”</p>
<p>“Hello!”</p>
<p>“Did you find ’em?”</p>
<p>“Yes, most of them,” was the faint reply.
After another minute Jelly appeared below.
Stopping to recover his parcel, he toiled up to
them, his face as red as a beet and the perspiration
running down his cheeks. He sank
to the ground and puffed and panted.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
<p>“I found the chops,” he said. “And
six—potatoes—but the eggs—were—smashed.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t you recover any of them?” asked
Rob solicitously.</p>
<p>“If you want them—you can—go back
and—get them,” Jelly retorted with a grin.
He pulled the parcel to him, threw back the
paper and exposed his treasures; nine small
potatoes, two eggs, two slices of buttered bread
and two pink chops covered with dirt and
leaves. Jelly took up the chops and lovingly
cleaned them while the others looked on laughing.</p>
<p>“They’re perfectly good chops,” asserted
Jelly, faintly indignant.</p>
<p>“Of course they are,” answered Rob soothingly.
“A few leaves and a little dirt will give
them a fine, gamey flavor. They look like mutton
to me, Jelly.”</p>
<p>Jelly held one to his nose and sniffed it
critically.</p>
<p>“N—no, I think they’re veal,” he replied
gravely. “I wish these eggs were hard boiled;
then they wouldn’t have broken.”</p>
<p>“So do I,” said Rob. “I only allowed you
to come, Jelly, because I am extremely fond of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
eggs. And now you have only half an excuse
for your presence.”</p>
<p>“Say, Jelly,” Malcolm suggested, “you’d
better stuff that truck in your pockets. Then
you won’t lose it.”</p>
<p>“Guess I will,” muttered Jelly. He
wrapped the chops tenderly in a piece of the
newspaper and then distributed his rations
about him. “Now,” he said, “it won’t be so
hard to climb.”</p>
<p>“Well, let’s get on then,” said Rob. “I
used to think, fellows, that I’d like to be a Swiss
mountaineer and leap from crag to crag and
yodel merrily in my glee, but I’ve changed
my mind. Where’s my— Thank you, Evan.
As I said before, I love my little alpen-stock.”</p>
<p>A quarter of an hour later they left the trees
behind them and found themselves on a rocky
slope sparsely grown with low bushes and
tough, wiry grass. Here the sticks were no
longer of use and they discarded them. Boulders
and stones made progress slow and uncertain,
and several times they had to climb on
hands and knees up the face of some bare ledge.
This was hard work for Jelly, and near the
summit they were forced to stop and allow him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
to recover. A final scramble along the side of
Table Rock and they were on top, breathless
and weary but triumphant.</p>
<p>On all sides the country was visible for miles,
although the mist to-day hid the further distances.
South-eastward Narragansett Bay
stretched out to the Sound, dully blue. White
sails appeared here and there, and a steamer
was making its way westward with a dark
streak of smoke trailing ahead. The school
buildings, directly below, looked no larger than
cigar-boxes. Northward the country stretched
away in wooded hills and meadows, sprinkled
with farms and tiny white houses. Riverport
was like a toy village and only a haze of smoke
told where Providence lay at the head of the
bay. Lake Matunuxet wound its long length
toward the west like a wide blue-gray ribbon.
The roads were buff scratches that dipped and
turned across the green and russet landscape.
The distant screech of a locomotive drew their
eyes to where a freight train crawled along the
edge of the bay beyond Riverport.</p>
<p>“It’s a dandy view, isn’t it?” asked Evan,
who had seated himself on the edge of the great
flat ledge with his legs hanging over a sixty-foot
drop.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
<p>“Yes, but it’s all-fired cold,” answered Rob.
“Let’s get over on the other side and start a
fire. I’m hungry enough to eat Jelly’s dirty
chops.”</p>
<p>The wind which, since they had left the protection
of the trees, had been growing stronger
each moment, blew coldly from the water.
Overhead the clouds were drifting fast, and
now and then a faint yellow radiance momentarily
gave promise of sunlight. The others
were glad to follow Rob’s suggestion. The
ledge sloped westward to a litter of giant
boulders and slabs, and among these there were
traces of many former fires. The boys set
about collecting wood: small branches of bushes
and the remains of previous stores. Malcolm
viewed the result dubiously.</p>
<p>“This isn’t going to be nearly enough fuel,
fellows,” he said. “Somebody will have to go
down and get some more.”</p>
<p>Rob looked interestedly at the distant hills.
Jelly continued emptying the treasures from his
pockets into a crevice in the rock. Evan looked
thoughtfully at the pile of wood.</p>
<p>“How far do we have to go?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Down to the trees. It’s not so far on this
side. You and I will go, Evan, and leave these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
lazy duffers to start the fire. I want a good
big bed of coals to cook on.”</p>
<p>“All right,” said Evan, “but let’s wait a
few minutes more. Gee, I haven’t really got
my breath back yet.”</p>
<p>“I wish you’d let me go,” murmured Rob.
“What a beautiful view it is, to be sure.”</p>
<p>“I’d go for wood,” said Jelly earnestly,
“but I’m pretty tuckered, Malcolm. I suppose
it’s being so fleshy that—”</p>
<p>“You’re not fleshy,” said Rob, “you’re
<em>fat</em>, Jelly. Fleshy is much too polite a name for
your trouble.”</p>
<p>“Never mind,” said Malcolm. “You sit
down and get rested, Jelly. At least, you had
the decency to <em>offer</em> to go, which is more than
I can say for somebody.”</p>
<p>“I believe you are insinuating, Malcolm
Warne! Your words and manner are alike insulting.
I challenge you to mortal combat, up
here above the clouds.” Rob picked up Jelly’s
two precious eggs, “Behold the weapons!
Eggs <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au naturel</i>, at a distance of forty paces!”</p>
<p>“Here, you put those down, Rob!” shrieked
Jelly in alarm.</p>
<p>“I shall be glad to put them down when
they’re cooked, Mr. Jell.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
<p>“Please don’t break them,” begged Jelly.
“Malcolm, make him let my eggs alone.”</p>
<p>“That’s right, Rob. If you must play with
those do it over the frying-pan so they won’t
be wasted. Let’s go down and get the wood,
Evan. How about it—rested enough?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m ready.”</p>
<p>“Just to show you that you have misjudged
me sadly,” said Rob, “I will go along and help.
You start the fire, Jelly, and keep it going until
we get back with more supplies.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br />
<small>DINNER IS SERVED</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Malcolm pointed out the “stove,” a hollow
between three big ragged boulders,
already blackened by former fires, and Jelly set
to work to pile the fuel there. The others
climbed cautiously down the ledge and stumbled
and scrambled their way to the tree line. Once
there, fuel was plentiful, but it was no easy
task to make the ascent again with one’s arms
piled with splintered branches. They made two
trips, however, and assembled a fine big pile
of wood on the surface of the ledge. After that
they laid themselves down flat on their backs
and puffed and panted like three steam-engines.
The fire was crackling and Jelly was feeding
it assiduously. The sparks, driven by the wind,
went flying over the edge of the ledge in a
shower of orange and red.</p>
<p>“Have a look at this, will you, Malcolm,”
called Jelly. “I guess I’ve got enough coals
for you now.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
<p>Malcolm pronounced the fire about ready for
operations, and gave his attention to the provisions.
There was steak in two big slices,
plenty of potatoes for roasting, buttered rolls
and a full dozen and a half of doughnuts.
There was ground coffee and an egg for clearing
it, and salt and pepper, sugar and condensed
milk. The utensils included coffee-pot, frying-pan,
tin plates and cups, forks, knives and
spoons. Rob viewed the display approvingly.</p>
<p>“Looks good to me,” he said. “But your
frying-pan isn’t big enough, Mal.”</p>
<p>“Well, I didn’t want to bother with a very
large one. This will do all right. We can cook
one slice at a time. Where’s the coffee-pot?
Throw it over, will you? I’ll start the coffee
first, I guess. I’ll—”</p>
<p>Malcolm stopped suddenly while an expression
of utter dismay came into his face.</p>
<p>“What’s the trouble?” asked Evan. Malcolm
settled back on the ground and stared
blankly at the coffee-pot.</p>
<p>“I—we—”</p>
<p>“Out with it. What did we forget to bring
along?”</p>
<p>“We forgot to bring any water,” murmured
Malcolm.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>
<p>“By Jove!” said Evan.</p>
<p>“What do you think of that?” muttered Rob
disgustedly. The three looked at each other
blankly. Finally,</p>
<p>“How far is it to the spring?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“It’s almost half-way down the hill,” answered
Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Thunder!”</p>
<p>“I don’t see how you came to forget it,”
exclaimed Rob.</p>
<p>“I didn’t forget it any more than you did,”
Malcolm defended.</p>
<p>“Oh, let’s do without coffee,” said Evan.</p>
<p>“I guess we’ll have to,” Malcolm answered.
“I don’t believe any of us want to make the
trip down there.”</p>
<p>“I’m plumb sure I don’t,” growled Rob.
“But we’ve simply got to have something to
drink. Hang it, I’m thirsty now! I didn’t
realize it until I found there was no water.”</p>
<p>Jelly had joined them in time to learn the
catastrophe.</p>
<p>“I’ll go down,” he said cheerfully. “I
know where the spring is; been there twice.”</p>
<p>The others viewed him doubtfully, and then
each other. Finally Rob shook his head.</p>
<p>“That’s nice of you, Jelly,” he said, “but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
you’d die if you climbed half-way up here
again. I’ll go down myself.”</p>
<p>“No, I will,” said Malcolm. “After all, it
was more my fault than any one else’s.”</p>
<p>“I’d be glad to go if I knew where the
spring was,” said Evan. “Perhaps you can
tell me so I can find it.” But Rob shook his
head again.</p>
<p>“We couldn’t. I’ll go down. I don’t mind.
You go ahead with dinner, Mal. I’ll be back
as soon as I can, but I guess it will take me
a half-hour.”</p>
<p>“Really,” protested Jelly, “I’d like to go.
It won’t hurt me a bit if I take my time coming
back. And besides, I want to get my weight
down. Hopkins says I’m too fat for football.
Where’s the can?”</p>
<p>“Haven’t any; you’ll have to take the
coffee-pot. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
asked Malcolm anxiously.</p>
<p>“Sure. I’d rather like it. Let me go, won’t
you, Rob?”</p>
<p>“Why, yes, if you want to. But you take it
slow coming back, Jelly; hear?”</p>
<p>Jelly promised, seized the coffee-pot and disappeared
over the edge. The others watched
him until he had reached the woods. There he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
turned and waved the pot at them cheerfully.
The next moment he was out of sight.</p>
<p>“He’s a good little dub,” said Rob gratefully.
“I suppose I ought to have done it myself,
though.”</p>
<p>“It won’t hurt him,” said Malcolm. “And
it <em>will</em> take some fat off, I guess. Well, I suppose
I might as well get the potatoes in.”</p>
<p>“Hello,” exclaimed Rob, “what’s happened
to the wind?”</p>
<p>“That’s so; it’s quit, hasn’t it?” Evan
looked down into the valley. “And it’s getting
foggy. Look over there toward the bay, Rob.”</p>
<p>“I should say so! I bet it will rain before
we get back.”</p>
<p>“Hope it will hold off until we’ve had dinner,”
observed Malcolm. “I don’t fancy sitting
up here in a rain with nothing over us.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe that means rain,” said
Evan. “It’s just fog. The wind has stopped
and it’s sort of thickening up.”</p>
<p>“You talk like a weather bureau,” laughed
Rob. “Anything I can do to aid the chef,
Mal?”</p>
<p>“Not a thing. These potatoes will want a
half-hour at least, I guess. Meanwhile we
might as well take it easy.” He found a niche<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
in the rocks and settled himself into it with a
sigh of content. The others followed his example.
Now and then Malcolm arose and added
more fuel to the fire, at the bottom of which,
in a bed of glowing gray ashes, the potatoes
were hidden. They talked desultorily. It was
very comfortable lying there and watching the
fire. Now that the wind had died down it was
quite warm, although there was a perceptible
dampness in the air. At the end of a half-hour
Malcolm bestirred himself. Taking a stick and
shielding his face with his cap he poked around
in the ashes until he had brought to view one
of the potatoes. He coaxed it away from the
fire and then broke it open.</p>
<p>“How is it?” asked Rob lazily.</p>
<p>“Pretty nearly done,” was the answer.
“I’ll start the steak, I guess.” He raked
some live coals to the edge of the fire, placed
one of the slices of steak in the pan, sprinkled
it with salt and pepper and placed the pan on
the coals. Then he drew more coals around it
and set about sharpening a two-foot stick.</p>
<p>“What’s that for?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“To turn the meat with,” was the reply.
“Think I want to singe my hair off?”</p>
<p>“Isn’t he the haughty chef?” murmured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
Rob. “Seems to me it’s about time Jelly was
getting back.”</p>
<p>Evan arose and walked to the edge of the
rock.</p>
<p>“See him?” asked Malcolm.</p>
<p>“N—no, but it’s so foggy that I can’t even
see the trees,” Evan replied. “Yes, I do,
though. Here he comes. Hello, Jelly!”</p>
<p>“Hello!”</p>
<p>“Did you get it?”</p>
<p>“Yep. Would you mind coming down and
getting it, please? I don’t believe I’ll ever
climb up the rock without spilling it.”</p>
<p>“All right.” Evan scrambled down and
met Jelly at the foot of the ledge and relieved
him of his burden.</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t think a quart of water could
be so heavy,” panted Jelly. “You see, you
have to hold it like this or it runs out the spout.
That makes it awkward, doesn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Decidedly,” answered Evan. “I don’t
know whether I can get it up there myself without
losing most of it.”</p>
<p>But he did finally, and a minute or two later
the coffee was “on the stove.” Jelly was
pretty well fagged out and they made him lie
down and rest. From the frying-pan came a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
heartening sizzle and, now and then, a fragrant
whiff.</p>
<p>“May I cook my chops next?” asked Jelly.</p>
<p>“You may not,” Malcolm replied. “You
just lie there on your silly back. I’ll cook them
for you. You can start in on the steak, though,
while they’re frying. Wonder if those potatoes
are ready to come out.”</p>
<p>“Well, if I’d been in there as long as they
have,” said Evan, “I’m sure I’d be ready to
come out! Want me to help you?”</p>
<p>“Yes, will you? Get a long stick and poke
around for them. But don’t get too near the
coffee-pot, whatever you do!”</p>
<p>“No, Evan, if you upset that coffee-pot we
will descend upon you and rend you limb from
limb,” threatened Rob. “I’m so thirsty now
that I could drink suds. Are these tin cups all
the same size, Mal?”</p>
<p>“Of course. Why?”</p>
<p>“I was going to pick out the biggest one,”
sighed Rob. “How are the potatoes, Evan?”</p>
<p>“All right, I guess. They look—er—a
trifle well-done, but I suppose they’re all right
inside. Want to see one?”</p>
<p>Rob deftly caught the blackened object that
Evan tossed him but didn’t hold it long in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
hand. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “Want to kill
me?”</p>
<p>“Get your plates!” said Malcolm. “Dinner’s
ready!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br />
<small>STORIES AND SLUMBER</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">That dinner was worth waiting for, worth
all the trouble and weariness it had entailed.
They sat around the smoldering fire,
balancing tin plates on their knees, with cups
of steaming hot coffee and buttered rolls and
doughnuts and salt and pepper-boxes dotting
the immediate landscape, and did full justice to
it. Malcolm’s opinion of his culinary ability
was justified by results. The steak was just
right, Jelly’s chops were cooked to a turn, the
two precious eggs were perfectly fried and the
coffee—well, perhaps the coffee was a trifle
muddy, but it was hot and it was drinkable and
there were no criticisms. The potatoes belied
their outward appearance and were surprisingly
white and mealy when opened. Jelly had
forgotten to provide himself with plate, cup,
knife, fork or spoon and ate his dinner from a
flat stone, using borrowed implements and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
fingers by turns. Malcolm shared his tin cup
with him.</p>
<p>“Have a piece of chop, Rob?” asked Jelly.</p>
<p>“No, thanks.”</p>
<p>“I wish you would. I had some of your
steak.”</p>
<p>“What kind of chops are they?”</p>
<p>“I—I think they’re veal. Anyhow, there
isn’t much taste to them.”</p>
<p>“Then of course they’re veal,” laughed
Malcolm. “Evan, I’ll bet you didn’t get all
the potatoes out; we’re shy four or five.”</p>
<p>“Here’s one if you want it. I got all I
could find. How’s the coffee holding out,
Rob?”</p>
<p>Rob seized the pot and shook it.</p>
<p>“Plenty here, I guess. Pass your cup.”</p>
<p>“It’s always well to shake it about a bit,”
said Malcolm dryly. “It makes it so nice and
clear.”</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t be so fussy. Any one seen the
canned cow? <em>And</em> the sugar? Thanks. Jelly,
you got my spoon?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m eating egg with it. Want it?”</p>
<p>“Well, scarcely,” replied Evan. “Let me
take yours, Rob. These are dandy doughnuts,
fellows.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
<p>“They’re crullers,” said Jelly indistinctly
by reason of the crowded condition of his
mouth. “Cook said so.”</p>
<p>“What’s the difference between a cruller
and a doughnut, anyway?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“A doughnut is a cruller with a hole through
it,” answered Malcolm.</p>
<p>“It’s a doughnut with a college education,”
amended Rob.</p>
<p>“That’s an old one,” scoffed Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Doughnuts and crullers are just the same,”
said Jelly. “It just depends where they live
what they’re called. In some places they call
them fried-cakes.”</p>
<p>“Well, I call them fine,” said Evan, biting
into his second one. “A cruller by any other
name would taste as good.”</p>
<p>“Suppose you toss a couple over here,”
suggested Malcolm, “if you don’t want them
all.”</p>
<p>“I do want them all,” was the reply, “but
being generous I will allow you one.”</p>
<p>“You’ll allow me a couple more presently,”
responded Malcolm. “Say, I should think
there would be a big waste in making them this
way; with holes in the middle, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Waste? Why?” asked Rob.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>
<p>“Well, what becomes of the piece that’s cut
out?”</p>
<p>The others laughed and Malcolm looked surprised.</p>
<p>“What’s the joke?”</p>
<p>“Why, they take the dough that’s cut out
and make more crullers, you idiot,” said Rob.
Malcolm considered a moment.</p>
<p>“Oh,” he said. “I never thought of that.
I had an idea they threw that away.”</p>
<p>“Wasn’t there a story,” asked Evan,
“about a man who got it into his head that if
he could make the holes in doughnuts larger
he’d make more money on them?”</p>
<p>“There was—and is,” answered Rob
gravely. “There is also a conundrum about
the reason why a miller wears a white hat. But
if you had any respect for age you’d let them
both alone.”</p>
<p>“Say, Rob,” said Jelly, “I should think
you’d invent a cruller with a little box in the
middle to hold raspberry jam. That would be
swell, wouldn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Why raspberry?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“Oh, I like raspberry best,” answered
Jelly calmly. “In that way you’d be economizing
space, Rob. It always make me feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
badly to see all that empty place in the middle.”</p>
<p>“Well, you won’t have any empty place in
your middle,” said Rob scathingly. “No wonder
you’re fat, Jelly.”</p>
<p>Mr. George Washington Jell sighed comfortably.
“Well,” he replied, “I’d rather be a
little bit fat and have enough to eat, Rob.”</p>
<p>“How about football, though?” asked Malcolm.
“I thought you told us that Hopkins
thinks you’re too fat?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’ll soon train down,” answered Jelly,
reaching for another doughnut. “In a week
or two I’ll be twelve pounds lighter.”</p>
<p>“Mercy!” Rob held up his hands in awe.
“Why, we’ll hardly know you! Think of Jelly
losing twelve pounds, fellows!”</p>
<p>“Twelve pounds of Jelly,” murmured Malcolm.
“You’ll be a regular skeleton, Jelly.”</p>
<p>“You’ll get rid of another pound or two
going down the mountain,” observed Evan.</p>
<p>“Mal, did I ever tell you about a fellow I
knew back home who had a cocker spaniel?”
asked Rob.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t think so. What about him?”</p>
<p>“Well, it was a fine dog and he wanted to
enter him at the dog show.” Rob pushed his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
tin plate aside and stretched himself comfortably.
“But when he had the dog weighed he
was eight pounds too heavy. The show was to
open the next morning and he didn’t know what
to do. He tried starving the dog and in the
evening he weighed him again, but he was still
seven and a half pounds too heavy.”</p>
<p>“This is a pathetic tale,” muttered Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Well, he didn’t know what to do—”</p>
<p>“You said that before, Rob.”</p>
<p>“But he had an idea. He remembered that
once he had seen a chap wrapped up in sweaters
running along the road getting his weight
down. So this chap, whose name was—”</p>
<p>“Smith,” suggested Evan.</p>
<p>“Shut up. His name was Jones. So Jones
decided that if that would work with a man it
ought to work with a dog. So after dinner he
wrapped the dog—”</p>
<p>“What was the dog’s name?” asked Jelly.</p>
<p>“Smith,” said Evan again.</p>
<p>“The dog’s name was—was—I don’t remember.”</p>
<p>“That’s a crazy name,” commented Malcolm.
“Why didn’t he call him I-Don’t-Care?”</p>
<p>“Say, do you want to hear this story or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
don’t you?” Rob demanded. They assured him
that they did. “Well, shut up, then! Smith
wrapped the dog in a big woolen sweater—”</p>
<p>“Jones, you mean.”</p>
<p>“No, the dog,” answered Rob irritably. “I
mean Jones wrapped—”</p>
<p>“Smith,” said Evan.</p>
<p>“Wrapped the dog in a sweater and started
out with him on a leash.”</p>
<p>“On a what?” asked Malcolm politely.</p>
<p>“On a leash; the dog was on a leash.”</p>
<p>“Oh! What was Smith on?”</p>
<p>Rob found the remains of a baked potato
within reach and scored against Malcolm’s
neck. While the latter was wiping away the
fragments Rob went on.</p>
<p>“Well, he walked that dog and walked him.
Took him away out into the country and back
again into town; pulled him all around the
city; dragged him eight times up and down the
City Hall steps. By that time it was about two
in the morning, and Jones—”</p>
<p>“Smith,” corrected Evan helpfully.</p>
<p>“And Smith—hang it, his name was Jones,
I tell you! Jones was pretty nearly dead for
sleep. He’d taken naps as he went along.
Finally he came to a lunch-wagon and went in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
and got a cup of coffee. He gave some of it
to the dog—”</p>
<p>“Oh, come now!” Evan protested. “Dogs
don’t drink coffee!”</p>
<p>“This dog was very fond of coffee,” replied
Rob with dignity.</p>
<p>“Of course,” agreed Malcolm. “Did you
hear Rob say he was a coffee spaniel?”</p>
<p>“Well, that woke them both up and they
went on walking.”</p>
<p>“Say, for goodness sake, Rob, get through
walking!” begged Malcolm. “My legs are
just aching already. Have them sit down for
a minute, won’t you?”</p>
<p>“He walked that dog around until four
o’clock in the morning,” declared Rob impressively,
“and when he got him home he put
him on the scales, and what do you think?”</p>
<p>“He’d gained another eight pounds,” said
Evan.</p>
<p>“There wasn’t anything left but the collar,”
guessed Jelly.</p>
<p>“No, but that dog had lost eight pounds exactly
and was half a pound under the limit!
What do you think of that?”</p>
<p>“I’d rather not tell you,” answered Malcolm
evasively.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
<p>“And did he win a prize with him?” asked
Jelly.</p>
<p>“N—no, he didn’t. You see, when he took
him around to the show he found that he had
walked two inches off the dog’s legs and they
made him enter him as a dachshund.”</p>
<p>There was a deep and painful silence. Then
Malcolm began to whistle softly and Evan
reached out for the last doughnut and tossed
it into Rob’s lap.</p>
<p>“You win,” he said.</p>
<p>That reminded Jelly of a story that he had
heard his father tell. Moreover, he assured
them seriously, it was a <em>true</em> story.</p>
<p>“Well,” sighed Rob, “go ahead with it and
get it off your mind.”</p>
<p>Whether it was true or not, it was very long
and somewhat complicated and the audience
soon gave up trying to follow its intricacies.
Rob went to sleep and snored shamelessly.
This annoyed Jelly and he lost connection.</p>
<p>“And so—and so—Where was I?”</p>
<p>“The druggist was just filling the prescription,”
replied Evan.</p>
<p>“Whereupon,” murmured Malcolm sleepily,
“the goat climbed on to the counter and ate up
the nail-files, shrieking in a high falsetto voice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
‘Death to tyrants!’ But see, who comes here?
Ah, ’tis our hero! Vaulting nimbly upon the
back of his restless steed Diamond Dick Tolliver
drew his trusty bean-shooter and waving
it above his head cried—”</p>
<p>“Oh, shut up, Malcolm! Can’t you let me
tell my story?”</p>
<p>“Proceed,” breathed Malcolm sweetly.
“Wake me when you’re through, Jelly.”</p>
<p>So Jelly went on. Ten minutes later he
paused at the climax of his narrative.</p>
<p>“What do you think of that?” he asked
beamingly. There was no reply: His three
auditors were sound asleep. Jelly viewed them
disgustedly one after another. Then he lay
down on his back, put an arm under his head
and followed the general example.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br />
<small>JELLY CLIMBS A TREE</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Evan was the first to awake. For some time
he had been dimly conscious of discomfort.
The rocks were very hard and there was a chilliness
in the air that sent his thoughts groping
sleepily toward the fire. But when he sat up
stiffly and looked for the fire he saw only a pile
of ashes and cinders from which a few curls
of smoke arose. Then he looked about him in
surprise. The world was shut out by a great
gray fog. Even the farther edge of the rock,
only some forty feet distant, was scarcely discernible.
He drew his hand along his sleeve
and found that his clothes were saturated with
moisture. He awakened the others and it was
agreed that it was time to be going.</p>
<p>“We must be in a cloud,” said Malcolm.
But Rob declared that they weren’t high
enough to get into clouds.</p>
<p>“It’s just a plain every-day fog,” he said.
“But it’s certainly a wonder. What time is
it? Who’s got a watch?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
<p>“Two twenty-three,” replied Evan. “I’ll
have to hurry or I won’t get down in time for
football practice.”</p>
<p>“Me too,” said Jelly. “Let’s get the things
packed up and start.”</p>
<p>“Wish that fire hadn’t gone out,” growled
Rob, shivering in his wet clothes as he helped
the others collect the tin dinner service. “I
feel like a clam.”</p>
<p>“I say nothing of how you look,” remarked
Malcolm pleasantly. “Where’s that other
piece of sacking? And where’s the string got
to?”</p>
<p>“Blown away, probably,” said Evan.
“Why not put all the things into one bundle
and take turns carrying it? It won’t be very
heavy, anyhow.”</p>
<p>So that was done and presently they were
scrambling down over the edge of Table Rock
to the boulder-littered slope below. The fog
hid objects forty feet away and presently Rob
gave voice to a thought which had occurred to
all of them.</p>
<p>“I guess we’ll have to trust to luck
to find the path,” he said. “But we’re
bound to come to it if we keep on going down
hill.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
<p>“We’ll find the bottom, all right,” answered
Malcolm, “although we may not arrive just
where we want to.”</p>
<p>“I don’t see how we can fail to find the
path,” said Evan. “And when we come to it
all we have to do is to follow it down.”</p>
<p>“There’s the edge of the trees,” remarked
Rob. “Isn’t that spring right here somewhere,
Mal?”</p>
<p>“Further down and a bit to the left. Want
some water?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’m as dry as the dickens. Let’s
have a look for it.”</p>
<p>“All right. I could drink a quart or two
myself.”</p>
<p>But when they were in the thin woods and,
after descending for what seemed the proper
distance, had turned to the left, it became evident
that finding the spring was not going to
be an easy task. After some ten minutes of
prospecting along the slope Evan advised giving
over the search.</p>
<p>“Let’s get home, fellows,” he said. “It’s
getting late, and we may have to hunt here for
an hour.”</p>
<p>“I guess that’s so,” Rob agreed. “We’ll
suffer the pangs of thirst a while longer. Let’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
make a bee-line down the hill and find the
path.”</p>
<p>When one’s legs are stiff from climbing up
hill the worst punishment one can inflict on
them is to require them to take one down again.
Theoretically, descending a mountain should
be as easy as rolling off the proverbial log.
Actually, it is almost as hard on the muscles
as going up. Jelly was the first to protest.</p>
<p>“I’ve got to sit down a moment, fellows,”
he declared, suiting the action to the word.
“My legs are nearly killing me.”</p>
<p>“It’s not a bad scheme,” said Rob, finding
a place on a dead log. “Who wants to carry
the luggage a while?”</p>
<p>“I’ll take it,” said Evan. “We ought to
be pretty near the path, hadn’t we?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” replied Malcolm. “I thought we’d
have reached it before this. But it can’t be far
away.”</p>
<p>But when they resumed their journey the
path remained elusive. They went down for
another ten minutes, dodging between trees,
sliding and slipping down the slope, tripping
over roots and snags and forcing their way
through the young growth. At last Rob
stopped, clinging to a sapling, and surveyed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
the tiny space about them left visible by the
fog.</p>
<p>“There’s one thing certain,” he said, “and
that is that we’ve gone by the path. We’re
in the maples now.”</p>
<p>“That’s so,” Malcolm agreed, “but I don’t
see how we missed it. I’ve been watching for
it all the way down.”</p>
<p>“It wouldn’t be hard to miss, I guess,”
ventured Jelly. “It isn’t much of a path even
when you’re on it.”</p>
<p>“No, and we’ve probably crossed right over
without seeing it at all. Well, the only thing
to do is to keep on down and see where we
land.”</p>
<p>“How much more is there, do you suppose?”
asked Evan rather dubiously.</p>
<p>“Oh, a quarter of a mile, likely. It won’t
take long. Give me that bundle of tin-ware,
Evan.”</p>
<p>Evan surrendered the load to Malcolm and
they went on again. But it was slow work, for
the trees were thick and the undergrowth often
made detours necessary. Finally they rested
again and Jelly set to work vigorously rubbing
his leg muscles.</p>
<p>“You know,” remarked Rob calmly, “the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
plain fact of the matter is, fellows, that we’re
plumb lost.”</p>
<p>The others nodded.</p>
<p>“Lost as anything,” said Malcolm. “Still,
we’re bound to get down finally.”</p>
<p>“Seems to me we’re about down now,” said
Evan. “The ground is pretty nearly level,
isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“That’s so,” Rob replied. “We stopped
coming down hill two or three minutes ago.
In that case we’re nowhere near school.”</p>
<p>“Must be over to the north, then,” said Malcolm
thoughtfully. “We sort of got off our
bearings, I reckon, when we went to look for
that silly spring.”</p>
<p>“Wish I could see it now, though,” said
Rob, running his tongue over parched lips.
“I’m beastly thirsty.”</p>
<p>“So am I,” said Jelly sadly. “I wish I
were home.”</p>
<p>“Well!” Evan arose energetically. “Let’s
get home. There’s no use sitting here. I feel
as though I’d taken a shower bath. Every
thing I’ve got on is sopping wet.”</p>
<p>“This is the foggiest old fog I ever did see,”
grumbled Rob. “Come along, Jelly. I told
you fellows when we started out that something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
unpleasant would happen to us if we took such
a dishonest person as Jelly along. He’s our
Jonah.”</p>
<p>“I guess I’m not getting any more fun out
of it than you are,” grunted Jelly crossly as
he arose painfully and limped after them. Ten
minutes later there was a shout from Evan,
who had taken the lead.</p>
<p>“What is it?” asked Rob eagerly.</p>
<p>“Here’s a field,” was the answer. They
had at last emerged from the woods, but Rob
and Malcolm viewed each other questioningly.</p>
<p>“Where do you suppose we are?” asked
Rob. Malcolm shook his head.</p>
<p>“I don’t know. This isn’t the meadow back
of school because there’s no stone wall here.
What I think is that we’ve got around to the
north side of the mountain, toward Hillsgrove,
you know. They say that in the woods you
always unconsciously bear to the left.”</p>
<p>“If this old fog would only get out,” said
Evan. They moved undecidedly into the field
and in a moment the woods had vanished from
sight behind them.</p>
<p>“What time is it?” asked Rob.</p>
<p>“Almost four,” Malcolm replied.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
<p>“<em>What?</em>”</p>
<p>“That’s right,” Evan confirmed, glancing
at his own watch. “No football for us to-day,
Jelly.”</p>
<p>“Glad of it,” answered Jelly morosely. “I
couldn’t play football if my life depended on
it.”</p>
<p>“Pshaw, they wouldn’t hold practice a day
like this,” said Rob. “Why, you couldn’t see
the ball twenty feet away. What time did we
leave up there, Mal?”</p>
<p>“About half-past two.”</p>
<p>“Great Scott! We’ve been wandering
around this fool mountain for an hour and a
half! No wonder I’m tired! Does anybody
know where we are headed for now?”</p>
<p>Apparently no one did.</p>
<p>“Seems to me,” said Malcolm, “we’d better
strike off to the right.”</p>
<p>“Well, the fog on the right looks just as
nice as that on the left,” answered Rob philosophically.
“Come on. Perhaps, though,
we’d have done better to have followed the
edge of the woods.”</p>
<p>“That’s so,” Evan agreed. “Let’s do
that.”</p>
<p>“First find your woods,” said Malcolm.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
<p>“They’re right back there,” said Evan,
pointing.</p>
<p>“Get out! They’re off there!” And Rob
indicated a different point of the compass.
Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p>“I guess we won’t look for them,” he said
dryly. “Come on and let’s hit up the pace.
At least we’ve got level ground to walk on,
and that’s something.”</p>
<p>“It may be level,” Jelly muttered from the
rear, “but it’s mighty wet. My feet are sopping.”</p>
<p>“Take ’em off and carry them,” answered
Rob flippantly. “And you might carry the
bundle for awhile, too, Mr. Jell. You haven’t
had a go at it yet, have you?”</p>
<p>“Hand it over,” said Jelly.</p>
<p>Presently they came to a little slope and at
the bottom of that found a stone wall.</p>
<p>“Now what?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“Climb over it and keep going,” answered
Malcolm doggedly. “We’ll have to get somewhere
some time.”</p>
<p>“So you say! Bet you we’re walking in a
circle.”</p>
<p>“But think of the exercise we’re getting,
Evan,” said Rob. “And look at the lovely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
view! How beautiful are the distant hills in
the sunset glow!”</p>
<p>“Don’t talk hills to me,” grunted Evan, “or
mountains either. I <em>would</em> like to see a sunset
glow, though,” he added.</p>
<p>“Hello, what’s that?” Rob stopped and
peered into the fog ahead.</p>
<p>“A rock, you idiot,” said Malcolm.</p>
<p>“It isn’t; it’s a cow! And there’s another.
We’re probably away out West in the
cattle country. I knew I’d walked a long distance!”</p>
<p>“There are dozens of them,” said Jelly as
they went on. “If there are cows there must
be a house somewhere around.”</p>
<p>“We’ll ask one of them,” said Rob.
“Good-afternoon, Mrs. Cow, will you kindly
tell me where—”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe,” murmured Malcolm,
“that I’d have much to say to that cow, Rob.”
He pulled the other aside. “She happens to
be a bull.”</p>
<p>“Gee, that’s so! And I don’t think he likes
us. Let us alter our course and steer around
him. Nice bull, nice bull!”</p>
<p>They were in the middle of the herd now.
The cows stopped nibbling at the grass and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
viewed them with calm curiosity, some moving
slowly away. The bull, however, which was a
particularly large and active looking animal,
displayed more interest. As they moved to the
left he pawed the ground and then trotted
ahead as though to intercept them.</p>
<p>“I believe he’s going to speak to us,” murmured
Rob. “Perhaps we’d better go back.”</p>
<p>He was and he did. He stopped some twenty
feet away, lowered his head and bellowed.
Jelly gave a yell of dismay and took to his
legs. The others didn’t waste time in vocal
manifestations of alarm; they fled silently.
As there had been no agreement as to direction
they put out toward four different points of
the compass. Just what it was about Jelly that
attracted the bull is difficult to say; perhaps
it was the bundle of tin plates and coffee-pot
and things that rattled enticingly as he ran.
At all events, it was on Jelly that the bull centered
his attention and it was in his wake that
he galloped. When the others paused for
breath, through the silent mist came the rattle
of tins and the thud of bovine hoofs. They listened
in anxious suspense. Then, farther away,
there was a terrorized shriek followed by an
awesome bellow. Then silence, heavy and depressing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
broken a moment later by a great
rattling of tinware. Then silence once more.</p>
<p>“Jelly!” cried Rob from one part of the
field.</p>
<p>“Jelly!” called Malcolm from another.
And,</p>
<p>“Jelly!” called Evan from another.</p>
<p>Faintly from a distance came an answering
hail.</p>
<p>“Are you all right?” called Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Did he get you?” called Evan.</p>
<p>“Where are you?” shouted Rob.</p>
<p>“I’m up a tree,” was the answer, “and
the blamed bull is waiting for me to come
down!”</p>
<p>Three figures moved cautiously in the direction
of the voice, calling softly to each other as
they went.</p>
<p>“Come and drive him away!” appealed
Jelly from the misty void. “I can’t hang on
much longer!”</p>
<p>“We’re coming,” shouted Rob. “That you,
Mal? Where’s Evan?”</p>
<p>“Here I am. What shall we do, fellows?”</p>
<p>“Blessed if I know,” answered Rob, pushing
his cap away from his damp forehead and
scowling. “We haven’t even a stick.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>
<p>“Much good a stick would do,” said Malcolm.
“Come on, anyhow, and let’s do something.
Shout again, Jelly!”</p>
<p>“Over here, you—you fools!” came Jelly’s
voice from nearer at hand. “He’s trying to
eat the coffee-pot!”</p>
<p>“Hope it chokes him,” muttered Rob as they
hurried along.</p>
<p>“There he is!” whispered Evan, seizing
Malcolm’s arm. But it was only a peaceable
cow which trotted away at sight of them.
Then, dimly in the fog ahead of them, they
descried a small misshapen apple tree and a
moving object beneath. They halted.</p>
<p>“Is he still there, Jelly?” asked Rob softly.</p>
<p>“Of course he is! Can’t you see him?
Aren’t you going to do anything?”</p>
<p>“Ye-es, certainly; only—what shall we do,
Jelly?”</p>
<p>“Drive him away!”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>“Make a noise; scare him; do something;
I can’t hold on here any longer, I tell you! I’m
slipping now!”</p>
<p>“Let’s all yell together,” suggested Evan.
“Come on!”</p>
<p>“Wait!” cried Malcolm. “Let’s run<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
toward him and yell like thunder. That ought
to scare him.”</p>
<p>They viewed each other doubtfully.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you ever going to do anything?”
wailed Jelly.</p>
<p>“Come on!” said Rob desperately.</p>
<p>They charged three abreast, yelling like
Comanche Indians, charged blindly, heroically.
For one instant the result trembled in the balance.
Then the bull gave a short, terrorized
bellow and vanished into the mist. And at the
same moment there was a thud and a crash and
Jelly descended into a litter of tin plates and
cups.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br />
<small>IN THE FOG</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">“Are you hurt?” asked Malcolm anxiously
as he helped Jelly to his feet.</p>
<p>“I guess not,” was the aggrieved reply.
“You fellows might have hurried a bit, though,
it seems to me.” Jelly disencumbered one shoe
of the coffee-pot and felt of himself gingerly.
Around the foot of the gnarled apple-tree lay
the contents of the bundle, trampled and battered.
The piece of sacking decorated a lower
branch like a flag of distress.</p>
<p>“You silly chump,” exclaimed Rob irritably,
“what did you think we were going to do?
Seize the bull by the horns and hold him while
you came down and walked home? We don’t
like bulls any better than you do.”</p>
<p>“Maybe we’d better get out of here,” suggested
Evan, casting nervous glances into the
encircling fog. “He might come back to finish
the job, you know.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
<p>“That’s so. Maybe he’s gone off to get his
friends,” said Rob. “Here, let’s pick this
stuff up. Did you throw the bundle at him,
Jelly?”</p>
<p>“Throw it at him! There wasn’t time to do
any throwing,” answered Jelly crossly. “He
nearly got me. I dropped the things and made
a flying leap at that branch. The next thing
I knew he was digging his horns into the bundle.
He got one horn through the sacking and
couldn’t get it off at first. And that made him
mad. So he gave a bellow and tossed it into
the tree and it just rained tin plates and frying-pans
and forks and things for a minute. Then
he danced around on them and butted the tree
as though he was trying to jar me out. I’ll
bet you he’s got an awful headache! I—I’d
like to shoot him!”</p>
<p>“I can’t find the string,” said Malcolm.
“We’ll just have to hold the sack by the corners.
Come on and let’s get away from here.”</p>
<p>“All right, but which way shall we go?”
asked Rob.</p>
<p>“Oh, it doesn’t matter; any old way.
What’s that?”</p>
<p>It was the shriek of a distant locomotive.
They turned toward the sound.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
<p>“Well, that proves that the railroad is in
that direction,” said Malcolm. “Let’s head
that way.”</p>
<p>“All right,” Rob answered, “but that train
may be at Engle or it may be ten miles north.
Still, one way’s as good as another. Come
along. If we meet that bull, though, I tell you
right now that I shall drop this tin shop and
run like thunder!”</p>
<p>They went on across the meadow through the
fog which, instead of decreasing, seemed to
thicken as evening drew near. They may have
traversed a quarter of a mile of meadow or it
may have been twice that distance, but at last
a row of trees loomed out of the grayness
ahead. The trees proved to be growing along
a fence and on the other side of the fence was
a country road. Rob seated himself on a rock
and wiped his face with a damp handkerchief.</p>
<p>“Well, here we are,” he said.</p>
<p>“Where?” scoffed Evan.</p>
<p>“Why, on the road.”</p>
<p>“What road?”</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t be so inquisitive. It’s a road
and that’s enough. It must lead somewhere.
I’ll vow, though, that I never saw it before.
Did you, Mal?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
<p>“I think it’s the Hillsgrove road,” answered
Malcolm doubtfully. “If it is we want to go
to the right here. That’ll take us to Riverport.”</p>
<p>“And if it isn’t the Hillsgrove road,” asked
Evan pessimistically, “where will it take us
to?”</p>
<p>Malcolm couldn’t answer that.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe it’s the Hillsgrove road at
all,” said Jelly. “I don’t remember any row
of trees like this on it.”</p>
<p>“I don’t seem to remember a row of trees
like this on any road,” said Rob. “But we
might as well go one way as another, fellows.
And perhaps we will meet someone. Gee, but
I’m getting hungry!”</p>
<p>“So am I,” muttered Evan dejectedly. “I
wonder if we’ll get to school in time for
supper.”</p>
<p>“We won’t if we stay here,” said Jelly.
“I’m going on.”</p>
<p>So they took the road and followed it as it
curved through the darkening fog to the right.
After awhile their ears were gladdened with
the sound of a creaking wagon and a moment
later it took shape before them. There was a
dejected-looking horse and an equally dejected-looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
driver on the seat of an ancient farm
wagon.</p>
<p>“Hello,” greeted Rob. “Which way is
Riverport School, sir?”</p>
<p>The man pulled his horse in and leisurely
examined the boys before he answered.</p>
<p>“You belong there?” he asked in a suspicious
way.</p>
<p>“Yes, but we’ve sort of lost our bearings in
this fog.”</p>
<p>The man chuckled.</p>
<p>“Well, you’re coming away from it as fast
as you can,” he said. “Get ap.”</p>
<p>“<em>What!</em>” they exclaimed in chorus. “Isn’t
this the Hillsgrove road?”</p>
<p>“No,” replied the man over his shoulder as
the horse broke into a slow jog, “it’s the
Lebanon Springs road, o’ course. Guess you
boys don’t study geography much.” And he
chuckled some more.</p>
<p>“Well, what do you think of that?” marveled
Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Say, can we have a ride?” called Rob.</p>
<p>“No, you can’t; my horse is tired,” was the
ungracious response.</p>
<p>“How far is it to school?” shouted Malcolm.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>
<p>“’Bout two miles or two miles an’ a half,
I guess.”</p>
<p>“We’ll pay you for a lift,” Rob bawled after
the vanishing driver. But there was no reply
and the fog swallowed man and horse and
vehicle.</p>
<p>“Brute!” muttered Evan.</p>
<p>“Hope he breaks down,” said Jelly. “Hope
his horse has blind staggers. Hope—”</p>
<p>“That’ll do, Jelly; you’ve hoped enough.
Hope for something worth while, like a trolley-car
or an automobile or a flying-machine. Gee,
fellows; two miles and a half he said!” And
Rob shook his head and looked dismally into the
fog.</p>
<p>“I’d like to know how we ever got on the
Lebanon Springs road,” pondered Malcolm as
they began to retrace their steps.</p>
<p>“I may be mistaken,” replied Rob, “but I
<em>think</em> we walked. Anyhow, my legs feel that
way.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad you think it’s such a good joke,”
said Malcolm wearily. “All I know is that
when I get home, if I ever do, I’m going to get
straight into bed and go to sleep.”</p>
<p>“Supper first, for me,” said Evan.</p>
<p>“All I want is a drink,” wailed Jelly from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
his accustomed position in the rear of the party.
“The lake isn’t very far over there. I’ve
a good mind to look for it. I’m terribly
thirsty.”</p>
<p>“You’ll stay right on the road,” said Rob
curtly. “I don’t propose to spend the rest of
the night hunting for you, Jelly. We’ll be
home in half an hour, likely, and you can drink
all you want to.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t help now, though,” grumbled
Jelly.</p>
<p>A few minutes later the rural postman clattered
up from behind in his buggy and passed
them in the direction of Riverport, but not before
Rob had hailed him and asked the distance
to school.</p>
<p>“A little over a mile, I guess,” was the reply.</p>
<p>That was encouraging and they pegged
along. Then a dark object grew out of the mist
ahead, and when they reached it they found that
it was the dilapidated wagon and the dejected
horse and the ill-natured farmer. He had
broken a trace, and as they gathered around
he looked up and scowled angrily.</p>
<p>“In trouble?” asked Rob sweetly.</p>
<p>“Can’t you see I be?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p>
<p>“Well, I <em>am</em> sorry. We’re all sorry, aren’t
we, fellows?”</p>
<p>“Awfully!”</p>
<p>“Huh,” grunted the man.</p>
<p>“Yes, because you were so kind and accommodating,”
went on Rob genially. “Your
pressing invitation to ride with you quite won
our hearts. Did it not, fellows?”</p>
<p>“It did—<em>not</em>,” said Malcolm.</p>
<p>“You get out o’ here an’ let me be,”
grunted the farmer.</p>
<p>“Let you be what?” asked Evan from a safe
distance. Jelly sniggered and the farmer bent
over his trace muttering savagely. The boys
drew away to the side of the road, smiling
broadly at each other.</p>
<p>“What a beautiful horse,” remarked Jelly.
“I’ll bet he’s got a record.”</p>
<p>“I’ll bet they both have,” said Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Look at his ears,” Evan directed.</p>
<p>“Who’s ears?”</p>
<p>“Why, the horse’s. Are they not eloquent?
See how he carries one forward and the other
back. He’s listening for automobiles, I suppose.
Don’t tell me that horse hasn’t got
sense.”</p>
<p>“Sense! I should say he had sense!” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
Rob. “Why, that horse has the sense of the
whole family!”</p>
<p>“Well, he’s old enough to have sense,” remarked
Evan. “How old would you say, Malcolm?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t call him exactly old. I
don’t suppose he’s a day over fifty—or
sixty!”</p>
<p>“That horse?” said Rob derisively. “Get
out! Why, that horse is one of the ancient
landmarks of the locality. He was captured
wild on the slope of Graytop by the first settler.”</p>
<p>“Was he hitched to that wagon when they
caught him?” asked Malcolm.</p>
<p>“I believe so. Anyway, he wore the same
harness.”</p>
<p>“They don’t make harness the way they
used to,” mourned Evan. “Look at that
trace; why, that should have lasted years
yet!”</p>
<p>“I know; it’s a shame,” said Malcolm.
“That’s a perfectly good harness. I saw one
just like it once in a museum. Well, accidents
will happen!”</p>
<p>Meanwhile the farmer, muttering crossly, had
managed to mend the break with the aid of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
his knife and a piece of stout cord. Now he
climbed on to the seat again and picked up the
reins.</p>
<p>“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” he
asked venomously.</p>
<p>“Well,” answered Rob modestly, “far be it
from us to sound our own praises.”</p>
<p>“You’re a parcel of young fools, that’s
what you be! Get ap!”</p>
<p>“Whoa!” shouted Jelly.</p>
<p>The horse preferred the second command to
the first and remained motionless.</p>
<p>“Get ap, I say! Get ap!”</p>
<p>“Whoa, Dobbin!” was the chorus from the
road. Dobbin started and stopped. Then the
farmer found his whip in the bottom of the
wagon and Dobbin decided to go.</p>
<p>“If I wasn’t in a hurry I’d use this whip
on you!” shouted the farmer as the horse
trotted away.</p>
<p>“Look out! He’s running away from
you!” bawled Malcolm. Driver and wagon
disappeared and the boys took up their journey
again, still laughing. The encounter had
cheered them up wonderfully. Fifteen minutes
later the gymnasium loomed through the fog
at the left of the road and their troubles and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
travels were over. As they cut across the slope
toward Holden Malcolm said:</p>
<p>“Give me the dishes and things, Rob, and
I’ll leave them at the kitchen.”</p>
<p>“The di—” Rob looked about in dismay.
“Hasn’t anybody got them?”</p>
<p>“Haven’t <em>you</em>?” demanded Malcolm.</p>
<p>“No. I thought—Oh, I remember now. I
set them down when we climbed the fence back
there. I guess they’re there yet, Mal.”</p>
<p>“Well, you’re a wonder! Cook will give me
the dickens.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’ll pay for them. They weren’t much
good, anyway, after the way Jelly dented them
up.”</p>
<p>“After <em>I</em> dented them up!” exclaimed Jelly.
“I’d like to know what I had to do with it.
It was that silly bull!”</p>
<p>“Well, you gave them to him to play with,
didn’t you? Now don’t try to evade responsibility,
Jelly.”</p>
<p>“Well, we’ll never get any more,” said
Malcolm. “The next time we want to picnic—”</p>
<p>“The next time we want to picnic,” said
Rob severely, “I hope some one will clap us
into an insane asylum. Don’t talk about picnics<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
to me, Mal, or I may do you mortal injury.
I’ve had enough picnicking to last me fifty
years!”</p>
<p>“So have I,” grunted Jelly. “The next
time you fellows ask me to go with you—”</p>
<p>“<em>The next time we ask you!</em>” cried Rob.
But words failed him.</p>
<p>“I shall simply refuse,” concluded Jelly as
he limped away.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br />
<small>EVAN RETIRES</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">By the end of the first week of the term Evan
had settled down into his appointed groove
and school routine was in full swing. At lessons
Evan was neither a dullard nor a wonder;
just an average student. He soon found that
if he gave a fair amount of time to study he
got on very well in class, and that if he didn’t
he met with trouble. Having a good fund of
common sense he decided to keep out of trouble.
At first it wasn’t easy to buckle down in the
evenings to study, for Rob was a disturbing
factor. Rob had a fashion of spending the
study-hour in working on his marvelous inventions
and then burning the “midnight juice,”
as he called the electric-light, until all hours.
But after a while Evan got used to Rob’s interruptions
and accustomed to going asleep with
the light shining in his face. Rob squirmed
through recitations somehow, just how Evan
couldn’t comprehend, and didn’t let the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
thought of impending examinations worry him.
At present Rob was very busy with a combined
comb and brush for the use of travelers, the
comb working on a pivot at the end of the brush-handle
and snapping back along the top of the
brush when not in use. Rob was convinced that
the invention was destined to great success and
spent many hours of his time making drawings
of it. He had discarded the foot-scraper, having
discovered that the cost of manufacturing
it would prohibit its use to all save millionaires.</p>
<p>Meanwhile the foot-ball situation remained
practically unchanged. The team was still occupied
with the rudiments, and day after day
the candidates were falling on the ball, tackling,
blocking, breaking through, passing, kicking
and catching. Had there been any system apparent
Evan and some of the other dissatisfied
ones might have commended such a thorough
schooling in preliminary work. But as it was
the work was gone through with in a perfunctory
way and no one seemed to understand the
reason for anything. Hopkins took a hand now
and then, but for the most part was content to
superintend practice from the side-lines, leaving
the brunt of the instruction to his three lieutenants,
Carter and Ward and Connor. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
Second Team had organized and Gus Devens
was captain, and Evan, after four homeless
days, found himself playing substitute end on
that team. It was a new position to him and
truth compels me to state that so far he hadn’t
covered himself with glory. It is possible that
in the course of time, had he had any one to
coach him, he might have developed into a good
end. As it was, however, he had to teach himself
by watching the other ends and reading what
he could find regarding the duties of his position.
The School Team’s first game was only
a week away, and while it wasn’t an important
one Evan, for his part, couldn’t see that the
team was any nearer being a team than it had
been the first day of practice. He confided as
much to Jelly one afternoon when they were
changing their togs after practice. Jelly was
strenuously trying for a guard position on the
Second and was plumb full of enthusiasm.</p>
<p>“Why, they don’t know a thing yet,” he replied
ecstatically, referring to the members of
the First Team. “You wait until they get into
a scrimmage with us. I’ll bet we’ll rip them
all up the back the first try!”</p>
<p>“What sort of a team has Cardiff got?”
asked Evan.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>
<p>“Oh, they don’t amount to anything. They
don’t give us much more of a game than we’d
get in practice. They’re a light lot; just easy
pickings.”</p>
<p>“Well, what is the first real hard game on
the schedule?”</p>
<p>“Mountfort High,” answered Jelly
promptly. “Two weeks from Saturday. Last
year the best we could do was to tie them; 10
to 10, it was; and it was a hard old game,
too.”</p>
<p>“Do you think our team’s as good this year
as it was last?” Evan inquired. Jelly studied
a moment.</p>
<p>“I guess so,” he replied finally. “But how
can any one tell when they haven’t been in
action yet? Why doesn’t Hopkins get a move
on and have a scrimmage? He’s daffy this
year about ‘grounding the team in the rudiments
of the game’; I heard him spouting to
Prentiss about it yesterday.”</p>
<p>“It’s a fine thing,” said Evan dryly, “to
know the rudiments, but it seems to me that
a little squad work wouldn’t be a bad idea, to
say nothing of getting the team together in a
scrimmage once in a while.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I say,” replied Jelly importantly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
“Gus is going to have us away ahead
of the First if Hopkins doesn’t watch out.”</p>
<p>Perhaps Jelly’s prediction came to the captain’s
ear. At all events, the following afternoon
the First, or School, team began signal
practice, and two days later the first scrimmage
of the year took place. Devens had done his
work pretty well and the Second was successful
in standing off the First during two ten-minute
periods. Evan played at left end for a few
minutes toward the finish of the last half and
made rather a mess of it. He recognized the
fact and wished that some one might tell him
where his mistakes were. But there was no one
to do it save Captain Devens, and Devens had
too much on his hands already. The quota of
candidates had swollen to over forty and just
before the first contest, that with the Cardiff
High School, Hopkins made his final cut, retaining
seventeen candidates. Devens went
over what was left and retained fifteen in all.
The School Team, as it lined up against Cardiff
on Wednesday afternoon, contained five of last
years veterans, while the rest had played on the
Second.</p>
<p>The game was not exciting, Cardiff proving
to be weak in every department. On the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
hand, Riverport carried off few honors. Law’s
punting was good and Hopkins at left guard,
and Reid at right tackle showed that they had
not forgotten how to play. But the line, as a
whole, was slow and listless, and against a
faster team would have made a sorry showing.
The backfield was rather a farce, if we except
Joe Law at left. Miller, the quarter, was
neither brilliant nor steady, and in the second
half, in which Cardiff showed for a few minutes
a flash of real form, Hopkins ran the team himself.
In the last few minutes of play every
substitute was used, and Grove, who replaced
Miller, seemed to put some drive into the play.
On the whole the game was featureless and
rather valueless, since the opponents were not
strong enough to show up Riverport’s real
weaknesses. However, nothing much is expected
of the first contest, and Hopkins seemed
well enough satisfied. At least, there was little
criticism from him. Prentiss, who spent his
time making memoranda on the side-line, had
a good deal to say afterwards and was generous
with stricture. But nobody paid much attention
to Prentiss. He wasn’t popular and the players
resented his meddling, since, as he didn’t
play the game himself, he wasn’t presumed to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
know much about how it should or shouldn’t
be played.</p>
<p>On Thursday Evan was tried at end again on
the Second. He did a trifle better, but Devens
soon took him out in favor of Abbott and he
spent the rest of the scrimmage sitting disgruntled
on the side-line. Later, in the gymnasium,
Devens came over to him.</p>
<p>“You don’t seem to fit in at end, Kingsford,”
he began kindly enough. “You never
played there much, eh?”</p>
<p>“Never until the other day,” answered
Evan soberly. “I told you when I started
in that quarter or half was my line.” Devens
nodded.</p>
<p>“I remember, but we have pretty good halfs
and a good quarter. So I thought maybe I
could make an end of you. What do you think?
Want to try it some more?” Evan thought a
minute. Then,</p>
<p>“I don’t believe it’s much use,” he said
frankly. “If there was some one to coach me
a bit I think I could get the hang of it, but
there isn’t. I’d like to get a show at quarter,
Devens; I think I could make good there.”</p>
<p>“Well, we’ll see. There’s lots of time yet.
You hang on, Kingsford.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p>
<p>So Evan “hung on,” and, although the opportunity
to prove himself at quarter-back
didn’t at once present itself, he gradually became
a more useful member of the Second. He
began to push Abbott and Robins, the first
string ends, fairly hard, for he had speed, was
certain on his feet and tackled hard and surely.
But there are niceties connected with the position
of end that Evan didn’t know, and there
was no one to tell him. Somerset High School
was barely defeated 6 to 5. Riverport managed
to score on a blocked kick and subsequently
made the 5 a 6 by kicking a nice goal. Somerset
made her score by hard work and only a
narrow miss at goal saved her opponent from
a tie game. In the last half Grove went in in
place of Miller at quarter and, although not individually
brilliant, ran the team in good shape
and showed some generalship. It was difficult,
though, to determine just what amount of credit
was due to Grove and what amount to Hopkins,
for the captain was always taking a hand in the
running of the team.</p>
<p>The Somerset game was on Saturday and for
the following week the team was put through
hard practice in preparation for the Mountfort
contest. On Tuesday Evan had his first chance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
at quarter, Devens sending him in with the
second squad for signal practice and later putting
him into the scrimmage for some ten minutes.
He did well enough considering that he
had not played the position before for a year,
and got speed out of the Second. But he was
a little uncertain on signals and, with the Second
on the First’s twenty yard-line and the ball
in their possession, made an error of judgment
that lost them a possible score. The Second had
been making its ten yards in three downs for
some minutes through the right side of the opponent’s
line and there was apparently no reason
to suppose that it could not continue to
do so and cover that last twenty yards. But
on the second down Evan called for a forward
pass, got it off nicely and then saw Robins miss
it on the five yard-line. If the play had worked
Evan would have been commended for his daring.
As it failed he got only criticism. Devens
could find no fault, since he had not protested
against the play, and I think that he would have
given Evan other chances in the position had
not Evan made that impossible for the time
by falling on the steps of the gymnasium the
next afternoon and turning his ankle. It was
a bad twist, and for the next week he was out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
of togs, limping around at first with bandages
and later with a rubber anklet.</p>
<p>He gave up his last hope then and accepted
the inevitable as cheerfully as he could. Devens
was honestly sorry for him and told him so,
but Evan noticed that he didn’t say anything
about staying in training and coming back to
the team. So he nursed his injury and looked
forward to the middle of October, when the
dormitory teams would be formed to fight for
the School Championship. Rob was sympathetic,
and so was Malcolm, but they each
treated the affair with a sort of I-told-you-so
smugness that grated.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br />
<small>THE FOOTBALL MEETING</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Two evenings before the game with Mountfort
High School a mass meeting was held
in the assembly hall. Notices of the meeting
had been posted for several days, but there was
no wild excitement in evidence.</p>
<p>“You’re going over, aren’t you?” asked
Evan of Rob after supper was over that evening
and the boys had returned to their room.</p>
<p>“Oh, yes, I shall go over and see the fun,”
replied Rob. “You had better come along.
And we’ll get Mal.”</p>
<p>“What’s it all about?” Evan inquired.
“What do they do?”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s supposed to be a sort of enthusiastic
gathering to show the team that the School
loves them; also to contribute little sums of
money into the coffer.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” said Evan. “How much should I
give?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>
<p>Rob shrugged his shoulders and ran his fingers
through his long hair.</p>
<p>“That’s up to you, Evan,” he answered.
“I’d suggest, however, that you donate about
the same amount as I shall.”</p>
<p>“And how much shall you give?”</p>
<p>“Not a red cent,” said Rob curtly.</p>
<p>“Oh, but that hardly seems fair, does it?”
Evan asked doubtfully. “I think I’d rather
contribute something, Rob.”</p>
<p>“All right; then give ’em a dollar. You’re
just throwing your dollar away, though.”</p>
<p>“What do most of the fellows give?”</p>
<p>“You’re supposed to give what you can
afford—or what you want to give. I used to
give ’em two, but what’s the use? Let’s find
Mal and go on over.”</p>
<p>The hall was rather sparsely inhabited when
Prentiss arose to address the meeting. Rob
and Evan and Malcolm sat together on a front
bench, and there were about seventy other
chaps in attendance. Prentiss explained that
the meeting had been called in pursuance of
a school custom to acquaint the supporters of
the football team with the plans for the season
and to secure from them funds with which to
carry out those plans. He informed the audience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
that the football treasury had held the sum
of twelve dollars and eighty cents at the beginning
of the year, that amount having been left
over from the previous season.</p>
<p>“Of course,” he went on, “that didn’t last
very long. We have had to purchase several
balls, buy lime for the purpose of marking out
the field and get quite a few little things to begin
work with. We are now without funds and
it is necessary that your response to-night
should be generous. We shall need fully a hundred
and fifty dollars to carry us through the
season. There will be new sweaters to purchase
for the entire team and one or two pairs of
trousers. Of recent years it has been the custom
for players to supply their own shoes, but
I think that is a mistake. Lots of fellows can’t
afford to pay what they ought to to get a good
shoe and the result is that they buy cheap things
that don’t give good service. And that naturally
affects their playing. I think the Football
Association should buy shoes as well as clothing
for the players, and I’m sure you will agree
with me. Our schedule this season includes
games with several teams that require us to
travel away from home, and the item of railroad
fares will be considerable. So I hope you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
fellows will respond heartily to our appeal, remembering
that you are giving to the School
and aiding it in its struggle for football preeminence.
You all want to witness a victory
over Adams, and the first step toward the—the
realization of that desire is to put the Team
on its feet financially. Captain Hopkins has a
few words to say before we proceed to business.”</p>
<p>There was a smatter of applause as the manager
took his seat and Frank Hopkins arose.
Hopkins could talk very well when he was in
the mood, and he realized that to-night was a
time when eloquence was needed. The slim
attendance was not encouraging, and the spirit
of the meeting evidently left much to be desired
in the way of warmth and enthusiasm. Hopkins
thrust his hands into his coat pockets and
viewed the audience with a genial smile.</p>
<p>“Well,” he began, “what I have to say isn’t
of great consequence, fellows. You all know
why you’re here. We need money for the
Team. We can’t run a football team without
money. Fellows have to be clothed and shod
and we have to have balls and head-gears and
nose-protectors and other things too numerous
to mention. They all cost money. And, as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
manager has just told you, we’re stoney-broke
at this moment. We couldn’t scrape up ten
cents if we tried. In fact, both Prentiss and I
have had to advance small sums of money to
keep things going this far. But we’re going
to have a good team this year, one that you’ll
all be proud of.”</p>
<p>“Yes, indeed,” called a sarcastic voice from
the audience, and a ripple of titters arose.
Hopkins frowned momentarily, but quickly
remembered his role of geniality and went
on:</p>
<p>“We’ve got enough fellows from last year’s
team to form an excellent basis to build upon.
And the new material in sight is unusually
good. In short, the outlook is distinctly encouraging,
and I, for one, am quite optimistic regarding
the work ahead. Adams has triumphed
too long—”</p>
<p>Applause, and a shrill “That’s no joke!”
from somewhere at the back of the room.</p>
<p>“She has triumphed too long and it is time
that we show her that Riverport is still to be
reckoned with. And this fall, fellows, you’ll
see a turning of the tables. We’re going to
give old Adams a drubbing that will make up,
more than make up for past defeats!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p>
<p>“So <em>you</em> say!” somebody remarked after
the applause had died down. Hopkins turned
in the direction of the voice.</p>
<p>“I see,” he said, “that we have one or two
‘knockers’ with us. That’s to be expected,
however. There are always a few fellows sufficiently
lacking in patriotism and school spirit
to think it smart to jeer. Well, I guess that’s
all I’ve got to say this evening. Except that
I hope you will help us all you can. If every
one of you will give what he is able to we, on
our part, will fulfill our share of the contract.
And I’ll tell you right now, fellows, that when
the season is done you’ll have no cause to regret
your generosity.”</p>
<p>Hopkins had made a good speech and even
Rob was forced to clap a little as the captain
took his seat again. Joe Law arose and demanded
“a cheer for Captain Hopkins” and
the audience responded fairly well.</p>
<p>“Now,” announced Prentiss, taking the platform
again, “some of the fellows will pass
through the hall and receive your contributions.
When it is possible, please give cash. If you
haven’t the cash, then write your pledges on
the slips of paper.”</p>
<p>Law and three other football men arose and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
started on the rounds. A buzz of conversation
dispelled the quiet of the hall.</p>
<p>“Guess I ought to give a couple of dollars,”
whispered Evan to Rob. Rob frowned.</p>
<p>“If you do, you’re an idiot,” he growled.
“What are you going to give, Mal?”</p>
<p>“Oh, a dollar, I reckon. I’d rather not give
them anything, but it seems rather small not
to.”</p>
<p>“Then I’ll give a dollar, too,” said Evan as
he found his pocket-book. “If they got that
much from every fellow—”</p>
<p>“They won’t, though,” said Rob. “A lot
of them won’t give a cent. And some think a
half’s enough. If they get a hundred this year
they’ll be doing mighty well. The fellows are
getting tired of paying for a football team that
never delivers the goods.”</p>
<p>Law passed the cap along the row and Evan
and Malcolm deposited their contributions.
Law stared at Rob.</p>
<p>“Come on, now, Rob,” he said, “shell out.”</p>
<p>“Not me,” answered Rob with a smile. “I
have better use for my money, Joe. Go on with
your old hat.”</p>
<p>“My, but you’re a tight-wad,” said Joe,
with a shrug of his big shoulders.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>
<p>Presently the collectors handed their harvest
to Prentiss. The audience waited to hear the
result announced. Prentiss and Hopkins
counted and figured and at last the former came
to the front of the platform with a slip in his
hand.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t look happy, does he?” chuckled
Rob.</p>
<p>“The amount contributed,” announced Prentiss
with thinly veiled sarcasm, “is eighty dollars
and sixty cents. I want to thank the generous
donor of that ten cent piece if he will
stand up where I can see him.”</p>
<p>The audience laughed, but no one arose.</p>
<p>“Of course,” continued Prentiss, “there’s
no necessity for me to tell you that you haven’t
subscribed much more than half enough money.
But that’s your look-out, I guess. If you don’t
want a decent team, why, you’re going the
right way to get what you do want. To those
that have contributed generously—and a
few have—I offer thanks. The meeting is
over.”</p>
<p>“It’s better than I thought it would be,”
chuckled Rob as they pushed their way through
the throng at the door. “A long ways eighty
dollars will take them!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
<p>“What do you suppose they’ll do?” asked
Evan.</p>
<p>“I guess they’ll go broke. Probably make
their last year’s uniforms do instead of getting
new ones. It’s all nonsense, anyway, for
Prentiss to say that they have to have a hundred
and fifty dollars. A good manager could
get along with not much more than half of
that. I guess they’ll have to this year.”</p>
<p>“Oh, they’ll probably call another meeting,”
said Malcolm, “or send around canvassers to
get after the fellows who haven’t contributed.”</p>
<p>“They don’t know who have contributed and
who haven’t,” said Rob, “aside from those
who signed their names to pledges. All a fellow
would have to do when a canvasser tackled him
would be to say that he gave cash at the meeting
to-night.”</p>
<p>“That’s so,” Malcolm agreed.</p>
<p>“I sort of wish I’d given another dollar,”
mused Evan. “I’d like to see the team wallop
Adams, and if they need money to be able to
do that it seems as though they ought to have
it.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t money they need,” said Rob, “but
some good players, a decent captain and manager
and somebody to show them football. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
Hop would engage a coach he could get all the
money he needed, and more too. The trouble
with those two chaps is that they’ve got it into
their heads that <em>they</em> are the Riverport Football
Team. They want to do it all themselves.
Even if Hop got a coach he’d be always interfering
and I guess Mr. Coach would stay
about one week. Then he’d kick Hop and get
out.”</p>
<p>“This is Hopkins’ last year, isn’t it?”
Evan asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, praises be! And Prentiss’s, too.”</p>
<p>“Who will be captain next year, then?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. Hop and Prentiss will
arrange that between them. I think, though,
that Joe Law is getting into line for the
honor. Or maybe the mantle will descend upon
Miller.”</p>
<p>“But don’t they hold an election?”</p>
<p>“Sort of a one. It’s all fixed beforehand,
though. Hop will tell the fellows whom he
wants elected and they’ll vote as he tells them
to. It’s rather a farce. The whole thing’s
a farce. But we’re going to change it, fellows.”</p>
<p>“Are we?” laughed Malcolm. “And how
are we going to do it?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p>
<p>Rob shook his head mysteriously.</p>
<p>“You wait and see,” he answered.</p>
<p>It was still early when they reached the dormitory
and they went into Malcolm’s room and
made themselves comfortable and continued
their discussion of the football situation. Rob
was extremely eloquent this evening and derived
a lot of pleasure in hauling Hopkins and
Prentiss over the coals.</p>
<p>“I don’t see,” he said finally to Evan, “why
you want to give those chaps money for their
old team after the way they treated you.”</p>
<p>“Well, I dare say I didn’t do very well,”
Evan replied. “In fact, I’m sure I didn’t.
I can’t play end and I told Devens so when
I started. And he didn’t need a quarter or a
half—”</p>
<p>“The dickens he didn’t! Call that chap
Hinkley a half-back, do you? Well, I don’t.
And they need a good quarter on the First
Team, too. Miller’s a frost. How’s the ankle
getting on?”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s all right now,” Evan replied.</p>
<p>“That’s good. You may need the use of it
before long.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you’ll see.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>
<p>“Say, Rob, you’re beastly mysterious to-night,”
complained Malcolm. “What have you
got up your sleeve?”</p>
<p>“Only my arm,” answered Rob. “I’ll tell
you all about it, Mal, as soon as—as my plans
are perfected.”</p>
<p>“You and your plans!” grunted Malcolm
derisively.</p>
<p>When Rob and Evan said good-night and returned
to their own room Evan got ready for
bed, but Rob, after partially undressing, went
to the lower drawer of his bureau and began
hauling things over. That lower drawer was
Rob’s workshop. There were all sorts of tools
there and spools of wire and pieces of metal
and odds and ends of all kinds. Evan called it
the junk-shop. When working on one of his
numerous inventions Rob produced a board
about three feet long and eighteen inches wide
from the closet and set it on his bed. Then he
drew his chair up to it and filed or hammered
or whittled to his heart’s content. There was
usually a litter of shavings or metal filings—sometimes
both—on bed and floor, and Evan
had long ago learned to avoid that part of the
room unless his feet were protected with slippers.
It isn’t pleasant to step on nails or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
screws or ends of wire, as Evan was continually
doing at first. To-night Rob emptied a
cigar-box of its contents, fixed his improvised
bench in place and set to work with knife and
paste-pot.</p>
<p>“What are you up to?” inquired Evan.</p>
<p>“You wait and see,” was the pre-occupied
answer. Evan laid hold of a book and threatened
Rob’s head with it.</p>
<p>“If you say that to me again to-night, Rob,
I’ll brain you!” he declared. Rob looked up,
laughed and went on with his work.</p>
<p>“All right, chum, I’ll tell you, then. It’s
this way. Your eloquence in behalf of the football
team this evening has touched my calloused
heart, Evan. Something ought to be
done to secure the money they need, and I’m
doing it.”</p>
<p>“Well, what’s the cigar-box for?”</p>
<p>“It is no longer a cigar-box; that is, it will
be no longer a cigar-box when I get through
with it; it will be a contribution-box. I am
making a slot here in the lid, you see. Then
I shall tack the lid down, cover the whole with
nice pink paper and adorn it with a suitable
inscription, an inscription that will wring the
pennies from the penniless.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p>
<p>“Rob, you’re an awful idiot,” laughed
Evan as he slipped into bed. “Finish it in
the morning and let’s get to sleep.”</p>
<p>“Never put off until to-morrow what can be
done to-night,” replied Rob virtuously. “You
just turn your little face away from the light
and compose yourself for slumber, Evan.”</p>
<p>“Oh, thunder, I can’t go to sleep with that
light shining!”</p>
<p>“Bet you you’ll be snoring inside of ten
minutes.”</p>
<p>“Bet you I won’t. Besides, I don’t snore.
You do the snoring for this establishment, you
human calliope.”</p>
<p>“No one ever called me that before,” said
Rob sadly. “Really, Evan, I don’t believe that
I snore. I think you dream it.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you do, eh?” muttered Evan as he
turned over. “I just wish you had to listen
to yourself sometimes!”</p>
<p>Rob won his wager, for Evan, if he didn’t
actually snore, at least proved conclusively
within the designated time that he was sound
asleep. Half an hour later he opened his eyes
during a wakeful moment and saw Rob still at
work on the cigar-box. How late he labored
with it Evan never knew, but in the morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
it was finished. Evan saw it the first thing
after getting up, read the inscription and
howled loudly and gleefully, but not loud
enough to awake Rob who was still sleeping
the sleep of one who has kept late hours.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br />
<small>THE CONTRIBUTION-BOX</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">When the fellows came out from chapel
the contribution-box adorned the top of
the radiator under the notice board in the corridor
of Academy Hall. It was neatly covered
with pink paper, there was a slot in the cover
and these words in large black letters explained
its purpose:</p>
<p class="noic">AID FOR THE HELPLESS!<br />
DROP YOUR PENNIES HERE FOR THE<br />
FOOTBALL TEAM!</p>
<p>The joke won instant approval and penny
after penny went through the slot. The School
was vastly amused and the contribution-box
remained on the radiator until the middle of
the forenoon, at which time Edgar Prentiss,
having heard of it, descended upon it in wrath
and kicked it across the corridor, wrecking it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
completely and strewing the floor with coppers
which were ultimately recovered by some of the
younger boys, for whom they undoubtedly did
as much good as they would have done the
football team. Rob never acknowledged himself
to have been the perpetrator of the joke,
and Evan never told, but for some reason suspicion
attached itself to him, and Hopkins and
Prentiss, neither of whom had loved him very
well before, found new grounds for dislike.
Prentiss even made public display of his resentment.</p>
<p>Rob was standing on the steps of Academy
after dinner with Malcolm and Wright when
Prentiss came along. They all nodded to him
and Prentiss responded, but as he reached the
door he turned back and addressed Rob.</p>
<p>“Say, Langton, you think you’re smart,
don’t you?” he sneered.</p>
<p>Rob looked at once surprised and pained.</p>
<p>“I do? Why do you say thus?”</p>
<p>“Putting that fool box in there. If you don’t
want the school to have a foot-ball team that’s
your affair, I suppose. But you might act like
a gentleman and not try to ridicule the team.”</p>
<p>“Do you suspect me of that?” asked Rob
sorrowfully.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
<p>“I don’t suspect; I know,” responded Prentiss
warmly. “Any one would think you were
a prep, doing such fool stunts as that!”</p>
<p>“I don’t see what you’re mad about,
though,” said Rob innocently. “I’ll bet there
was as much as sixty cents in that box.”</p>
<p>“I’ll bet you didn’t give any of it, then!”
Prentiss sneered.</p>
<p>“You wrong me. I gave a whole bright, new
penny.”</p>
<p>“That’s more than you gave at the meeting
last night.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t have a penny with me then,” answered
Rob sweetly. “If I had I’d have given
it, really and truly. I don’t see how you can
expect fellows to give money if you scatter it
around the floor the way you did this morning.
Why, there was enough in that contribution-box
to buy half a dozen ice-cream sodas for the
captain and manager!”</p>
<p>“Look here,” demanded Prentiss angrily,
“do you mean to insinuate that I spend the
football funds on soda water?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. How could you when you
keep a nice itemized account of all expenditures?
Let me see, you didn’t read the accounts
last night, did you?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p>
<p>“I’m not required to; but if you mean to
accuse me of stealing the football money, Langton,
you’d better come right out and say so.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t,” interposed Wright soothingly.
“He’s just talking, aren’t you, Rob?”</p>
<p>“Am I? Just as you say. All right, then,
Prentiss, I’m just talking. It’s a habit I
have.”</p>
<p>“You talk too much,” growled Prentiss
wrathfully. “You’re a sore-head, that’s what
you are. You’re always trying to make trouble
for Hop and me. Just because you tried for
the team last year and didn’t make it you do
nothing but knock. You make me tired.”</p>
<p>“That’s all right. You’re not the only one
that’s tired. You’ll find that there are a whole
lot of others who are tired, too. Tired of giving
their money to a football team that never
makes good from one year to the next, tired of
having you and Hopkins run the whole thing
yourselves. Oh, you’re not the only tired one,
Prentiss!”</p>
<p>“I suppose you think you ought to manage
it?”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m naturally modest,” drawled
Rob, “but I have had suspicions that way.”
Prentiss laughed derisively.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p>
<p>“You’d make a dandy manager, you would.
Maybe you’d like to be captain, too?”</p>
<p>“Not of that team, thanks.”</p>
<p>“Is that so? Why, you don’t know the first
thing about football, Lanky; you’re a joke!”
And Prentiss disappeared laughing hugely.</p>
<p>Rob smiled as he looked after him.</p>
<p>“What did you mean by that ice-cream soda
remark?” asked Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Nothing much. Only last fall I was in
Webster’s buying some fountain-pen ink when
Hop and Prentiss came in. They didn’t see
me, because I was at the back of the store and
there was a wire rack filled with sponges in
front of me. ‘What will you have?’ asked
Hopkins. ‘Oh, ice-cream soda, I guess,’ Prentiss
answered. ‘Might as well take the best.
It doesn’t come out of our pocket, Hop.’ And
Hop laughed and said he guessed that was
about right; ‘Incidentals, eh, Ed?’ he asked.
Oh, of course, I don’t <em>know</em> anything,” ended
Rob dryly, “but I sort of suspect!”</p>
<p>“Well, you made Prentiss mad, all right,”
chuckled Mal.</p>
<p>“I thought he was going to light into you,”
said Wright.</p>
<p>“Did you? I didn’t. I know him. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
wouldn’t light into a flea!” Rob smiled. “Say,
why do you suppose he thinks I put that old
box in there?”</p>
<p>“Well, didn’t you?” asked Wright.
“Every one says you did.”</p>
<p>“How extremely absurd,” murmured Rob.
“It was a cigar-box, and every one knows I
don’t smoke cigars. Let’s go in and take a
fall out of English. Mal, have you any idea
what the lesson’s about? I quite forgot to
look at it last night. I—er—I was busy.”</p>
<p>There was much speculation as to what steps
Hopkins and Prentiss would take to secure the
balance of the money needed for the team. Perhaps
I should say wanted instead of needed,
for the consensus of opinion was to the effect
that eighty-odd dollars was quite as much as
past performances warranted. But curiosity
was soon satisfied, for the next morning, Saturday,
the following notice appeared in Academy
Hall:</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p class="noic">“<i>Contributions for Foot-Ball Team</i></p>
<p>“The Football Meeting held Thursday evening
was poorly attended and the amount of
money contributed toward the expenses of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
Team is quite inadequate. The Management
desires to announce to the School that unless
more funds are placed at its disposal the Team
will be severely handicapped at the outset of
what promises to be a most successful season.
Those who have not contributed are earnestly
requested to do so at once to Edgar Prentiss,
Manager. Below is a list of students’ names
arranged alphabetically by Classes, the names
of those who have already contributed being
crossed off with red ink. If the Management
has failed to give credit in any case the omission
will be rectified if brought to its attention.
The names of future contributors will be scored
off on the list.</p>
<p class="right"><span class="padr1">“<span class="smcap">Frank Hopkins</span>, <i>Captain</i>.</span><br />
“<span class="smcap">Edgar Prentiss</span>, <i>Manager</i>.”<br /></p>
</div>
<p>Then followed the list of names, and that list
caused not a little commotion all day, for there
were numerous cases where fellows had given
cash at the meeting and had not been credited,
since Hopkins and Prentiss, aided by the four
fellows who had passed the hats, had been
forced to substitute knowledge with surmise
pretty frequently. That notice witnessed many
scenes of indignation.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p>
<p>“Well, what do you think of that?” some
youth would ejaculate after finding his name.
“I gave two dollars to their punk old football
team and now they say I didn’t give a red!
Where’s that chap Prentiss? I’ll tell him
what I think of him, you bet!”</p>
<p>And the indignant one would hurry away in
search of the manager and vindication.</p>
<p>The appeal landed a few more contributions,
but was, on the whole, a failure. Rob inveighed
eloquently against it at the dinner-table that
noon.</p>
<p>“It’s a bare-faced attempt at intimidation
and extortion,” he declared.</p>
<p>“Those are dandy words, Rob,” said Pierce.</p>
<p>“It’s—it’s blackmail, that’s what it is!
If you don’t give money you are publicly posted
as mean-spirited and miserly and unpatriotic.
No one is bound to contribute to athletics of any
sort, and that’s understood. Lots of fellows
can’t give money to the football team and
that list over there in Academy will show that
they haven’t given and they’ll either be
shamed into doing what they can’t afford to
or will know that other chaps are despising
them for being mean.”</p>
<p>“Oh, nonsense, Rob,” Wright protested,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
“it isn’t as bad as that. I’ll acknowledge that
they haven’t any business doing a stunt of
that sort, but every fellow takes it as a sort
of joke; just as they’re beginning to take Hop
and Prentiss and the team, too. I wouldn’t
care a rap whether my name had a red line
through it or not.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you wouldn’t, but there are plenty
who would; young fellows in the prep class,
for instance. Lots of them don’t have more
than a quarter of a dollar a week for pocket-money
and to ask them to contribute to the
football team is rank foolishness. There’s
one name on that list that hasn’t got a red
line through it, though, and it won’t have; and
that’s the name of Robert Langton, Esquire.”</p>
<p>“Langton, you’re a dandy hater, aren’t
you?” said Peterson with a laugh.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t going to give anything,” said
Jelly, “but every one was looking, and so—”</p>
<p>“You conceited little fat rascal!” exclaimed
Wright. “Why, I don’t suppose any one knew
you were in the hall!”</p>
<p>“That’s all right,” answered Jelly imperturbably.
“Anyway, I gave them a dollar and
I wish I hadn’t.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t it worth that to keep your place on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
the Second?” asked Rob. “You know very well,
Jelly, you’d get fired if you didn’t pay
up. I’m not sure that, as a member of the
Second Team, you shouldn’t have given a good
deal more than a dollar.”</p>
<p>“I’ll give them another dollar when Gus
Devens puts me in the first line-up,” said Jelly
shrewdly. “One’s enough for a substitute,
though.” The others laughed.</p>
<p>“For my part,” said Wright, “I feel rather
sorry for Hop. He really wants to win this
year and I dare say he’s doing the best he
knows how, although it may not be a very good
best. Seems to me we ought to give him enough
money to go ahead with.”</p>
<p>“Rot! They’ve got enough now!” Rob
helped himself to another potato. “It doesn’t
need new jerseys and sweaters to win from
Adams; it needs football sense. And that’s
something neither Hop nor Prentiss has got.
Why, I’d be willing to wager anything I’ve
got that Mountfort will make our team look like
a set of cripples this afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Mountfort? Nonsense!” jeered Peterson.
“Why, Mountfort’s only a high school!”</p>
<p>“All right; you wait and see. As you say,
Mountfort’s only a high school and consequently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
we ought to beat her by two or three
scores; isn’t that so?”</p>
<p>“Well, two scores, maybe,” hedged Peterson.
“After all, Langton, it’s pretty early yet and
we haven’t got under way.”</p>
<p>“It’s early for Mountfort, too, isn’t it?
But we’ll say two scores, then, Peterson. Now
I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If Riverport wins
from Mountfort this afternoon by a margin of
two scores—no, by Jove, by <em>one</em> score!—neither
Jelly nor I will eat any supper to-night!”</p>
<p>“<em>What!</em>” shrieked Jelly in alarm. “You
speak for yourself, Rob. I’m not coming in
on any silly arrangement like that. I need my
supper.”</p>
<p>“Oh, be a sport, Jelly,” Evan laughed.
“What do you care about supper if we win?”</p>
<p>“We won’t win,” answered Jelly. “Pass
the gravy, please.”</p>
<p>“Then you’re safe, aren’t you? I mean
your supper’s safe.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe in taking risks,” replied
Jelly with a wise shake of his head.</p>
<p>“Well, if Jelly throws me down,” said Rob
smilingly, “I’ll go it alone.”</p>
<p>“Never be it said that I deserted you in your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
hour of need, Rob,” Evan declared. “I will
starve with you.”</p>
<p>“Look here, though, you two,” said Pierce.
“No crackers and jam and stuff in your room
afterwards.”</p>
<p>“We haven’t any,” laughed Evan. “The
only thing we might eat is some of Rob’s nails
and screws and such. No, this is straight, isn’t
it, Rob?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely! If Hop’s team wins from
Mountfort this afternoon Evan and I go supperless.”</p>
<p>“Well, I call that a sporting proposition,”
said Peterson admiringly. “Much as I’d hate
to have you go without supper, Rob, I must say
I’d like our team to win.”</p>
<p>“It hasn’t a show to win,” said Rob confidently.
“Why, my dear, misguided friend, our
team hasn’t shown a single flash of football
yet.”</p>
<p>“Well, we’ll see later,” responded Peterson,
pushing back his chair. “That’s right, Jelly,
eat all you can now, for you’re not likely to
get anything more to-day.”</p>
<p>“Me?” sputtered Jelly. “I tell you I’m
not in that bargain! I refuse to have anything
to do with it! I don’t have to, do I, Rob?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p>
<p>“No, you may eat as much as usual, Jelly,
no matter what may be the fortunes of war.
And just think, Jelly! If Evan and I do lose
you’ll have two other suppers to eat!”</p>
<p>“Say, may I have your preserves, Rob?”
asked Jelly eagerly. “May I have yours,
Evan?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Rob replied laughingly, “but I
wouldn’t count on it, Jelly. I rather fancy
we’ll need our suppers ourselves.”</p>
<p>Faculty agreed with Rob in his judgment of
the foot-ball notice and it disappeared that
afternoon. Mr. Holt, the school secretary,
stopped and read it on his way through the
corridor to dinner and later brought it to the
attention of Doctor Farren.</p>
<p>“That,” said the Doctor, “scarcely agrees
with the principles of the school, Holt. It
savors too much of compulsion. Kindly remove
it and return it to Prentiss with an explanation.
It seems to me,” he added musingly, “that athletics
are growing more expensive every year.
I don’t recall that in my day we required any
such sums to run our teams. And, as I recollect,
Holt, we won just about as often as we do now.”</p>
<p>“Quite possible,” answered the secretary
cynically.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br />
<small>ROB PLAYS A TRUMP</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Mountfort came along that afternoon
with a big, well-drilled confident team.
Hopkins put his best line-up against it. But
his best wasn’t nearly good enough. That fact
was evident almost from the kick-off, when
Riverport, having won the toss, chose its goal
and gave the ball to Mountfort.</p>
<p>There was a long high punt and Mountfort
came charging down under it so swiftly and earnestly
that Miller, who had caught the ball on
his twelve yards, was downed almost before
he could take a step. Miller tried the center of
the Mountfort line and made little impression.
A split play, with the ball going through left
tackle, netted four yards. Then Law dropped
back for a kick. The defence crumpled like
paper and the best he could do was to fall on
the ball for a safety, scoring 2 for Mountfort.
After that it was nip and tuck for a while, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
the play ranging inside the thirty-five yard-lines
and neither side getting near enough to
make a score look imminent.</p>
<p>Each team was weaker on defence than on
offence, but Mountfort had the better of her
adversary here as in all other departments of
the game. Toward the end of the first half
Miller tried an open game and got off one forward
pass that netted twenty yards and an on-side
kick that was recovered on the latter’s fifteen
yard-line. The audience, comprised almost
entirely of Riverport sympathizers, demanded
a touchdown and the team tried its best to
oblige. But two downs only brought eight yards
and the third lost the ball, Mountfort solving
the play—a straight plunge at center, before
it was well under way.</p>
<p>Mountfort punted to the center of the field
and her fast ends brought down their man without
trouble. A minute later time was called
and the first half ended with Mountfort in the
lead, 2 points to 0. Riverport, however, was not
dismayed. She meant to go in in the last period
and win the game. And every one in the local
camp expected her to. Mountfort hadn’t
showed anything but the straightest kind of
straight football and if Riverport could hold<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
her as she had done in the first half—barring
the moment when that kick had been spoiled—there
was no good reason, or so it seemed, why
Riverport should not at least score something
better than a miserable 2. But you never can
tell what will happen in a second half.</p>
<p>It was Riverport’s kick-off and Law sent a
beauty down the field. A Mountfort back took
it and started across toward the side-line.
Riverport swung toward him. The back passed
to another back and the latter streaked up the
opposite side of the field with the ball cosily
snuggled under his arm. It was an old trick,
but it caught Riverport napping. The runner
had almost a clear field before the ruse was
discovered. Reid, right tackle, made a dive for
him and missed, and only Miller stood between
him and a touchdown. Behind him raced friend
and foe alike, but he had little to fear from the
rear. Miller made a desperate effort to edge
him toward the side-line, failed and made a
leap at him. The runner dodged, whirled, shook
off Miller’s grasp and romped between the uprights
for a touch-down. The Mountfort captain
kicked an easy goal and the score stood
8 to 0.</p>
<p>After that Mountfort took chances and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
opened up a bag of tricks that utterly confused
and overwhelmed her adversary. There were
forward passes galore; short ones, long ones,
expected ones, unexpected ones; forward
passes from close formation, forward passes
from kick formation; forward passes at the
most unlikely times. And they worked time
and again, worked because Riverport had not
been taught a proper defence against them,
because she was bewildered and confused and
because, saddest thing of all, she was tired and
played out almost to a man. Hopkins replaced
man after man, and Grove took Miller’s place
and tried heroically to bring order out of chaos.
But the Mountfort quarter gave Riverport no
time to recover herself. He worked his team
faster and faster until in the last five minutes
of play such speed had never been seen in the
second half of a contest on Riverport Field.
And Riverport, out-played and out-generalled,
weary, sore and dazed, went down in defeat to
the final overwhelming score of 25 to 0!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 434px;">
<a id="i_p199">
<img src="images/i_p199.jpg" width="434" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_200">“IT WAS A SILENT AND VERY DISGUSTED THRONG OF SPECTATORS.”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200-<br />201]</a></span></p>
<p><a href="#i_p199">It was a silent and very disgusted throng of
spectators</a> that straggled back up the slope to
the school. They were much too surprised as
yet to talk. The talk came later, in dining-hall
at supper-time, in the rooms afterwards. The
consensus of opinion was that the Riverport
School Football Team was “pretty punk.”
Not a lovely phrase that, but it was very generally
used and seemed to satisfy the requirements
of the occasion. Of course there were
all sorts of theories advanced to account for
the day’s Waterloo, and fellows who didn’t
know a touch-back from a nose-guard explained
the whole trouble beautifully. In 32 Holden
there was little discussion for the reason that
Rob wouldn’t discuss, while Malcolm, as he had
never played football, modestly refrained from
offering opinions. All Rob would say, and he
said it in an exasperatingly mysterious manner,
was:</p>
<p>“Wait! The hour is at hand!”</p>
<p>With Malcolm’s assistance, Evan got Rob
down on his bed and buried him under pillows—and
then sat on the pillows. But all his
reward was a stifled: “Wait! The hour is at
hand!”</p>
<p>The school was pretty well disgusted with
the football situation, and the disgust increased
when on the following Monday the Second Team
tore up the First and scored a touch-down and
a field-goal. Certainly the fact that the First’s
line-up contained five substitutes had something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
to do with the Second’s easy conquest, but
didn’t account for it entirely. The fact is that
the First Team was suffering from something
very much like nervous prostration. On Tuesday
the feeling against the team was manifested
on the field. Some forty boys marched
down in procession and shouted derisive, unkind
remarks during practice. Hopkins came
in for more attention than he relished, while
Prentiss lost his temper on several occasions.
The Second held the First to a no-score tie
throughout the two periods of scrimmaging, in
spite of the fact that the First had all its best
players back. Whenever the Second gained a
yard the audience cheered wildly; when the
First gained it was accorded hoots of derision.
Nothing of the sort had ever happened before
at Riverport and the school that evening was
in a state of unwonted excitement. There was
talk of a mass-meeting to protest against the
present conduct of football affairs, but the
project fell through because none of the upper
class fellows would consent to issue the call.
They took the stand that while the situation
was pretty discouraging it was the school’s
duty to stand by the team, that only harm could
result from embarrassing the management. So<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
the mass-meeting degenerated into a procession
which marched through the yard at nine o’clock
carrying placards and hooting derisively. One
of the placards read: “We Want a Football
Team”; another, “Riverport 0, Mountfort,
25”; another, “Try Jamaica Ginger”; another,
“Wanted, A Nurse. Apply to Manager
R. S. F. A.” After circling the yard the procession
marched around to the rear of Holden
and serenaded Hopkins and Prentiss. I use the
word serenaded for want of a better; music is
music even if it contains discords. Then there
were “three long groans for the eleven!”
given with a will, and demands for a speech by
Prentiss. The latter made the mistake of losing
his temper and emptied a pitcher of water
from the window. As the serenaders were
momentarily expecting some such delicate attention
no one was dampened. Neither was
their ardor. The concert, which had been on
the point of ending, took a new lease of life
and continued until faculty took a hand and
threatened trouble for the disturbers.</p>
<p>Neither Evan nor Rob took part in the demonstration,
while as for Malcolm he studied
calmly through it all. Rob had been hand and
glove with the ring-leaders earlier in the evening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
and had himself decorated the placards
carried in the procession, but for some reason
known only to himself he had refrained from
joining the parade. When Evan dropped off to
sleep that night Rob was writing busily at the
table, and although Evan didn’t know what he
was up to he was fairly certain from the concentration
displayed that it had nothing to do
with studies. And Evan was right. The result
of Rob’s labor appeared on the notice board in
Academy Hall the next morning.</p>
<div class="blockquot">
<p>“A Meeting will be held this evening at 7:15 in 8 First
House to consider the formation of an Independent Foot-ball
Eleven. All are asked to attend, whether players or not.</p>
<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Howard Wellington.</span><br />
<span class="padr15">“<span class="smcap">Robert Langton.</span>”</span><br /></p>
</div>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br />
<small>THE INDEPENDENTS ORGANIZE</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Howard Wellington was a senior, a
quiet fellow, much respected by the rest
of the school, with a positive passion for reforming
things. Rob was well aware of this
passion and had counted on it to secure Wellington’s
coöperation in his plan. And Wellington
had not failed him. Rob had a persuasive
tongue and it hadn’t been difficult for him
to convince Wellington that if anything ever
needed reformation it was the foot-ball situation
at Riverport School. Wellington had held
off at first, viewing Rob’s scheme as merely a
revolt on the part of disappointed foot-ball candidates,
but Rob had soon persuaded him that
the movement was purely patriotic and Wellington
had enthusiastically pledged himself to
the cause.</p>
<p>The announcement on the notice-board
created a deal of excitement and discussion and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
both Wellington and Rob were kept busy parrying
questions. All either would say was:
“Come to the meeting and find out.” So they
came to the meeting. The rooms in First House
are fairly good-sized, but none of them will
hold a hundred-odd boys, and so by a quarter
past seven the audience was overflowing
through the door into the corridor. Neither
Hopkins nor Prentiss was there, but they were
represented by two of their ablest lieutenants,
Carter and Law. Besides these there were at
least a half-dozen of the First Team present,
probably out of mere curiosity. The Second
Team was much better represented. In fact,
Riverport School, with the exceptions already
indicated and save for the absence of a handful
of older fellows who looked on the thing as
utter nonsense, was on hand when Wellington,
jammed tightly against the window-ledge,
called the meeting to order.</p>
<p>“Fellows,” he announced, “for some time,
in fact for something over a year, there has
been a general feeling of dissatisfaction over
the condition of athletics here at Riverport.”
(Loud applause greeted this.) “I’m not prepared
to say where the trouble lies, but there
is trouble.” (“There’s going to be more!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
cried an irrepressible prep.) “We have not
won, either in base-ball, rowing, hockey or foot-ball,
a fair proportion of our contests. Just at
present football is the—er—dominant issue,
and we will confine our attention to that. Last
year out of nine games played we won—” he
referred to a paper here—“we won five. The
five, however, were all early games with weaker
teams. Of the remaining games we tied one and
lost three, among them that with our chief rival,
Adams Academy. This year we have so far
played only three games, but the showing of
our team has not been satisfactory. I think
most of us agree to that.” (“You bet we do!”
shouted a voice, and there was much laughter
and applause.) “Langton, who will speak to
you next, has something to say as to the reasons
for our ill-success. Meanwhile I think I have
said enough to show you that there is sufficient
reason for this meeting.”</p>
<p>“Fellows,” said Rob, when the meeting had
quieted down again, “I can’t talk like Wellington.
He’s got me beat. But what I want to
say is this. You know and I know that for the
last two or three years the foot-ball teams
we’ve turned out haven’t represented—haven’t—hang
it, they haven’t been the best<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
teams we could turn out, not by a long shot!
And I challenge any one to deny it. Adams has
beaten us four games out of five in the last five
years, and she will do it again this year. That
isn’t right, and it isn’t necessary. Now is
it?”</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>“You bet it isn’t! Why, we’ve got plenty
of good material here at Riverport, just as
good, every bit as good, as Adams has. But
something’s wrong. Wellington said I was
going to give my opinions as to what the matter
is. Well, I’m not. I’ve got them, all right,
but this meeting isn’t called to find out what
the trouble with the foot-ball team is. It’s
called to decide whether it won’t be a good idea
to have an independent eleven that shall be
representative of the school—to form an association
for that purpose. I don’t want you to
think I’m trying to be the whole thing here
to-night, but I’ve been kind of thinking it out
and if you don’t mind I’ll tell you my ideas.
Then you can say what you think of them.”</p>
<p>“Go ahead!”</p>
<p>“You’re all right, Lanky!”</p>
<p>“Let’s hear them!”</p>
<p>“Well, now suppose we form an association<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
to be called the Independent Football Association.
We elect officers. Then we issue a call
for candidates for a football team and appoint
a temporary captain—”</p>
<p>“I suppose that’ll be you, what!” called
Carter.</p>
<p>“Cut it out, Carter!”</p>
<p>“Dry up or get out!”</p>
<p>“It’ll be me if you want me,” responded
Rob good-naturedly, “but I guess you can find
some one a lot better. We want a manager, too.
Once we’ve got going the manager will make
some dates for us. It isn’t too late to get in,
say, four or five games with other schools.
There’ll be no favoritism—”</p>
<p>He was interrupted by loud and prolonged
applause.</p>
<p>“And every fellow who comes out for the
team will get a fair show. We’ll make the team
up of the best players we can find, no matter
whether they’re personally known to the captain
or man—”</p>
<p>But Rob didn’t get any further, being
drowned out by the howl of laughter which
arose.</p>
<p>“We’ll have a coach, too. I know a fellow
who will come up here for a month and be glad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
to do it and not charge a cent beyond his board.
And he knows football, too, a whole lot more
than any of the rest of us ever will know. I’ll
tell you who he is when the time comes. We’ve
been to see Doctor Farren and he says we can
go ahead. And we’ve consulted Tom—I mean
Mr. Osgood—and he thinks the idea is a good
one. We can use the scrub gridiron for practice
and when the School Team goes away to
play we can use theirs. I don’t say we can turn
out a finished team this fall, because it’s already
the tenth of October, but we can have
some mighty good sport and perhaps next year
we’ll be able to give the School Team something
to think about. Now, then, what do you
say, fellows?”</p>
<p>The project took the meeting by storm and
confusion reigned supreme. But the sense of
the meeting was evident, and Rob shot a satisfied
glance toward Evan and Malcolm as he
edged back to his seat on the window-ledge.
Joe Law demanded recognition and finally got
it. Joe was indignant and declared that he had
never before witnessed the appalling spectacle
of a school deliberately deserting its foot-ball
team. Joe waxed eloquent and a good many
foot-ball fellows present applauded.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p>
<p>“What happened the other day?” he demanded.
“Why, a lot of you chumps stood
down there on the field and hooted us. That’s
no way to do! What if we did get licked badly
by Mountfort? That game wasn’t an important
one. Why don’t you stand by us and help
us find our pace and knock spots out of Adams?
What good is it going to do to go and get up
another team? What will the other schools
think of us? They’ll think we’re a lot of—of—”</p>
<p>“Who wrote your speech, Law?” piped up
a voice that sounded like Mr. George Washington
Jell’s; “Hopkins or Prentiss?”</p>
<p>“I’m not trying to make a speech,” cried
Joe exasperatedly above the laughter. “I’m
just trying to show you fellows what a lot of
idiots you’re trying to be. Why, you can’t get
up a foot-ball team, anyway! There aren’t
eleven fellows to be had!”</p>
<p>“We can get up a better team than the First
with six fellows,” growled Harry Pierce. Wellington
interfered.</p>
<p>“I think we’d better get back to business,”
he said. “Is it the wish of the meeting that
the plan outlined by Langton be proceeded
with?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p>
<p>“Sure thing!”</p>
<p>“Rah for Lanky!”</p>
<p>“Order! Order!”</p>
<p>“Then I suggest that you appoint a committee
of, say, three fellows to take charge for
the present and draw up a plan of organization.
And since we haven’t any time to lose I think
we had better meet again to-morrow evening
at the same time.”</p>
<p>“Meet somewhere where we can all get in,”
demanded a voice from the corridor.</p>
<p>“That’s so. Maybe we can get the use of
the rowing-room in the gym. The committee
will post a notice in the forenoon and announce
the meeting-place. Now if you’ll nominate
three fellows to—”</p>
<p>“Langton!” called a voice, and there was
a general roar of approval.</p>
<p>“Wellington,” called some one else and
again the choice was unanimous.</p>
<p>“Prentiss!” suggested some one from the
depths of the crowd about the doorway and
received his reward of hoots and laughter.
The third member was finally found in Harry
Pierce, and as it was by that time close on
eight o’clock, the meeting broke up. Rob remained
behind with Wellington and Pierce and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
the three arranged to get together in Pierce’s
room after study-hour. Evan and Malcolm
walked back to Holden with Rob.</p>
<p>“Well, so far so good,” said Rob with satisfaction.
“I knew it would go all right, though,
as soon as Wellington agreed to take a hand.
The fellows think anything he goes in for is
all to the good. At this rate we ought to have
our first practice the day after to-morrow.”</p>
<p>“But can we get enough fellows to make a
team?” asked Evan doubtfully.</p>
<p>“Enough for two teams,” replied Rob.
“You wait and see.”</p>
<p>The next evening there was a second meeting
in the gymnasium and the Independent
Football Association came into existence.
Wellington was elected president, Malcolm
Warne secretary and manager, Pierce treasurer
and Rob temporary captain. It was voted
to collect an entrance-fee of fifty cents from
each member, the proceeds to be used in the
interests of the team. Fifty-four fellows joined
at the meeting. Mr. Osgood, the physical director,
popularly known as Tommy, made a
speech and was duly elected to honorary membership.
Tommy said he was pleased to see
such an interest in outdoor sports as appeared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
to be developing at Riverport. He believed in
athletics of all sorts and was of the opinion that
fifteen minutes of work on the turf or cinder
track was better than an hour in the gymnasium.
Of course he cautioned them against
giving too much attention to foot-ball to the
exclusion of study.</p>
<p>“The trouble is, I have found, that too many
of you carry foot-ball and base-ball and rowing
into the class-rooms with you. There’s a time
for everything and a place for everything.
Athletics belong on the field and when you leave
the field you ought to leave athletics too. Of
course I don’t expect you to dismiss foot-ball
entirely from your minds as soon as you’ve
had your shower; that would be expecting too
much; but just see that when study time comes
and when recitation time comes you put foot-ball
out of your thoughts and get down to work.
The year before last I had a student pass in
a diagram of a foot-ball play in place of a chemistry
paper. That sort of thing doesn’t do.</p>
<p>“And now one thing more,” continued Mr.
Osgood. “Doctor Farren has given his consent
to this project, but he isn’t convinced that
it’s a good thing. He fears that there’s going
to be too much foot-ball around here. So you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
understand that the project is on trial, fellows,
and that you must not overdo it. Have a good
time and get all the exercise you can out of it,
but don’t let it interfere with your real duties.
That’s all, I guess, except that I want to remind
all of you that go in for the team that you must
come to me and be examined.”</p>
<p>Mr. Osgood got his round of applause and
then Rob was called on to tell the meeting about
the coach he had spoken of the evening before.</p>
<p>“His name is Duffield,” said Rob, “and he
played with Brown last year and the year before
that. He graduated last June. Some of
you may have heard of him, although, as he
was a tackle, he never got into the papers much,
I guess. He was a good player and he’s a good
fellow and knows a whole lot about the game.
He lives in Providence and he can come down
every day and go home again; it would only
take him forty minutes on the train. He used
to live in my town and I knew him when I was
a kid. All he wants in case he does come are
his expenses, that is, room and board and fares.
As there are only about five weeks more of the
season he wouldn’t cost us much, I guess.”</p>
<p>Rob sat down and one after another half
a dozen fellows had their say. Two of them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
thought a coach unnecessary, but as a whole
the Association was heartily in favor of hiring
Mr. Duffield. Finally the manager and captain
were empowered to enter into negotiations
with him and secure his services if in their
judgment the Association could afford them.
It was decided that fellows who made the team
were to supply their own uniforms and that
gray shirts and sweaters with the letters R. I.
in green, signifying Riverport Independents,
should be worn. The manager was instructed
to arrange for as many games as possible for
the remaining Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.</p>
<p>“I think,” said Pierce, “that as we won’t
have much money after we’ve bought footballs
and paid the coach it would be well to arrange
games only with teams that are willing
to come here and play. Because I don’t see
how we can pay car fares to visit other
schools.”</p>
<p>“We might have one game away from
school,” suggested Malcolm, “if it wasn’t too
far and the fellows could pay their own expenses.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 409px;">
<a id="i_p217">
<img src="images/i_p217.jpg" width="409" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_218">“‘IF WE DON’T MAKE HOP AND PRENTISS SIT UP AND TAKE NOTICE
BEFORE THE SEASON’S OVER, I’LL EAT MY HAT!’”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218-<br />219]</a></span></p>
<p>This produced a laugh, but it won applause
as well, and Rob got the floor and declared that
for his part he was willing to pay his expenses
and those of one other fellow in a case of that
sort. So it was decided that Malcolm was to
induce teams to visit Riverport when possible
and when not possible to make dates with them
anyhow. Candidates were called for the following
afternoon at four o’clock and the meeting
adjourned subject to the call of the president,
with every one feeling very well satisfied.</p>
<p>“And now,” declared Rob on his way back
to his room, “if we can get Walter Duffield
we’re all right. And <a href="#i_p217">if we don’t make Hop and
Prentiss sit up and take notice before the season’s
over I’ll eat my hat!”</a></p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br />
<small>DUFFIELD TAKES HOLD</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">“Talk about Falstaff’s army!” exclaimed
Malcolm to Evan the next afternoon.
“Did you ever see such an assortment?”</p>
<p>And Evan, rubbing his injured ankle reflectively
and wondering whether it would stand
an afternoon’s work, had to acknowledge, as
he looked about him, that he never had. Practically
every fellow who had joined the Independent
Foot-ball Association had reported for
practice. About half owned football togs and
had donned them; the rest appeared in their
old clothes and sweaters. There were old boys
and young boys, big boys and little boys, tall
boys and short boys, fat boys and slim boys.
But, big or little, fat or slim, each was dominated
by a splendid enthusiasm. Preparatory
class youngsters shouldered their way about
looking mighty important in immaculately new
togs, while on the farthest edge of the group<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
stood a thin, diffident senior who had at last
gathered courage to do what he had longed to
do for three years—try to be a football hero.</p>
<p>“Who’s the fat kid over there?” asked
Malcolm. “It isn’t Jelly, is it? I thought
he was on the Second.”</p>
<p>“He is—or was,” Evan replied. “That’s
Jelly, though. O Jelly!” And when Mr.
George Washington Jell had ambled across,
grinning radiantly; “What are you doing here
with the insurgents?” Evan demanded.
“You’re a traitor or a spy, Jelly; which is
it?”</p>
<p>“I’m a brand from the burning,” answered
Jelly dramatically.</p>
<p>“Have you left the Second?” Malcolm
asked.</p>
<p>“Sure! Think I’m going to stay there and
work for Hopkins? Not much! I handed in my
resignation this morning to Gus.”</p>
<p>“What did he say?” asked Evan with a
smile. Jelly’s round face reflected the smile.</p>
<p>“I’d rather not tell you,” he said. “He
tried to make out that I was deserting him, but
that’s nonsense, isn’t it? When you’re on
the Second you’re working for Hop and Prentiss.
That’s why I quit.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p>
<p>“The Second will never be the same without
you,” said Evan, shaking his head sorrowfully.</p>
<p>“Oh, you fade away,” answered Jelly.
“Where’s Rob?”</p>
<p>“Somewhere about. There he is. I guess
he’s looking for you, Mal.”</p>
<p>“Every one this way, please!” called Rob.
“Get into line and give your names to Warne.
Got your book, Mal?”</p>
<p>Malcolm, with Rob at his elbow, passed down
the lines, taking the candidates’ names and
entering them with particulars as to age, class
and experience in his red memorandum book.
After each name was entered Rob whispered
“One,” “Two,” or “Three” into Malcolm’s
ear and the manager set down the fateful number
opposite the entry. As fast as a fellow gave
his name he was sent into the field to make one
of a ring of candidates whose duty it was for
the present to pass the ball around. Afterwards
the candidates were divided into three
squads and for the rest of the afternoon they
practised the rudiments of the game. Rob took
the first squad himself, the second fell to Evan
and the third to a middle class fellow named
Brimmer. Enthusiasm began to wane among
the inexperienced long before the hour was up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
This was to be expected, since passing and falling
on the ball and sprinting soon grow monotonous
and tiresome. But every one stuck it out
until, at shortly after five, Rob let them go.</p>
<p>“Well, what do you think?” asked Rob
when, later, the three friends were skirting the
School gridiron on their way back to Holden.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Evan doubtfully. “I
don’t think there were many stars in my squad,
while as for Brimmer, I thought he was going
to throw up the sponge once or twice.”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s too early to tell much yet,” said
Rob. “There’s some good material in my
squad, though.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think it will be hard to get eleven
fellows out of the lot,” said Malcolm. “Of
course, I don’t know much about football, but
I saw a good many chaps who seemed to know
what to do and how to do it.”</p>
<p>“That’s right. I could pick a dozen to-morrow
quite as good as the Second Team men.
You wait until we’ve had a week’s practice,
Evan, and you’ll feel more cheerful.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m cheerful enough. After all, we’re
doing it for the fun of the thing.”</p>
<p>“H’m, yes, I suppose so,” answered Rob.
“But—well, I’ve got more in view than just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
fun. I’m going to teach Hopkins and Prentiss
a lesson; the whole school, too, for that matter.
I’m going to show folks that if you want a
good football team or a good base-ball team
you’ve got to give every fellow a chance and
not run the show for the benefit of a few of
your particular chums.”</p>
<p>“How about that coach?” asked Evan.</p>
<p>“Coming. I got him on the telephone this
afternoon. He isn’t going to cost us a cent,
either. He says he’s just bought an automobile—a
runabout—and he will come over
every afternoon. Says it will only take him
about thirty minutes and he’d rather do that
than live over here. I told him all about it, just
what we were trying to do, and he thought it
was a great joke and says he will fix us so we
can knock spots out of the School Team! I’m
afraid he won’t be so cheerful when he sees the
material, but—well, never mind. I have hopes,
fellows, that before long we’ll get some of the
Second Team chaps.”</p>
<p>“Gee, that would leave the First in a bit of
a hole, wouldn’t it?” murmured Evan.</p>
<p>“Serves them right,” said Malcolm.</p>
<p>“Of course before that we’ve got to show
the making of a pretty good team,” went on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
Rob thoughtfully. “And the question is, can
we do it? We’re going to be pretty light, I
guess, and so we’ll have to make up for that in
speed. Walt Duffield is the chap to show us
how, though, I can tell you that!”</p>
<p>“We’ve already got one Second Team fellow,”
laughed Malcolm as they climbed the
stairs. “You saw that Jelly had joined our
forces, I suppose?”</p>
<p>“Yes. He was in your squad, wasn’t he,
Evan? How does he show up?”</p>
<p>“He’s frightfully willing, he knows some
football and he’s got weight,” answered Evan.
“But he’s as slow as an ice-wagon. If we can
knock some speed into him I dare say he’d
make a fair guard.”</p>
<p>“My idea exactly,” said Rob. “And that
chap Brimmer is another good one. He ought
to fit in at end. Then you’ll play quarter and
I’ll have a try for half. There’s four positions
filled. For center there’s Morse—or
maybe Shaler. They both look fairly good.
And we’ve got another good end in Powers.
However, we’ll leave it all to Duffield. If we’re
going to make this thing go we’ve got to give
him full swing and do just as he says.”</p>
<p>“When is he coming over?” asked Malcolm.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p>
<p>“Monday. Come on in and let’s look over
your list, Mal; there’s half an hour to supper
yet. By the way, Evan, remind me to get Pierce
up here this evening, will you? We’ve got to
get the fellows to pay their money into the exchequer
before we begin cutting down the candidates.
There’s going to be a howl from some
of them when they find they’re not going to get
on the team, and they might want to keep their
half-dollars. And that wouldn’t do, for we
need the money, my friends. We’ll have to
have that scrub gridiron marked out, Mal; we
can’t play without the lines. We’ll talk about
that later. By the way, have you written for
any games yet?”</p>
<p>“I’m going to do that to-night,” answered
Malcolm, “and I wanted to ask you where I’d
better write.”</p>
<p>“We’ll go over that, then, after study. Now
let’s see those names. Pull up a chair. Evan,
turn on the juice like a good chap. It certainly
is getting late early these days!”</p>
<p>On Saturday the School Team journeyed to
Providence to play Bannard and the Independents
used their gridiron while Malcolm and a
dozen helpers marked off the scrub field with
whitewash brushes and pails of lime. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
was a little signal work that day for the more
advanced candidates, Evan handling the first
squad and a middle class youth named Rogers
playing quarter for the second. The work was
decidedly encouraging, although somewhat
ragged. The Second Team, with nothing to do,
watched from the side-lines and had their fun,
but it was all good-natured. Gus Devens told
Rob that he was doing wonders and declared
that he wouldn’t have thought it possible to
find eleven players as good as those in the first
squad.</p>
<p>“Oh, we haven’t started yet,” answered
Rob quietly. “Our coach comes Monday and
after that things will take a brace. One thing
we need, Gus, is a good guard. You’d better
think it over.”</p>
<p>Devens stared.</p>
<p>“Meaning me? I’d look nice, wouldn’t I,
throwing up my place and leaving the Second
in the lurch in the middle of the season? You
must be dippy, Rob.”</p>
<p>“N—no, I don’t think so. I guess they’d
find some one else to take your place. You’ve
been trying for the First for three years and
you’ve got as far as captain of the Second.
Maybe, if you stay where you are, they’ll take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
you on the First next year as a sub. Depends
who falls heir to the captaincy, I suppose. You
come over here and you can have a guard position
and next year—”</p>
<p>“What about next year?” asked Gus curiously.</p>
<p>“You won’t tell?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Next year, then, you’ll find yourself on the
First.”</p>
<p>“How do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean that this will be the First next year,
of course.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re crazy, Rob. How do you figure
that out?”</p>
<p>“Never mind how I figure it out, Gus. I’m
right. You wait and see. The school’s back
of this team, my friend, and the school’s bigger
than Frank Hopkins and Ed Prentiss. Think
it over.”</p>
<p>“Even so,” answered Gus, “I’m not the
sort to quit my job now when having a good
Second Team may mean winning the big game,
and you know it, Rob.”</p>
<p>“Yes, but let me tell you right now that two
Second Teams can’t make Hop’s outfit win from
Adams; and <em>you</em> know <em>that</em>!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<a id="i_p229">
<img src="images/i_p229.jpg" width="600" height="398" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_232">“‘NOW THEN, YOU FELLOWS—I’M HERE TO SHOW YOU WHAT I KNOW ABOUT FOOT-BALL,
AND YOU’RE HERE TO LEARN’”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230-<br />231]</a></span></p>
<p>“Well, it’s my duty to stay where I am.”</p>
<p>“All right. As long as you think that, Gus,
you stay. When you change your mind, though,
you mosey over to the other gridiron and we’ll
look after you.”</p>
<p>The School Team came home that evening
with its third victory, having managed to win
from Bannard with a score of 6 to 0. But the
victory had cost something, for Tom Reid, left
tackle and one of the strongest units of the line,
had broken his collar-bone and would be out
of the game for two weeks at least.</p>
<p>On Monday, which fell very close to the
middle of October, Walter Duffield made his
appearance at Riverport. Those who had expected
a large, stern-visaged individual were
disappointed, for the former Brown tackle was
not over five feet nine inches in height and
weighed under a hundred and sixty. He was
twenty-three years old, but didn’t look it. He
had a smiling, alert face, curly brown hair, a
pair of quiet brown eyes and a somewhat thin
voice. He began proceedings by giving the
candidates a talk on the grandstand, away from
any possible eavesdropping on the part of the
Regulars, as the Independents had grown to call
the members of the First and Second Teams.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p>
<p><a href="#Page_229">“Now then, you fellows,” said Duffield,
“I’m here to show you what I know about
foot-ball and you’re here to learn.</a> That means
that I say and you do. Any one who doesn’t
like that wants to run along right now. I’m
going to be It around here for the next month
or so. You all understand that? All right.
Now then, find your squads and let me see you
handle the ball. Here, you fat boy, whatever
your name is—What is it, by the way?”</p>
<p>“Jell.”</p>
<p>“Well, Jell, you want to move faster than
that or you’ll go to sleep. Let’s see you run.
That’s it! We’ll make a sprinter of you yet.
Where’s your manager, Langton? How are
you, Warne? Glad to know you. You stick
with me this afternoon, please. I’ll want to
ask a lot of questions probably. Is that your
Varsity Team over there?”</p>
<p>“Yes, School Team we call it, sir.”</p>
<p>“What’s the matter with them? Are they
walking in their sleep? My, but I’d like to be
that quarter for a minute! All right. Now
let’s have a look at our own collection of wonders.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br />
<small>DEVENS AGREES</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">For the first few days the Regulars regarded
the doings of the Independents
with amused curiosity. When Walter Duffield
appeared on the scene curiosity continued but
was richly leavened with resentment. The idea
of those fellows having the services of a real
coach while they had to get along as best they
might with Hopkins, who, after all, knew no
more football than many of the rest of them!
The idea of the school turning its back on the
regular team and lending its aid and support
to a lot of renegades! It was disgusting and
annoying. The Regulars said a good many
hard things about the Independents those days,
and there was more than one challenge given
and accepted and more than one battle fought
out down at the boat-house, which was the accepted
place for the settlement of affairs of
honor.</p>
<p>Frank Hopkins’ attitude had so far been one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
of amused tolerance. Prentiss, on the contrary,
had let his chagrin get the better of his temper
many times, and Rob and the others had heard
at second or third hand many an unpleasant
remark which had emanated from the manager
of the School Team. So far, however, Rob had
avoided controversy with either of them, although
he and Joe Law had their arguments
at almost every meal. On the Wednesday following
the arrival of Duffield Rob encountered
Edgar Prentiss in the corridor of Academy
Hall. Rob was for passing on with a nod, but
Prentiss stopped him.</p>
<p>“How’s the team getting on, Lanky?” he
asked with an unpleasant smile. Rob didn’t
mind being called Lanky by fellows he liked,
but resented it from Prentiss. So he answered
rather shortly.</p>
<p>“All right.”</p>
<p>“Hear you’ve got a coach,” pursued the
other.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Got about everything but players, haven’t
you?”</p>
<p>“We’ve got those, too, Prentiss. If you
don’t believe it bring your team over some afternoon
for practice. You’ll get it.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p>
<p>Prentiss pretended to think that a pretty
good joke and laughed loudly. Rob kept his
temper, although it wasn’t easy.</p>
<p>“Want a game, eh?” asked Prentiss. “I
dare say. Well, we’ve got too much to
do, Langton; like to oblige you, but we’re
busy.”</p>
<p>“You bet you’ve got too much to do,” answered
Rob with enthusiasm. “If you’re going
to make a football team out of that aggregation
of loafers you’ve got a whole lot to do.
We don’t want to play you; get that out of
your head; we’ve got all the dates we can fill;
only, if you really want to learn a little about
the game you see Warne and if we have an
open date we’ll take you on. So long.”</p>
<p>On the steps Rob came across another Regular
in the person of Gus Devens. “Hello,
Gus,” he said. “Say, I was wrong the other
day, wasn’t I?”</p>
<p>“I dare say you were, Rob, only I don’t recall
the particular occasion.”</p>
<p>“When I said you wouldn’t make the First
Team. I suppose it spoils our chances of getting
you to come over to us, but I’m glad of
your luck. You deserve it, Gus; you’ve tried
long enough.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p>
<p>Gus looked puzzled and a trifle uneasy, as
though he suspected Rob’s sincerity.</p>
<p>“What are you yawping about, Rob?” he
asked.</p>
<p>“Why,” answered Rob, looking surprised,
“about you making the First Team, of course.”</p>
<p>“Who said I’d made it?” asked Gus glumly.</p>
<p>“Why—why, I don’t know. Maybe I just
naturally jumped to the conclusion. I knew
that Tom Reid was out and, of course, you were
the best man for the place. So I supposed—”</p>
<p>“Yes, you did!” Gus growled. “You
needn’t rub it in.”</p>
<p>“Rub it in?” exclaimed Rob with a fine show
of innocence. “Do you mean that Hop didn’t
take you to the First?”</p>
<p>“Not that I’ve heard of. He moved Ward
over from right and put Little in Ward’s place.
I guess he knows his business, but I’m blamed
if I don’t think he might have given me a show,
Rob.”</p>
<p>“Rather!” exclaimed Rob warmly. “Why,
Little can’t play tackle! He can’t play—pinochle!
Did you say anything to him? Hop,
I mean.”</p>
<p>“Not likely. I’m not running his show.
If he doesn’t want me he doesn’t have to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
me. But I’m getting tired of his nonsense, I’ll
tell you that.”</p>
<p>“Little’s a rather good friend of Prentiss,
isn’t he?”</p>
<p>“I dare say. Came from the same town, I
think. Gee, the way those two chumps run
things makes me tired! Maybe you’ll see me
bringing my doll-rags over to play with you
fellows some day, Rob, after all.”</p>
<p>“Well, don’t do anything hasty,” said Rob
soothingly. “Maybe you’ll make it yet.”</p>
<p>Gus laughed. “You’re foxy, aren’t you,
Lanky? See you later.”</p>
<p>Gus hurried into Academy and Rob meandered
toward Holden smiling contentedly.</p>
<p>The Independents stuck pretty closely to the
rudiments of football for the first part of that
week, but since there was enough experienced
material in the ranks to form a first and second
squad on Thursday Duffield, much to every one’s
surprise, held a ten minute scrimmage. The
first squad wasn’t made up as Rob had anticipated.
Evan was at quarter and Rob at left
half, but Morse didn’t suit Duffield as a center
and of the ends Rob had selected only Brimmer
found a place. The biggest surprise came
when the coach put Jelly in at center. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
strange to say, Jelly took to the place like a
fish to water, and, with Evan driving him and
Duffield close on his heels every minute, showed
evidence of real speed. The first squad as composed
that day was as follows: right end, Cook;
right tackle, Kasker; right guard, Chase; center,
Jell; left guard, Koehler; left tackle,
James; left end, Brimmer; quarter-back,
Kingsford; right half-back, Lyman; left half-back,
Langton; full-back, Shaler.</p>
<p>The work was pretty ragged that first day,
but that was to be expected. Duffield scolded
and threatened, and one would have thought
to hear him take on that he was deeply disgusted
with the material before him. Rob was
certain of it and had visions of Duffield throwing
up his position on the spot. And so, when
at the conclusion of the afternoon’s work, the
coach called him aside, Rob was prepared for
the worst. Duffield made him put his sweater
on and then took him by the arm and led him
to a seat on the old grandstand. For a full
minute Duffield said nothing, only watched the
First and Second Teams plugging away at each
other on the farther gridiron, and Rob’s heart
sank lower and lower. At last, however, Duffield
turned and spoke.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p>
<p>“Well, Langton,” he said, “I don’t see why
we can’t turn out a pretty good team with that
stuff.”</p>
<p>“Wh—what?” stammered Rob.</p>
<p>“Why not?” asked Duffield. “We’ve got
good material; better than the average considering
age. We’re going to be light, but that
isn’t anything to worry about. Take a light
team and teach them the sort of plays that fit
’em and they’ll hold their own with a team ten
pounds heavier. I’ve seen it time and again.
Look at some of our teams at Brown; look at
last year’s.”</p>
<p>“That’s so,” murmured Rob, wondering
whether his face was expressing the relief he
felt.</p>
<p>“We’ve got to be fast, though, Langton,
almighty fast! We’ve got to din speed into
that bunch right along, every minute. If it
comes to a choice between two men the man
with ginger gets the job. You’ve got a find
in that chap Kingsford. Where’d he fall
from?”</p>
<p>“He’s new this year. Came from Elmira
and played up there on his grammar-school
team.”</p>
<p>“Well, how does it happen the other camp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
didn’t grab him?” Duffield nodded toward the
farther field.</p>
<p>“The same old story,” answered Rob.
“They didn’t give him a chance to show what
he could do. They had him on the Second
for a few days and then he hurt his ankle and
they let him slide.”</p>
<p>“They must be a fine set of chumps,” said
Duffield disgustedly. “We’ve got good end
material, too, Langton. Cook and that other
chap—”</p>
<p>“Brimmer.”</p>
<p>“Yes. They’re showing up pretty well already.
Kasker’s a good man at tackle and
Koehler’s another at guard. But the others in
the center aren’t much to boast of. Still, you
can’t tell what a week of coaching will do.
That little fat Jelly boy may make a good
center. If he can learn to keep awake I think
he will.”</p>
<p>“You think he’s better than Morse?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Morse hasn’t any head. Football
to-day needs head, Langton. Morse is the sort
that will do what you tell him but he hasn’t
any initiative; at least, that’s the way I size
him up now. I may be mistaken. You’ll do
at half all right, I guess, but you’ve got to learn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
to go harder and use your eyes. Lyman won’t
do, but he’ll have to stay until we can find
some one better. At full-back: well, Shaler may
be the one and he may not. It will depend on
the kind of game we play. Taking the bunch
in general though, Langton, it looks pretty
good. But we may be pinched for substitutes.
There are only three or four in the second
squad that size up well. Powers is one of them
and there’s another chap, a shock-headed boy,
who played in the backfield to-day.”</p>
<p>“That’s Tanner. He played full.”</p>
<p>“Tanner? We’ll have to watch him. Well,
you’d better run along and get changed. I’ll
see you to-morrow. By the way, I guess we’d
better cut down the bunch about Saturday.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I suppose so. There’ll be a lot of
kicking about that time.” Duffield shrugged
his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Let ’em kick. Has Warne found any dates
yet?”</p>
<p>“He hadn’t got any replies when I asked
him this noon. Maybe he’ll hear from some of
them to-night.”</p>
<p>“All right. See you to-morrow. You’d
better run up to the gym and get warm.”</p>
<p>On Saturday the cut was made and all but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
twenty-nine candidates were diplomatically informed
that their further services would not be
required. Rob’s prediction proved true, for the
disgruntled ones had a good deal to say. But
they didn’t find much sympathy except from
each other. The School Team journeyed away
from home that day and won a listless, poorly
played game from Hope Hill Academy, 8 to 0.
During their absence the Independents held
practice on the School Team’s gridiron and in
the twenty minutes of scrimmaging the first
squad scored twice on the second, once by
straight line-plunging and once with the help
of a blocked kick which Kasker captured and
romped over the line with. On Monday Malcolm
announced that he had arranged for three
games, the first to be played the following Saturday
with Cardiff High School, the second
with Hillsgrove High at Hillsgrove the Wednesday
after and the third with the Overbrook
Academy Second Team three days later. The
Cardiff game would be an ideal one for a first
contest since Cardiff was not a strong team.
The Hillsgrove game was possible enough because
Hillsgrove was only three miles distant
and the expense of getting there and back would
amount to little. Rob wanted something better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
than the Overbrook Second for the third contest,
but, as nothing better offered, was forced
to be content with it. On that Saturday the
Overbrook First Team was coming to Riverport
to play the School Team and the Overbrook
Second would accompany it and take on the
Independents as a side issue.</p>
<p>“That leaves us one more Saturday and
Thanksgiving Day,” said Rob thoughtfully.
“I’d like to get a couple of rattling games for
those dates, Mal.”</p>
<p>“So would I,” answered Malcolm, “but I
don’t know where to look for them. Every
team has its dates filled, you see.”</p>
<p>“That’s the dickens of it. We’ll have a talk
with Duffield to-morrow. Maybe he can suggest
something.”</p>
<p>“I wish,” said Jelly, who happened to be
present at the time, “that we could have a game
before Saturday. That’s a long time to wait,
fellows. Couldn’t we find someone to take us
on Wednesday?”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid not,” said Malcolm.</p>
<p>“By Jove!” exclaimed Rob. “I’ve got it!
I heard that on Thursday the First’s going to
lay off and take a rest for the Mifflin game;
they’re going out on the bay or some fool thing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
like that. Sounds like Prentiss, doesn’t it?
Well, anyway, that leaves the Second with nothing
doing. Suppose I see Gus Devens and ask
him to play us a short game; say, fifteen minute
halves?”</p>
<p>“Great!” said Evan, and the others agreed.</p>
<p>“But will he do it?” asked Malcolm. “Will
Hop let him?”</p>
<p>Rob thought a moment.</p>
<p>“I think he will do it if he can. You leave
it to me, Mal, and don’t anyone breathe a word
of it. I’ll see what can be done. Gee, fellows,
but I’d like to take a fall out of the Second!”</p>
<p>“We could lick them to death,” declared
Jelly stoutly.</p>
<p>“Well, we could try,” said Evan. “I think
we might be able to do them up, too.”</p>
<p>“We won’t do a thing to them!” breathed
Rob softly and ecstatically.</p>
<p>The next afternoon, following the practice,
the Independents held an election in the rowing-room
of the gymnasium and made Rob permanent
captain of the team. There were no other
candidates for the honor and the choice was
unanimous. The next evening, Wednesday,
Rob called on Gus Devens after study-hour.
Gus lived in Second House and shared his room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
with Joe Law. Luckily for Rob’s plans Law
was not at home when he got there. After a
few minutes of talk Rob remarked:</p>
<p>“I suppose, Gus, Hop and Prentiss make you
do about as they want, don’t they?”</p>
<p>“How do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean as regards your team. I suppose,
for instance you couldn’t get up a practice
game with another team without asking their
permission.” Gus viewed Rob speculatively.</p>
<p>“Meaning with your outfit?” Rob nodded.
Gus considered. Then, “To-morrow, you
mean?” Rob nodded again. Gus smiled.
Then he laughed.</p>
<p>“They’d be as mad as hornets, Rob, but I’ll
do it if I can get the fellows together.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br />
<small>INDEPENDENTS VS. SECOND</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">Duffield shrugged his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Sure,” he said, “play ’em. But don’t
expect to win. That Second Team has been together
all Fall and you chaps haven’t played
together once yet except in practice. But it’ll
be good for you. What time?”</p>
<p>“Four-thirty,” answered Rob. “The First
Team and subs are going out on the bay. Prentiss
and Hopkins think they need a rest.”</p>
<p>“What they need,” snarled Duffield, “is a
stick of dynamite under ’em. Four-thirty, you
said?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. Devens wants to wait until Hop
and Prentiss get out of the way. He says the
Second is crazy to play us.”</p>
<p>“H’m; well, look out they don’t use you up.
Remember we’ve got a real game the day after
to-morrow. Better get busy now and run
through signals for ten minutes or so.”</p>
<p>A few minutes later Malcolm called the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
coach’s attention to the group of fellows assembling
in front of Academy. “The First is
getting ready to start, sir.” Duffield followed
the other’s gaze and smiled cynically.</p>
<p>“They’re not going to walk all the way to
the village, are they?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Why, yes, sir, it’s only a mile and a quarter
by the fields.”</p>
<p>“But in their condition!” said Duffield in
simulated alarm. “They’ll drop by the wayside,
Warne! They ought to be trundled down
in baby-carriages!”</p>
<p>Warne smiled at the thought of Merrill and
Topham and the other big linesmen reclining in
perambulators, and looked to find a reflection
of his amusement in the coach’s face, but Duffield
had dived into the mass of boys ahead of
him and was already busy shuffling them back
into their positions.</p>
<p>“Now try that again and do it right,” he
commanded sharply. “These aren’t parlor
tricks I’m teaching you. Get into it as though
you meant it. Get back, Langton, you’re too
near the line. The other half has to run in
ahead of you, so give him room. Now, then,
Kingsford, same play! That’s better. Jell,
you’ve got to double up better than that. Get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
your head down so you can see just where the
ball is going to when you pass it. Try the left
shift, Kingsford.”</p>
<p>The First Team and substitutes, some eighteen
in all, moved across the Yard and down
the meadow slope toward the village, and five
minutes later the Second Team began to trickle
out of the gymnasium. They had a few minutes’
practice on the School gridiron and then
Gus Devens walked across in search of Rob.
The latter saw him coming and called a halt,
and Duffield sent the first squad to the side-lines.</p>
<p>“All ready, Rob?” asked Gus.</p>
<p>“All ready. We’d better play over there,
hadn’t we? This field is pretty rough.”</p>
<p>“I guess so,” Gus replied. “Who’s going
to referee for us?”</p>
<p>“Anyone you say. How about Duffield?”</p>
<p>“He will be satisfactory to us, I guess. I
suppose you know I’m going to get Hail Columbia
for playing with you chaps?”</p>
<p>“I’ll bet you are,” laughed Rob. “Come
on and meet Duffield.”</p>
<p>The coach was extremely polite but not genial,
and Gus felt somehow as though he were
on the wrong side of the fence.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p>
<p>“Will you referee, Mr. Duffield?” he asked.</p>
<p>“If you like. Want to toss now?”</p>
<p>“You call it, Rob.”</p>
<p>“Heads,” said Rob. Duffield picked up the
coin.</p>
<p>“Tails,” he announced.</p>
<p>“We’ll take the west goal,” said Gus.
“Second this way!”</p>
<p>Two minutes later Koehler kicked off and the
game was on. Peeble, the Second Team’s quarter,
caught the ball and gained nearly twenty
yards before he was downed. Then the Second
began to make short but unpleasantly steady
gains through Chase, who played right guard,
and past James at left tackle. An occasional
plunge at center netted little, for Mr. George
Washington Jell proved a tough proposition.
The ball crept down the field to the Independents’
thirty yard-line. There Devens and Peeble
held a whispered consultation and on the
next play Peeble tried a quarter-back run. But
he chose the wrong side of the line and Brimmer,
left end, nabbed him for a loss. With
twelve yards to go and only two downs left
Peeble sent the backs at the line again. But
the Independents were encouraged by their
momentary success and the gain was short.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
Peeble was evidently at a loss, for he twice
changed his signals and then consulted Devens.</p>
<p>“You’re delaying the game,” cautioned
Duffield.</p>
<p>“Hinkley back!” called the Second’s quarter,
and the team arranged itself to protect the
kicker.</p>
<p>“It’s a fake!” cried Rob. “Look out for
a forward pass!”</p>
<p>The ball went back to Peeble and he bounded
to the side and poised himself for the throw.
Then Brimmer squirmed through outside Devens
and hurled himself on Peeble just as the
latter sent the ball away. The pass was spoiled,
Evan tipping it and then falling on it with half
the Second Team writhing about him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 428px;">
<a id="i_p251">
<img src="images/i_p251.jpg" width="428" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption">THE GAME BETWEEN THE INDEPENDENTS AND THE SECOND
SCHOOL TEAM.</div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252-<br />253]</a></span></p>
<p>It was now the Independents’ time to show
what they could do at offense and Evan went
at it hammer and tongs. The team, even in one
short week, had learned speed, and the way the
plays were pulled off was a veritable revelation
to the Second. The backs were “knifed”
through the Second’s line time and again for
gains of two and three yards, being stopped
only when the secondary defence was reached.
Rob distinguished himself that day as a line-plunging
back. He went in low and hard and at
top speed, and tore and squirmed and fought
his way through, keeping his feet astonishingly.
On the third down, time and again, it was Rob
who took the ball and made the required distance,
often with barely an inch to spare. Had
the Independents possessed at that time any
semblance of real team-play and rallied around
the runner as they should have Rob’s gains
would have been considerably lengthened. But,
even as it was, the ball was soon past the middle
of the field and Devens and Peeble were imploring
their men to hold, to “get low,” to “break
this up!” Almost down to their opponent’s
forty yard-line the Independents met a reverse.
Lyman, right half-back, fumbled and the Second
got the ball.</p>
<p>Peeble sent his backs at the Independents’
line again, but now the latter had tasted battle,
had got over any stage-fright they may have
had at first and were fast learning what to do
and how to do it. Two tries netted the Second
but eight yards and Hinkley punted. Lyman,
playing back with Evan, fumbled his catch but
recovered it again, eluded a Second Team end
and reeled off twelve or fourteen yards before
he was brought down. There remained but a
bare two minutes of playing time and Rob, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
he had torn off three yards and Shaler, full-back,
had gained two more, punted the ball
down to the Second’s thirty-five. The Second
sent Hinkley back again and returned the punt
on the first down, relying, evidently, on another
fumble in the Independents’ back-field. But it
was Evan who made the catch this time and
who dodged at least half a dozen of the enemy
and brought the ball almost to the middle of
the gridiron. Then time was called by Warne
who was combining the offices of time-keeper
and linesman, and the teams trotted off.</p>
<p>Duffield followed his charges over to a sheltered
position behind the old grandstand and
saw them well wrapped in their blankets. Then
one by one he drew the players aside and
pointed out their mistakes. When it came
Evan’s turn he said:</p>
<p>“You did pretty well, Kingsford, all things
considered. But you slowed up a little toward
the end. That’s what you’ve got to guard
against. I want you to drive the team just
as hard in the last two minutes as in the first,
harder if it can be done. Remember that the
other team is as tired as you are, and perhaps
a lot tireder. If they’re big and heavy, with
a little too much flesh, they’re bound to be feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
it more than you. That’s the time to snap
it along, Kingsford. Now another thing:
You’ve got to use your wits. I know we’re
hard up for plays as yet, but you can make
what we have got go better if you study things
a bit. Watch how each play works. If you send
a back outside of end and find later that that
end is playing wide and looking for another
play of the same sort, why, jab a runner inside
of him. Or if you find he is running in fast on
plays directed at his end, take the ball yourself
and try a wide end run. Don’t get into a rut
with your plays; keep them guessing every
minute. That was a good run you made after
your catch. With a little interference you
might have got by. Try it again when you get
a chance and don’t let them crowd you too near
the side-line. In the next half I want you to
cut out the punting unless the other fellows
have shoved you inside your twenty yards.
You needn’t be afraid of a field-goal, I guess.
When you do call for a punt see that your men
are in their places and on their toes before you
signal for the pass. If you get inside their
twenty yards, Kingsford, hammer Langton and
Shaler at their right guard. That chap’s soft
and I think he will quit after you’ve roughed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
it up with him a few times. But leave him
pretty generally alone until you’re where you
can take it out of him. If you use him up early
in the half Devens will put in a substitute, and
I’ll bet the sub would be a harder proposition
than the present chap. That’s all; except this:
fast, fast, <em>fast</em>!”</p>
<p>Duffield slapped him on the shoulder and sent
him back to the others. Then Warne announced
that time was up and Duffield followed the men
onto the field again. He had made no changes
as yet in the line-up, for all the fellows had
weathered the first half in good shape and he
wanted them all to have a good taste of experience.
By this time news of what was going on
had reached the School and there was quite an
audience strung along the side-lines, an audience
palpably in sympathy with the Independents.</p>
<p>Devens had made but one change in his team,
and Duffield and his charges were relieved to
observe that the new man was not a right guard.
He was a full-back, by name Putnam, and his
one forte was kicking.</p>
<p>“That means that they’ll try for a field-goal
if we give them the chance,” whispered Rob to
Evan as they took their places.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>
<p>“Then they mustn’t have the chance,” answered
Evan. “Anyhow, they’ve weakened
their back-field, for Deering is a good man.”</p>
<p>Then Duffield blew his whistle, the Second’s
center kicked off and the second half began.
For the first six or eight minutes it was virtually
a repetition of the preceding period. The
ball changed hands a little more often, perhaps,
for each team played together rather better and
each rush line was stiffer. The half was more
than half gone when the spectators got their
first taste of excitement. The Second worked
a pretty forward pass, quarter to left end, and
left end went dodging and scampering over four
white lines before he was laid low. That
brought the pigskin to the Independents’ eighteen
yard-line. A fake plunge at center with the
runner cutting past tackle gained five yards and
a mass-play on the right side of the line gained
two more. Then Putnam was sent back and the
Independents set their teeth and crouched low
to get through and block at any cost.</p>
<p>Back went the ball and Putnam, rather nervous
because he had not been used much as yet,
dropped it in front of him and swung his long
leg back. Toe and ball met, but Kasker and
Jelly were through and it was Jelly’s ample<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
form that got between ball and cross-bar.
There was a loud thump, a mingling of cries
alarmed and triumphant and a wild scurry for
the elusive oval. Up the field it bounded and
trickled, and player after player hurled himself
upon it only to have it slip from his grasp
and begin a new series of gymnastics. It was
the Second Team’s left guard who finally captured
it and by that time it was back past the
thirty yard-line. The audience yelled approval
and Rob thumped Jelly on the back and called
encouragement. The catastrophe had unsettled
the Second and in three downs the ball changed
hands again.</p>
<p>“How much time is there?” called Evan.</p>
<p>“Almost six minutes,” answered Malcolm
from the side-line.</p>
<p>Then Evan snapped out his signals, Rob fell
back as though for a punt and Evan skirted the
Second’s left end for a good twelve yards.
Three plunges at the left of the opposing line
gave them their distance again and the ball was
just short of the fifty-five yard streak. Then
came some pretty playing on the part of the
Independents, while the spectators ran along
the side-lines and cheered madly. Shaler, who
had been used very little so far in the half was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
given the ball time after time and went fighting
through for a yard, two yards, three, sometimes
even four. Three times the Independents made
their distance on line attack. Then the measuring
tape showed that they had failed, and, to
Evan’s despair, the ball went to the Second.
On the threshold of the enemy’s goal luck had
turned her back!</p>
<p>But if luck can turn once it can turn again,
and it did. After one ineffectual plunge at
right tackle Peeble sent Putnam back. Again
the Second’s line failed to hold, and Putnam,
with another blocked kick threatening him,
swung hurriedly and the pigskin went hurtling
out of bounds at the forty yards. Evan took
up the fight again, sending Lyman outside of
left tackle for a short gain and then winning
the distance in two plunges at the tackle-guard
hole on the left. The thirty yard mark passed
under foot. The Second was getting slow now
and Evan, with no mercy for his own tired men,
sent his plays faster and faster. Gus Devens
began to put in substitutes: a new man at left
end, a new man at left guard, a new man at
center. But Corbett, at right guard, remained
and Evan sighed with relief. Nothing about
Corbett suggested the quitter to Evan, nor did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
the fellow seem soft, but Evan relied on Duffield’s
judgment. It was second down now and
eight to go, and the ball was still a good five
yards from the twenty yard-line. Evan pulled
Rob aside and whispered to him. Rob nodded,
glancing at the cross-bar of the goal. Then he
went back, patted the ground and held his arms
out. The team formed for defence of kicker.
Back went the ball, but not to Rob, although
that youth seemed to catch it and swing his
leg at it. It went to Evan, and Evan doubled
himself over it an instant and then, straightening
up and dodging his way behind the battling
lines, he found an opening and went spinning
through and would have had a clear field to
the goal-line had not Putnam redeemed himself
and brought him down some fifteen yards short
of the last mark. Pandemonium reigned along
the side-lines. Duffield, inscrutable and impartial,
allowed himself the ghost of a smile as
he waved to Malcolm and announced “First
down!”</p>
<p>Then, fighting like heroes, Rob and Shaler
hurled themselves upon the Second’s right
guard and Duffield’s prediction came true.
Corbett gave, slowly at first, until, although the
Second’s back-field rallied behind him, he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
worse than useless and Devens, crying for time,
sent him staggering off and put a new man in
his place. The ball was inside the five yards
then and the spectators were imploring a touchdown.</p>
<p>They got it.</p>
<p>Evan sent Rob again at the same place, and,
although the new man was fresh and strong,
and although the Second expected the play, the
Independents went through. There was a wavering,
indecisive moment, and then the defending
line buckled inwards and the foe came swaying,
falling through for a touchdown and the
winning score.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br />
<small>DEVENS RESIGNS</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">The victory was a popular one. Fellows
who, left out of the teams under Hopkins
and Rob, had been bewailing the fact that there
were not enough players left in school to make
up the usual dormitory elevens, forgot their
grievance. How a team which had been formed
scarcely more than a week could defeat the
Second, composed as it was of veteran players,
no one could comprehend.</p>
<p>“And look here,” expatiated one enthusiastic
junior, “the Independents played the whole
game through without a change in the line-up!
Say, that coach must be a wonder! I’ll bet
you that before the season’s over we can lick
the School Team!”</p>
<p>“‘We!’” scoffed a middler. “Where do
you come in?”</p>
<p>“I’m for the Independents,” replied the
junior unabashed.</p>
<p>The news of what had taken place in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
absence met the First Team on the instant of
their return just before supper-time and Hopkins
and Prentiss piled over to Devens’ room.
Peeble, the Second’s quarter-back, was there;
he and Gus had been talking over the game;
but Prentiss paid no heed to his presence.</p>
<p>“What’s this we hear, Gus?” he demanded
angrily.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you heard,” replied Gus
calmly, “but the score was five to nothing;
they missed the goal.”</p>
<p>“So you did play those fellows, eh?”</p>
<p>“We did our best, but it wasn’t good
enough.”</p>
<p>“You must be crazy,” broke in Frank Hopkins.
“You know blamed well you hadn’t any
right to do that. Your business is to give the
School Team practice and not play games with
other teams.”</p>
<p>“Especially with that crowd of sore-heads!”
added Prentiss.</p>
<p>“But, look here,” said Gus mildly, “other
schools let their second teams play real games.
Why not here? As for ‘sore-heads,’ I don’t
know anything about that. Langton challenged
us and we wanted a game; that’s all there was
to it.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p>
<p>“Why didn’t you say something about it
to me, then?” Hopkins demanded.</p>
<p>“I was afraid you’d raise a fuss,” answered
Gus.</p>
<p>“You bet I’d have raised a fuss! And I’m
going to raise one yet! You needn’t think you
can do what you please just because you’re
captain of that team, Devens. Langton and his
crowd are doing all they can to make trouble
for us, and you know it. You’re a traitor,
that’s what you are! You don’t deserve to—to—”</p>
<p>“Look here, Hop,” Gus interrupted,
“you’re not wearing any medals for giving
folks what they deserve. I deserved a fair
show on your team and I never got it. You
don’t like me, and Prentiss doesn’t like me.
I’ve played football here for two years; this
is my third; and you’ve got half a dozen worse
players than I am on the First this minute.
So don’t you spout about deserts.”</p>
<p>“And this is the way you get even,” sneered
Prentiss. “Stab us in the back the moment
we aren’t looking.”</p>
<p>“Oh, come, let’s be honest,” said Gus
warmly. “There isn’t any fair reason why
the Second Team shouldn’t play another team<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
when it has a chance. It’s just because the
other team is the Independents that you’re
both sore. If it had been any other outfit you
wouldn’t have cared. Well, your quarrels
aren’t anything to me. The Second never has
played with any team except the First, as far
as I know, but there’s no law against it. You
go ahead and make all the fuss you want, but
it’s nonsense to stand there and call me a
traitor.”</p>
<p>“That’s what you are,” cried Hopkins, “a
low-down traitor. And you’ve used your position
as captain to make traitors of the rest of
your team.”</p>
<p>“That’s not so, Hopkins,” Peeble spoke up.
“We didn’t have to play. Gus told us about
it and said we needn’t play unless we wanted
to. Every fellow went in on his own hook. For
my part, I don’t see what you’re so hot about.”</p>
<p>“I’m hot because you’ve helped Langton
and his gang of trouble-makers,” replied Hopkins
wrathfully. “They aren’t the School
Team; they’re just a lot of chumps who are
sore because they didn’t make it. And when
you play against them you—you give them
recognition and aid them.”</p>
<p>Joe Law came in at that moment and looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
about the group curiously. Hopkins nodded to
him and then turned to Prentiss.</p>
<p>“Come on, Ed.” But Prentiss wasn’t ready.</p>
<p>“What’s the good?” he demanded with an
ugly scowl for Gus. “Let’s settle it right
now. I’m manager of the team and I don’t
propose to have my work spoiled like this.”</p>
<p>“We’ll settle it all right,” responded Hopkins,
“but not now. You’ll hear from us later,
Gus.”</p>
<p>“When you like,” answered Gus as they
went out.</p>
<p>“What’s the row?” asked Joe Law anxiously.
Gus told him.</p>
<p>“Well, it was a funny thing for you to do,”
said Joe. “You might have known he and Ed
wouldn’t like it.”</p>
<p>“I did know it and I didn’t care. I don’t
care now. The only thing he can do is to fire
me and that won’t bother me a bit.”</p>
<p>But the discipline meted out to him the next
afternoon wasn’t just what he had looked for.
When scrimmage time came Hopkins and Prentiss
walked over to the Second Team.</p>
<p>“Gus,” said Hopkins, “I guess we can dispense
with your services as captain after this.”
Gus nodded, untroubled.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p>
<p>“Hover,” continued Hopkins, “you’re captain
from now on.”</p>
<p>Hover, the left half, glanced at Gus and then
at his feet. “I’d rather not, thanks, Hopkins,”
he said.</p>
<p>Hopkins stared.</p>
<p>“You won’t?”</p>
<p>“No, I’d rather not.” Hopkins turned angrily
away.</p>
<p>“All right. It’s up to you, then, Green.”</p>
<p>Green, the right tackle, nodded. He didn’t
look as though he was anxious for the honor,
but he said nothing. That afternoon the First
had little trouble doing as it liked with the
Second, but it wasn’t because of any special
brilliancy on the part of the First. After supper
Gus Devens went over to 24 Holden. Both
Hopkins and Prentiss were in.</p>
<p>“I don’t believe you have any right to depose
me, Hopkins,” said Gus.</p>
<p>“I’ve got every right,” answered Hopkins.
“I appointed you, didn’t I?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but I have an idea that if I take the
matter to faculty they’ll decide against you.”</p>
<p>“Try it,” challenged Prentiss.</p>
<p>“Well, I’d thought of it, but I guess I won’t.
Instead of that I’m going to get out.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span></p>
<p>“Oh!” said Hopkins uneasily.</p>
<p>“A good idea,” was Prentiss’ fling. “Perhaps
you’ll join the sore-heads.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps. Anyway, I’m done with you
chaps.” And he turned on his heel and went
out, leaving Hopkins looking a trifle blank.</p>
<p>“I don’t like that,” said the captain.</p>
<p>“Pshaw!” responded Prentiss. “He won’t
be missed.”</p>
<p>“No, perhaps not, although he is a mighty
good player, Ed, and you know that. But suppose
he makes a row and gets some of the others
to go with him?”</p>
<p>Prentiss considered the possibility for a
moment in scowling silence. At last:</p>
<p>“We’ve got to do something, Hop,” he announced.
“Look here, why not see what can
be done with Langton? They say he played a
wonderful game at half yesterday, and we could
use another half on the First.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe he’d come,” said Hopkins.</p>
<p>“I’ll bet he will, though. He’s always
wanted to make the team. Why, what do you
suppose he started these Independents for, you
idiot? He thought you’d buy him off, of
course!”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe so.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p>
<p>“I tell you he did. And there are others on
that team we might use. We could promise
them places on the First and use them as subs;
let them into a game for a minute or two; all
they want is their letters. There’s that fellow
Chase; and Koehler; and—how about Kingsford?”</p>
<p>“Oh, he wouldn’t. He hates me like sin;
you too, I guess. He hasn’t forgotten that
hazing, I suppose. Never sees me any more.
They say he’s got the making of a good quarter,
too. I guess we got too funny with him,
Ed.”</p>
<p>“Well, let him go, then. You see Langton
and I’ll talk with the others. And we want to
do it right away; to-night isn’t a bit too soon.
Come on.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll see him, but I don’t want to, and
I don’t believe it will do any good.”</p>
<p>Hopkins found Rob at home, but Evan and
Malcolm were with him. Hopkins hadn’t entered
Number 32 since he had sent Evan spinning
through the doorway on that first day of
school and he found himself confronted by three
surprised countenances. Rob, however, was
politeness itself.</p>
<p>“Hello, Hop! Come on in. Sit down if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
can find anything to sit on. How’s it going?
Going to kill Mifflin to-morrow?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I fancy we’ll win without much
trouble,” answered Hopkins easily. “It was
in regard to that, in a way, that I wanted to see
you. I’d like your advice, Rob. Want to come
down to my room a moment and let me explain?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” replied Rob. “Come on.” As he
passed Evan he dropped the lid of his left eye
in a portentous wink. In 24 Hopkins placed
him in Prentiss’ easy chair. Hopkins could be
very pleasant when he wanted to be and now he
was as sweet as sugar.</p>
<p>“Look here, Rob,” he began, “things aren’t
going very well on the team—”</p>
<p>“You mean the School Team?” asked Rob
innocently.</p>
<p>“Yes. We’re badly off for back-field players.
Of course Law is all right and Simpson
is fair, but Leary and Hansford aren’t what
they ought to be, and—well, in short, Rob, we
need a good man there, a rattling good half-back.”</p>
<p>“I guess they’re hard to find,” murmured
Rob.</p>
<p>“You bet they are. Prentiss and I were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
talking it over a while ago and wondering what
we could do to strengthen up there. Well,
we’ve heard what a good game you put up
against the Second yesterday and Prentiss
thought—or, well, maybe I suggested it first—that
perhaps you’d like to see what you
could do on the School Team.”</p>
<p>“Mighty nice of you,” said Rob calmly.</p>
<p>“Why, no, it isn’t, Rob. It’s pure selfishness.
We need a good half-back and that’s
you. I suppose you’re having a good deal of
fun with that outfit of yours, but, of course,
it doesn’t lead anywhere. You come to the
First and you’ll get into three big games
and have your letters. Now, what do you
say?”</p>
<p>“Well—of course—” began Rob hesitatingly,
“I’ve always wanted to make the School
Team. I tried pretty hard last year, you know,
Hop.”</p>
<p>“I know you did. You did mighty well, too,
but last year we had so much good back-field
material that I couldn’t find a place for you.
I tried hard, too.”</p>
<p>“I thought that was the way of it,” answered
Rob gratefully. “You know there are fellows
who accuse you and Prentiss of—well, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
favoritism, Hop, but I dare say that’s not
fair.”</p>
<p>Hopkins looked uneasy, but Rob’s face was
blankly innocent.</p>
<p>“They don’t know what they’re talking
about,” said the captain with a fine show of
indignation. “I tell you, Rob, it’s no snap
being captain and coach and everything. You
know something about it yourself, I guess, don’t
you?”</p>
<p>Rob nodded emphatically. “It’s no cinch,”
he granted. “Now as to what you suggest,
Hop; the principal trouble is here. You see
I’ve made that team up and I don’t want to
disappoint the fellows. Of course, they <em>might</em>
get on without me for awhile, but—you know
how it is when—”</p>
<p>“Yes, but it doesn’t seem to me that it
would matter much if the team disbanded after
awhile, Rob.”</p>
<p>“N—no, but I don’t like to leave the fellows
in the lurch. Besides, I don’t know what they’d
say.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
<a id="i_p273">
<img src="images/i_p273.jpg" width="600" height="453" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_274">“‘THEN THAT’S SETTLED, EH?’ ASKED HOPKINS BEAMINGLY.”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274-<br />275]</a></span></p>
<p>“They couldn’t say anything,” said Hopkins
heartily. “And, look here, we can use two
or three or maybe more good men. Of course
I couldn’t promise them regular positions on
the First, but they’d be certain of getting their
letters and I’d put them with the subs and use
them whenever I could. In fact, Rob, Prentiss
and I had already spoken of two or three of
your fellows we could find places for.”</p>
<p>“Really? Who are they?”</p>
<p>“Well, Chase was one, and Koehler was another,
and—I don’t just remember who the
other one was.”</p>
<p>“There’s Shaler,” Rob suggested. “He’s
a mighty good line-smasher. And Kasker’s a
good tackle.”</p>
<p>“All right. Anyone else?”</p>
<p>“No, I guess not.”</p>
<p><a href="#i_p273">“Then that’s settled, eh?” asked Hopkins
beamingly.</a></p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Why, that you’ll come to us and that the
others we spoke of can come if they want to.”</p>
<p>Rob dug his hands into his pockets, stretched
his legs out from under his chair and grinned
across at Hopkins.</p>
<p>“No, Hop,” he said, shaking his head, “the
only thing that’s settled is that you’re a good
deal of a rascal and much more of a fool than
I took you for.” He got up. “I might forgive
you the first, Hop, but I hate a fool.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p>
<p>“You—you won’t!” gasped the other, surprise
and dismay and anger struggling for
supremacy. Rob shook his head again, gently
and smilingly.</p>
<p>“Not likely,” he answered. “When I join
your side-show, Hop, the snow will be twelve
feet high in the Yard and the weather extraordinarily
chilly. And now, I think, I’ll just
drop in on Koehler and those others we mentioned.
And I wouldn’t be surprised to find
Prentiss somewhere around. Good-night,
Hop.”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a><br />
<small>THE SCHOOL TAKES A HAND</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">The next afternoon, Saturday, foot-ball representatives
of Riverport School played
two contests. The First Team met Mifflin
School and the Independents went up against
Cardiff High. For the latter contest Duffield
made a few changes in his line-up. Talcott replaced
Chase at right tackle, Powers superseded
Cook at right end and Pardee went in for
Lyman at right half. Pardee was an improvement,
and the same might be said of Powers,
but Talcott didn’t fit and Chase was put back
in the second half. The periods were only
twenty minutes long, and, although Cardiff had
wanted them twenty-five, they were long enough
to prove the superiority of the Riverport Independents.
Cardiff was plainly surprised, for
she had come over expecting to pit herself
against a team of very small calibre. She began
the game with five substitutes, but they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
were soon replaced with regulars. In the first
half the Independents had no difficulty in scoring
twice and in the last period they crossed
Cardiff’s goal-line once, the final score being
16 to 3, the visitors having made a very creditable
goal from placement. Duffield relied on
straight foot-ball; in fact, the team as yet knew
little else; and all three touchdowns came as
results of line plunging varied occasionally by
an end run. Of the touchdowns Rob scored
two and Shaler one. The School divided its
attention between the two games, but what
cheering was done was mostly for the Independents.
The Cardiff game was over long before
the School Team was through with Mifflin, or
perhaps I should say before Mifflin was through
with the School Team, and most of the Independents
saw the last fifteen minutes of that
game.</p>
<p>Hopkins’ players were plainly in the midst
of a bad slump, for even in the first game of
the year they had not played so listlessly or
with so little gumption. Mifflin made them look
very small before she was through with them,
piling up twelve points in the first half and
sixteen in the second. The spectators saw the
contest come to an end with scant display of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
interest; the defeat was so overwhelming that
censure would have been flat and unprofitable.
Silence alone seemed appropriate. Rob and
Evan were moving away from the field when
the First Team members, having cheered Mifflin
after a fashion, trotted by toward the gymnasium.
Rob caught Hopkins’ eye as the latter
passed and received a vindictive scowl. He
smiled.</p>
<p>“I wonder,” he said to Evan, “by what
process of reasoning Hop holds me responsible
for to-day’s defeat.”</p>
<p>“Does he?” asked Evan, falling into step
beside his chum.</p>
<p>“Well, he looked at me as though he did.
Jove, Evan, did you ever see such dumb foot-ball
in your life? Why if we had been in Mifflin’s
place to-day we could have wiped the field
up with the First. Gee, I wish we had a chance
at Hop’s pets!”</p>
<p>“Let’s challenge them,” laughed Evan.
Rob didn’t respond to the laugh. Instead he
remained very thoughtful as they made their
way back to school, and Evan, seeing his expression,
knew that Rob was pondering something.
It was the sort of expression worn by
him during the process of evolving one of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
marvelous inventions. Evan wondered what
it was to be this time; whether a monkey-wrench
or an air-ship. Of late Rob had been
far too busy with football affairs to find time
to invent anything.</p>
<p>On Monday there was a sensation. The Second
Team had learned by that time of Gus
Devens’ withdrawal and when the team reported
on the field that afternoon it was minus
ten members, seven of them first string men
and three of them substitutes. Green, the newly
appointed captain, was two men short of a
team!</p>
<p>Prentiss was fairly beside himself with
wrath, while Hopkins seemed suddenly to realize
that things were going against him and
appeared thoroughly discouraged. But two
First Team substitutes were placed with the
Second and practice was held as usual and went
badly. On Tuesday Gus Devens and the eight
deserters from the Second reported to Coach
Duffield, the Independent Football Association
having meanwhile received nine new members
and its treasury the sum of four dollars and
fifty cents.</p>
<p>“I can’t promise you fellows positions,” said
Duffield, “but I’ll give you all fair trials.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p>
<p>“That’s all we ask,” answered Peeble cheerfully.</p>
<p>The next day the Independents journeyed to
the neighboring town of Hillsgrove in three big
coaches to play the High School team. The
expense of that trip made a big hole in the resources
of the Association and Treasurer Pierce
confided to President Wellington that if they
did this sort of thing again the treasury would
be plumb empty.</p>
<p>Devens replaced Talcott at right guard and
strengthened that side of the line tremendously.
In the second half Duffield, in spite of the fact
that Hillsgrove was leading 11 to 6, tried out
numerous candidates. Peeble went in for
Kingsford at quarter and did fairly well, but
seemed unable to get speed into the team. A
number of new plays were tried with varying
success, but when the last whistle blew the score
still stood 11 to 6 and the Independents had met
their first defeat. But Duffield didn’t seem to
mind.</p>
<p>On Saturday Overbrook Academy brought
her First and Second Teams to Riverport and
met her Waterloo. Hopkins’ men braced up
and barely managed to get the better of their
opponents, 6 to 0. The Independents toyed with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
the Overbrook Second for fifty minutes and ran
up 33 points to their opponents’ 5. They had
mastered the new plays and had developed a
very respectable amount of team-play. The
back-field had been strengthened by the substitution
of Deering, formerly of the Second, for
Pardee at right half and the center of the line,
with Devens at right guard, Jell at center and
Koehler at left guard was invulnerable to anything
Overbrook had to offer in the way of
attack. In the second half of the game Duffield
sent in what was almost a new team and demonstrated
the fact that he had good substitute material
for well-nigh every position. The second
string backs, Hover, Hinkley and Tanner, made
a strong combination, especially when an open
game was played. Hinkley was a clever punter
and Duffield believed he could develop him into
a good drop-kicker.</p>
<p>The consensus of opinion after the contests
were over credited the Independents with having
shown more foot-ball and better foot-ball
than the School Team and fellows began to express
the wish that the former team and not
the latter was to meet Adams Academy on
Thanksgiving. As one boy put it: “The Independents
are just as much our team as Hopkins’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
bunch is, and they’re a whole lot better. Why
shouldn’t we put our best team up against
Adams? Gee, I’m sick of getting licked every
year; I’d like a change!”</p>
<p>The Independents came fast the next few
days. The discouraging thing was that only
ten days remained until Thanksgiving and the
close of the football season and that in spite of
all efforts Malcolm had been unable to find any
more games. Bannard School had offered to
play them the Saturday after Thanksgiving,
but when Malcolm had asked for an extension
of the season the faculty had refused. But
there was next year to think of, and meanwhile
there were battles royal every afternoon between
two very even elevens, and Rob had not
given up hope of finding one more foe to demolish.</p>
<p>On Wednesday the news spread through
school that the Independents had challenged
the School Team to a practice game the following
Saturday, on which day, following established
custom, the School Team had no contest,
preferring to give all her time to perfecting herself
for Adams. The news was hailed with delight
and the School waited impatiently to hear
the outcome. When it was learned that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
School Team had declined the challenge there
was a veritable howl of disapproval. Rob had
little to say in public, but there were frequent
conferences in Wellington’s room, and on
Thursday morning there was a notice in Academy
Hall announcing a mass meeting to be held
that evening “to discuss the foot-ball situation.”
The notice was signed by prominent
members of the four classes.</p>
<p>The assembly-hall was full when Northrup of
the senior class called the meeting to order.
The rival foot-ball coteries were there in full
attendance, Rob and Wellington and Pierce and
Malcolm and their associates grouped together
on one side well toward the front and Hopkins
and Prentiss with their supporters sitting
across the hall. Northrup began by explaining
that the meeting had been called on account of
a general sentiment favoring an open discussion
of the foot-ball situation. “We have,” he said,
“two teams here now, the School Team and a
second team known as the Independents. I’m
not a player and don’t pretend to know a great
deal about the game, but as far as I can learn
the Independents are doing better playing than
the other team. A week from to-day we meet
Adams and, as you all know, Adams has been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
beating us right along of late. So the suggestion
has been made that it would be well for
us to put against them the strongest team we
have, whether that is the so-called School Team
or the Independents. And it has been further
suggested that in order to determine which is
the better team a game be played between them
on Saturday.”</p>
<p>Northrup sat down amid loud applause. Wellington
followed and spoke to like intent, and
was in turn followed by three others, a senior
and two middle class fellows. The meeting was
clearly in favor of the plan outlined by Northrup
and when some one demanded that the captains
of the two teams be asked to speak there
was much clapping of hands and stamping of
feet. Hopkins got up and claimed recognition.</p>
<p>“We all want Riverport to win the game,”
he began rather listlessly, “and I think she
will.”</p>
<p>Mild applause greeted this, while some one at
the back of the hall called “That’s what you
said last year!”</p>
<p>“But as captain of the School Eleven I resent
this interference by—” he glanced across
the hall—“by a lot of disgruntled fellows who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
have formed what they call a foot-ball team
and who all this Fall have been doing all in
their power to make trouble for me and my
management and my team.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t your team!” called a voice.
“It’s the School’s team, Hop!”</p>
<p>“It’s nonsense to suppose that a team that
has played together no longer than this Independent
team has can face Adams and—and
win. As for playing the Independents, why,
we’re willing enough to do that—”</p>
<p>This announcement met with a storm of approval.</p>
<p>“I mean,” corrected Hopkins with some embarrassment,
“that we would be willing to if
it wasn’t that we shall need all the time that is
left to us to get ready for Adams.”</p>
<p>“You bet you will!” yelled Jelly from a
front seat.</p>
<p>“The School Team is the only team that has
the right to represent the School in contests
with other schools and I insist on that
right. And I hope you fellows will stand by
me and—and my team, and help us to a victory.”</p>
<p>It was a weak effort and even Hopkins himself
seemed to realize the fact. There was some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
scant applause and then some one called
“Langton! What’s he say? Where’s Langton?”
and Rob got to his feet and faced
the meeting with a confident smile on his
face.</p>
<p>“All I’ve got to say,” he announced, “is
that we think we’ve got a team that can put it
all over the School Eleven. You fellows have
seen us play and you know pretty well what we
can do. Whether we could beat Adams I don’t
know, but I think we could. Anyway, we’d
like mighty well to try. For our part we’re
more than willing to play the School Team on
Saturday, or any other day they like, and abide
by the results. If they win let them play
Adams, if we win let us do it. Seems to me
that’s fair. We all want to win that game,
and I don’t see that it’s going to matter much
whether the Independents or the School Team
turn the trick. The main thing is to get revenge
on Adams for the drubbings she’s been
giving us.”</p>
<p>“Do I understand,” asked Wellington, when
he could make himself heard, “that Hopkins
refuses to play the Independents?”</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence, and then
Prentiss sprang to his feet.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p>
<p>“No,” he cried, “he doesn’t. We’ll play
the Independents on Saturday and show you
fellows which is the better. And then, perhaps,
you’ll be satisfied and quit trying to queer
things. All I’ve got to say is that this school
has got a mighty funny idea of how to go about
to win a foot-ball victory! If you’d stand by
your team instead of trying to bust it up—”</p>
<p>But he wasn’t allowed to get any farther and
<a href="#i_p289">the meeting broke up in confusion</a>.</p>
<p>“Well, we’ve done it,” chuckled Rob as he
tossed his cap across the room. Malcolm closed
the door of 32 and then the transom. Evan
looked at him inquiringly.</p>
<p>“Prentiss prowls around a good deal,” he
explained, “and if the transom’s open you can
hear beautifully.”</p>
<p>“What he would hear outside this door
wouldn’t matter, I guess,” said Rob. “Gee,
fellows, I’m tickled. I thought we might get
this far next Fall but I never dreamed we’d do
it now. If we beat them we play Adams.
Think of that, Evan, you unenthusiastic beggar!”</p>
<p>“I’m thinking of it,” answered Evan.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 428px;">
<a id="i_p289">
<img src="images/i_p289.jpg" width="428" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_288">“THE MEETING BROKE UP IN CONFUSION.”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290-<br />291]</a></span></p>
<p>“‘I’m thinking of it!’” mimicked Rob.
“Well, why don’t you <em>say</em> something? Why
don’t you—why don’t you do something? I
don’t expect any signs of emotion from Mal;
he’s the original human icicle; if Peary had
seen him first he’d have saved himself a
long trip. But you might at least look interested.”</p>
<p>“I’m just wondering what’s going to happen
to us Saturday,” Evan replied. “It’s all
well enough to talk, Rob, but those fellows have
it on us in lots of ways.”</p>
<p>“Well, how, Mr. Gloom?”</p>
<p>“In size and weight, for one thing.”</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s one weigh,” Malcolm interpolated.
Evan threw a blue book at him, but
missed.</p>
<p>“Yes, they have us there,” said Rob, “but
we even that up by speed. Go ahead.”</p>
<p>“Well, but do we? If they can stop our end
plays and spoil forward passes, our speed won’t
count for so much. We’ll never be able to get
through their line for consistent gains.”</p>
<p>“Why not? Other teams have. Why, that
center trio of theirs isn’t so much. All they’ve
got is weight. If we get the jump on them
we’ll have them on the run in no time. And
as for spoiling our forward passes, why, that’s
easier said than done.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p>
<p>“Anyway, we need a dry field,” said Evan.
“If it’s a wet day it’ll be all up with us.”</p>
<p>“For goodness sake shut up! You’ve got
us beaten now by about ten scores,” laughed
Rob. “Don’t you get stage-fright, Mr. Quarter;
we need your services. You take my word
for it, Evan, that we can lick them. Just wait
and see.”</p>
<p>“I guess I’ll have to. What do you think
about it, Mal?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I don’t know much about football,”
said Malcolm modestly, “but I think we ought
to win if only on psychological grounds.”</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon?” asked Evan with
elaborate deference.</p>
<p>“Just listen to him!” sighed Rob admiringly.
“Isn’t he the boy wonder? Prithee,
Mr. Webster, elucidate.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you know what I mean.”</p>
<p>“We know—oh, yes, we know all right,
Mal! It isn’t that we don’t catch your drift.
Psychology is an open book to us; in fact, my
young friend Evan here got out the first patent
on psychology. But it’s been greatly improved
since then, and so—”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” laughed Evan. “What are you
talking about, Mal?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p>
<p>“Well, I mean that the—the mental condition
of a person counts for a lot, the condition
of his mind, you know. And—”</p>
<p>“You’re mixed,” said Rob. “But go
ahead; a short lecture on mental philosophy
by Professor Warne. The class will please
come to order and Mr. Kingsford will remove
the bent pin from the Professor’s
chair.”</p>
<p>“Don’t mind him, Mal. Go ahead.”</p>
<p>“Silent contempt for yours, Rob. I mean
just this; Hop and Prentiss and his whole team
are worried. They’ve been losing games right
along; they haven’t got together once the
whole season and they know it. They’re—they’re
disrupted—”</p>
<p>“Fancy that!” murmured Rob.</p>
<p>“And they haven’t confidence. On the other
hand—”</p>
<p>“Is an ink-stain,” said Rob. “It’s unkind
to draw attention to it, nevertheless, Professor.
I assure you that I’ve tried pumice—”</p>
<p>“Oh, cut it out, Rob!” begged Evan.
“Mal’s right about it.”</p>
<p>“On the other hand,” went on Malcolm,
“our team has plenty of confidence, we aren’t
worried and we believe we’re going to win.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
We have public opinion on our side, too; the
School believes that we are going to win—”</p>
<p>“Every one except Evan,” muttered Rob
sadly.</p>
<p>“And all that counts for us,” said Malcolm.
“You take two fellows, one cheerful and confident
and another worried and doubtful, and
other things being equal the first fellow will
win out every time. It’s the same way, I
reckon, with foot-ball teams.”</p>
<p>“That’s so,” agreed Rob soberly. “And
that crowd is surely worried and up in the air.
As for Prentiss—say, Gus told me to-day that
the management’s in debt about forty dollars
already and they can’t get the fellows to shell
out. And Hop’s as blue as an Adams sweater.
I’m almost sorry for him.”</p>
<p>“Huh!” scoffed Evan. “You’d never be
sorry for a chap until you had him down and
was kneeling on his collar-bone.”</p>
<p>“Wrong. I’d be sorry, but I wouldn’t let
it interfere with my duty. And I’m not going
to now. My duty is to show Hop that he was
never intended for a Napoleon or a Julius
Cæsar. It will be a helpful lesson for him and
may save him mistakes when he gets to college.
And now I’m going to bed, for to-morrow is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>
going to be a very, very busy day. Thank you,
Professor, for your few well chosen remarks.
What have you got to say now, Evan? With
psychology rooting for us I guess we’ve got the
game cinched this minute, eh?”</p>
<p>“Um, maybe; but I’d swap the psychology
for another sixty pounds in the line!”</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a><br />
<small>THE INDEPENDENTS DISSOLVE</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">The Saturday before Thanksgiving dawned
bleak and gray and cold and by three
o’clock, for which hour the game between the
School Team and the Independents was set,
there was a biting north wind blowing across
the field and the heavy clouds were scurrying
overhead. It was football weather, and only
the spectators found fault with it. On the side-lines
it was chilly waiting, and fellows wore
their heaviest clothing and stamped up and
down to keep warm.</p>
<p>There was a hearty cheer for the Independents
as that team trotted down from the gymnasium
and squirmed through the line of impatient
students, and a less enthusiastic one for
the School Team when it followed a minute or
two later. The teams warmed up for ten minutes
and then Mr. Osgood, who had accepted
the office of referee, summoned the captains to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
the center of the field. Rob won the toss and
took the east goal and a minute later the play
began.</p>
<p>For the first few minutes the School Team
had the better of it, the Independents’ plunges
at the line being stopped without great difficulty.
Three downs failed to net the distance
and the ball went to the School Team on the
opponent’s forty yards. An attempt at the
center brought no gain and Law punted. Deering
caught the ball on his fifteen yards and
made ten across the field before he was downed,
Evan interfering brilliantly for the runner.
The Independents tried the School line again
and again lost on downs, this time by a bare
half-yard. The School Team made first down
with three plunges through the wings and
things looked bad for the defenders of the east
goal. But on their fifteen yards the Independents
held stubbornly and recovered the ball,
and on third down Deering punted to mid-field.
The ends were under the pigskin all the way
and Miller, School quarter, was downed for no
gain. After that, for the rest of the twenty
minute half, the ball see-sawed back and forth
between one thirty yard-line and the other.
There might have been a field-goal tried on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
each side had the wind been less strong.
Under the circumstances neither team thought
it wise to make the attempt.</p>
<p>Gus Devens played opposite Frank Hopkins
and the audience watched the battle with keen
relish. Perhaps Hopkins had a shade the better
of the argument, for Gus was new at guard
position. At center Jelly and Merrill were
pretty evenly matched, although Jelly’s passing
was more certain. The School Team’s line was
pounds heavier to a man than their opponents,
but, as Rob had predicted, the latter evened accounts
by being much faster. On the whole, in
that first period, the teams showed up about on
a par, and it was evident that, barring flukes,
neither team was likely to score on its opponent
by straight foot-ball. There were a few fumbles
on each side, but none proved disastrous.
The half ended with the ball on the Independents’
thirty-seven yards in School’s possession.</p>
<p>The School Team trotted back to the gymnasium
for the intermission, while Duffield conducted
his charges down to the boathouse.
There were a few minor injuries to be attended
to, for the School players had been none too
gentle. Jelly was blissfully proud of a swollen
nose, Shaler had a cut over one eye and Powers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
had wrenched his shoulder. There was a five
minute lecture by the coach and then they
trotted back to the field.</p>
<p>The second half was different from the first,
and the spectators knew that it was going to
be from the very moment that the Independents
got the ball on a fumble some three minutes
after play started. Evan began to work the
School’s ends, sending the runner outside of
tackle for gain after gain until Hopkins found
his wits and sent the backs to the rescue. Then
came a short forward pass, Deering to Powers,
and a twelve yard advance. Plunges at center
helped but little, but Shaler got through right
guard on a split-play for four yards. An on-side
kick worked to perfection, and, while the
audience shouted wildly, the two teams lined
up on the School’s twenty yard-line. But a wide
end run netted no gain, a plunge at right guard,
with Shaler carrying the ball and the whole
back-field behind him, realized only four yards,
and then Deering fell back for a try at goal.
The pass was good and the line held well
enough, but the wind was too much for the
kicker and the ball went wide.</p>
<p>School elected to put the ball in scrimmage
from her twenty-five yards. Law and Simpson<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>
and Leary hammered the Independents’ line
for short gains, but although they were able to
get by the forwards the second defence piled
them up. They made the distance once and
then, with three to go on third down, Miller
tried a quarter-back run and was thrown by
Brimmer for a loss.</p>
<p>The Independents took up the march again,
playing wide-open football and mingling line
plunges with forward passes, delayed runs,
fake kicks and other plays that made School’s
head swim. It was brain against brawn now,
and in the end brain won. Duffield had given
his team plays that Hopkins had never thought
of and hadn’t the slightest idea how to meet.
The forward passes succeeded time after time,
and when, down on the School Team’s thirty
yards, Deering, standing back as though to try
for a field-goal, passed the ball across to Rob
and Rob threw it straight down the field into
Powers’ waiting hands, there was no one near
to stop the latter youth when he skipped
nimbly over the goal-line and made the first
and only score of the day.</p>
<p>Deering kicked goal, and after that it was all
up with the School Team. Hopkins put in sub
after sub in the hope of stemming the tide of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>
defeat but all to scant purpose. In the last ten
minutes the Independents seemed on the brink
of a second touchdown after Evan had skirted
the School’s left end for a twenty-odd yard run.
But on the first play, the ball being then on
School’s eighteen yards, Hover, who had taken
Rob’s place at left half, fumbled and Reid fell
on the ball. School punted out of danger and
time was called before the Independents were
again within striking distance of the opponent’s
goal-line. Science and team-play (and, perhaps,
psychology!) had won the day.</p>
<p>Things seethed that evening. There were
rumors and counter-rumors. Hopkins refused
to stand by the agreement made in mass-meeting;
Hopkins had resigned the captaincy; Hopkins
had quarreled with Prentiss and was going
to join the Independents; Prentiss declared he
was going to appeal to Doctor Farren; the
School Team had dissolved after the game;
Prentiss was so angry he wouldn’t speak and
was going to leave school. It was all very
breathless and exciting and since there was no
study-hour on Saturday night, the fellows were
free to discuss the rumors to their hearts’ content.
Meanwhile in Mr. Osgood’s study a conference
was under way. Present were the instructor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
Hopkins, Prentiss, Wellington, Rob
and Malcolm. Hopkins was depressed and discouraged,
Prentiss silent and sullen. Hopkins
however was ready to abide by the results of
the game and, with Mr. Osgood acting as arbitrator,
matters were soon settled. Coach Duffield
was to have supreme authority. The Independent
Football Association was to be disbanded
at a meeting to be held Monday evening
and the Independent first team and substitutes
were to join the School Team. Hopkins was to
remain captain, but since it was doubtful
whether he would play in the Adams game save
as a substitute for Koehler, Rob was to be field
captain. Members of Hopkins’ team would be
used in the Adams game whenever practicable,
and those who did not get into that contest but
had played against Overbrook were to receive
their letters. Prentiss was to remain manager
and Malcolm was to be assistant manager until
the next election was held. At the end of an
hour the conference broke up quite amicably,
both Hopkins and Prentiss being glad to retain
their positions and realizing that the Independents
had used them leniently. The School in
general was well satisfied with the arrangement
when it learned of it, the Independents claiming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>
victory all along the line. Some of the less
promising members of the Independent second
squad were disappointed, since with the advent
of the members of Hopkins’ team their chances
of getting into the Adams game were quite
spoiled.</p>
<p>When Duffield arrived on Monday he found
his hands full. He was anxious to strengthen
his team wherever possible and so spent a good
deal of time that might otherwise have been
devoted to perfecting the team in trying out
various players from Hopkins’ team. Hopkins
himself was given a try at left guard, but
didn’t make a showing good enough to warrant
his substitution for Koehler. Merrill did well
at center in Jelly’s place, but he lacked the
other boy’s accuracy at passing the ball back.
In the end the only change made was to give
James’ place at left tackle to Tom Reid. The
Second Team, however, saw numerous changes;
and, as Duffield hadn’t the heart to dismiss
any of the candidates at that late hour, a Third
Team was formed. The rest of the afternoon’s
practice was spent in signal work.</p>
<p>That evening the Independent Football Association
held its last meeting and, amid great
enthusiasm, voted to dissolve. Wellington and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
Rob and Pierce and several others made
speeches and were cheered to the echo. And
afterwards <a href="#i_p305">the meeting resolved itself into a
parade that made the round of the buildings
and sang foot-ball songs</a>.</p>
<p>On Tuesday there was a blackboard talk in
the gymnasium before practice, and afterwards
Duffield made the fellows a little speech.
“Now you fellows realize, of course,” he said,
“that foot-ball here this season is in a pretty
ragged condition. I came up here largely as
a favor to Langton to coach his team. Now,
at the last moment, I find that I’m expected to
take hold and put you fellows in trim to win
from Adams. That’s a big order. If I had
started in at the beginning of the season it
would be different, but I didn’t. I’ve never
even seen Adams play, and all I know about
her team is what I’ve read in the papers.
But here I am, and as I can’t get out of it I’ll
do my best. But you fellows have got to do
your best too. There’s no two ways to that,
I can tell you! You’ve got to buckle down and
do a lot of hard work between now and Thursday,
and when Thursday comes you’ve got to
go in and play like the very dickens if you expect
to win. I’d like to give you a lay-off to-morrow,
but we can’t afford it. Not only that,
but there will be signal-drill here to-night and
to-morrow night at seven o’clock. Don’t forget
that, please. Every fellow must attend.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 443px;">
<a id="i_p305">
<img src="images/i_p305.jpg" width="443" height="600" alt="" title="" />
</a><br />
<div class="caption"><a href="#Page_304">“THE MEETING RESOLVED ITSELF INTO A PARADE THAT MADE THE ROUND
OF THE BUILDINGS AND SANG FOOT-BALL SONGS.”</a></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306-<br />307]</a></span></p>
<p>“As near as I can learn, Adams has a rattling
good team. She’s met with only one defeat
this season. She has five of last year’s
team with her, she has a good coach and she
has developed a coaching system that’s been
working pretty well—as you fellows here at
Riverport ought to know. Her line is slightly
heavier than ours and it’s just as quick. Her
back-field is extremely good and we’ve got
nothing on her there. And she’s got a quarter
who is as good a general as there is on a school
team to-day. So team for team it looks like
a pretty even thing, with the odds slightly in
favor of Adams. Of course on team-play she
must be far more advanced than we are, for
her men have been playing together for a full
month while our team, as it will line up to-day,
has never played together. I’m not trying to
discourage you. We’re pretty well handicapped,
I own, but we’re not beaten. These
plays we’ve just gone over ought to help.
Most of them are either quite new or are new
variations of old plays. If you get so you can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>
put them through right I shouldn’t be surprised
to find that they bothered Adams a
whole lot. Now it all depends on how you fellows
take hold during the next two days. You
must work hard and use your brains. I think
we can learn a lot of football in two days if
we make up our minds to it. Now, then, all
out on the run.”</p>
<p>Practice went well that day. The cold
weather still held and put snap into the players.
To his surprise and secret distress Evan found
himself on the side-line when the scrimmage
began, with Miller in his place. Peeble followed
Miller at quarter and still Evan adorned
the bench. He got in finally for the last four
or five minutes and Duffield smiled at the eager
way in which he raced on to the field and pushed
Peeble aside.</p>
<p>“I guess,” muttered the coach to himself,
“I needed to be afraid of over-working him.”</p>
<p>In obedience to instructions, Evan began
pulling off the new plays, and, although the
Second knew them as well as the First, she
couldn’t stop them. In three minutes of actual
playing time the First scored the only touchdown
of the day, Shaler being slammed through
the line for the final three yards.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p>
<p>There was a good forty-five minutes of signal
work in the gymnasium that evening, the players
walking or trotting through the drill in
canvas shoes. On Wednesday there was another
long period of outdoor work in the afternoon
and again signal-drill at night. At the
end Duffield spoke to them.</p>
<p>“Well, fellows, work is over for this year.
You’ve taken hold, most every one of you, in
just the way I hoped you would. You’ve
worked hard and conscientiously and I think
you’ve learned a good deal. Just how much
you have learned remains for you to show to-morrow.
I can’t call you a wonderful team,
for neither you nor I have had time to work
wonders, but I think if you’ll all play the best
you know how to-morrow the School won’t be
disappointed in you.”</p>
<p>“I want you to go to bed early to-night and
don’t think too much about the game. In the
morning, if it’s a fair day, be out of doors as
much as you can, but don’t try to do much walking.
Keep quiet. If it’s stormy get out for
a little while and then settle down in your
rooms and read or play games. Be careful of
your eating, too. Take a good breakfast and
go light at dinner. That’s all, I guess. I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
be on hand early to-morrow in case anything
comes up. Good-night and good luck.”</p>
<p>Rob called for a cheer for the coach and it
was given with a will. Outside a howling mob
was waiting to escort them to the meeting in
the assembly-hall, and all the way across the
yard the cheers and songs challenged the
twinkling white stars.</p>
<p>Both Rob and Evan were somewhat silent
when, after the meeting had ended in a final
burst of enthusiasm and they had retired to
their room, they were making ready for bed.
“Gee,” muttered Evan finally, “I hope I can
sleep. I feel as though I had wheels inside
me.”</p>
<p>“Same here,” said Rob. “I wish the game
was over with.”</p>
<p>“So do I. No I don’t, either. I just wish—well,
I just wish I was asleep.”</p>
<p>“Well, here goes the light, chum. Good-night.”</p>
<p>“Good-night,” responded Evan dismally.</p>
<p>It was very still. Through the window, from
where he lay, Evan could see thousands of
bright frosty stars sparkling in the sky. That
meant fair weather to-morrow, he told himself,
and a dry field. Then his thoughts, in spite of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
his utmost endeavors, went to the game, and
presently he flopped over in bed and addressed
the huddled form of his room-mate, seen dimly
through the star-lit gloom:</p>
<p>“Say, Rob, in that number 13 play does
Deering start with you around left end or does
he interfere for Shaler?”</p>
<p>There was no answer.</p>
<p>“Well, what do you think of that?” whispered
Evan. “Oh, well, if he can sleep I guess
I can. Here goes.”</p>
<p>It didn’t seem that he really did sleep, for
he was playing foot-ball in thought all night,
but the next thing he knew Rob was calling to
him and the room was flooded with morning
sunlight.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a><br />
<small>THE GAME WITH ADAMS</small></h2>
</div>
<p class="cap">“Come on, Riverport!” called Rob; and,
as he led the team on to the field, Northrup,
of the seniors, sprang in front of the throng
on the upper side of the field and, waving his
light blue megaphone adorned with the dark
green R, called for “A double cheer for the
Team, fellows, and everybody get into it!”</p>
<p>“Rah, rah, Riverport! Rah, rah, Riverport!
Rah, rah, Riverport! Rah, rah, Riverport!
Rah, rah, Riverport! Rah, rah, Riverport!
Team! Team! Team!”</p>
<p>From across the battle field came the long,
slow cheer of the rival: “Adams! Adams!
Adams! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah,
rah, rah! Adams! Adams! Adams!”</p>
<p>Adams had won the toss and had chosen to
receive the kick-off. Riverport lined itself
across the turf; Powers at right end, Kasker
at right tackle, Devens at right guard, Jell at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>
center, Koehler at left guard, Reid at left
tackle, Brimmer at left end, Kingsford at quarter,
Deering at right half, Langton at left half
and Shaler at full-back.</p>
<p>“All ready, Adams? All ready, Riverport?”
called the referee. Hoyt of Adams
raised his arm, Rob called “Ready!” and the
whistle blew.</p>
<p>Away sped the ball, far and high, turning
lazily in flight, and off sprang the eager line.
An Adams player gathered in the pigskin and
started back. Powers sprang upon him and
brought him down struggling. Adams lined up
quickly and hurled her full-back at Jelly, but
Jelly was stiffer than his name indicated and
there was small gain. The next play caught
Reid napping and the dark blue piled past him
for five yards. With three to go Claflin, the
Adams quarter, skipped across and sent a forward
pass to the left. The Adams left end
tipped it with his fingers before he was pushed
aside by Powers and finally fell upon it for a
good ten yards gain. The dark blue flags waved
gleefully along the south side.</p>
<p>Again Adams made her distance, sending her
backs into the line for short gains. Plainly
Riverport was undergoing a spell of stage-fright,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>
for the secondary defence failed to
back up the forwards as it should. Evan came
running in and pounded Rob on the shoulders.</p>
<p>“What’s the matter with you fellows?” he
cried angrily. “Get in there! Stop it right
now! Buck up, Rob!” Then he went running
up the field again. Adams sent Bull, her star
half-back, through between Devens and Kasker,
but Deering and Rob pulled him down before
he was free of the line. “That’s the stuff!”
yelled Evan gleefully. “Nail ’em, Rob!”
Adams tried another play at Jell and again
failed to move that youth out of his tracks.
Their left tackle fell back to punt and Deering
joined Evan up the field. The punt was
high and long. “Mine!” called Deering.
“Yours,” responded Evan, cutting across in
front of a charging Adams end. “To the
right!” He threw himself in front of the
enemy and as they both went rolling over Deering
cleared them and started across the field.
One, two, three white lines passed under his
flying feet and then he was in the midst of the
enemy. He squirmed free once, but the next
instant he was smothered on his thirty-three
yards.</p>
<p>“Our ball!” called Evan, running up. “Get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>
up, get up! Kick-formation! 12—14—36—58!”
He glanced back to see that Deering was
ready. “7—8—”</p>
<p>Back sped the ball to Deering and that youth
took one step forward and booted the oval far
down the field. Away raced friend and foe,
but Brimmer, Riverport’s left end, out-distanced
all and was waiting when the ball settled
into the arms of the Adams left half. Down
they went together on Adams’ forty yards.
From there Adams worked the ball down to her
opponent’s forty-five yards. Most of the gains
were made between Koehler and Reid or outside
the latter. Adams played fast, putting the
ball into play almost before Riverport could get
into position. Time and again it was the back-field
that stopped the runner when he was well
through the line. On the forty-five yards
Adams was caught holding and was set back
fifteen yards. A quarter-back run was tried
with no success and again the ball was punted
toward Riverport’s goal. Evan took it this
time and managed to make a dozen yards along
the side-line before he was pushed out. Again
kick-formation was called for and again Deering
punted a good forty-five yards. Adams’
quarter missed the catch but got the ball on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
bound before Powers threw himself fiercely
upon him.</p>
<p>“Now then, let’s take it away from them!”
cried Rob. “Get down there, Reid! Play low,
every one! Spoil this! Pile them up!”</p>
<p>With the ball near her thirty yards Adams
drew a tackle out of the line and sent a tandem
at Devens with fair success. But a similar play
on the other side of center was spoiled by Jelly,
who threw himself in front of the interference
and piled up the play. With six yards to go
Adams tried an on-side kick but failed to recover
it and the ball was Riverport’s on her
adversary’s fifty yards.</p>
<p>“All right!” cried Evan briskly. “Left
formation. 27—38—14—68! 27—38—14—68—7—”</p>
<p>Back came the ball from Jelly, Evan turned
and thrust it against Shaler’s stomach and that
youth, with Deering and Rob behind, went
through Adams’ left guard for six yards. Riverport
flags waved and Riverport voices cheered
lustily.</p>
<p>“Kick-formation!” called Evan, and Deering
dropped back and stretched his hands out
for the ball. But the play was a “skin-tackle”
on the left and Rob got four yards and first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>
down. But the Adams line stiffened then and
the next attempt was a failure, and so Deering
punted toward the corner of the field. This
time the quarter made a fine running catch and,
eluding Brimmer, got over two white lines before
Kasker reached him and pulled him down.
Adams lined up almost on her fifteen yards and,
after one try at Reid which gave her a scant
two yards, punted out of danger. Deering
fumbled and finally fell on the bobbing pigskin
on his forty yard-line, with half the Adams team
on top of him. Time was called while he fought
for his breath, and on the side-line Hinkley
slipped off his sweater. But Deering was as
good as new at the end of two minutes. Evan
sent Rob outside of left tackle for three yards
and Shaler between right guard and center for
two. Then Deering punted once more and the
Adams quarter ran back to his thirty-eight
yards before he was downed.</p>
<p>A forward pass netted eight yards for the
Dark Blue and then Claflin got away around
Powers’ end for ten more. Plunges at the line
gave them another first down and the ball was
in Riverport’s territory again. The forward
pass was tried, but the ball struck the ground
and Adams was penalized fifteen yards. A punt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
followed and Deering caught the ball on the run
and reeled off twenty yards through a close
field before he was caught. Evan hammered
the center of the Adams line for scant gains
and then called Deering to the rescue. This
time there was a hole in the Riverport line and
a big tackle rushed through in time to divert
the ball as it arose from Deering’s foot. The
kick went short and a wild scramble ensued, an
Adams guard finally falling on the pigskin. For
the rest of the half neither team succeeded in
making a first down and the ball was in the air
most of the time, Deering gaining at least five
yards on each exchange of punts. The period
ended with the ball on Riverport’s thirty yards
in Riverport’s possession.</p>
<p>There was fifteen minutes of cheering and
singing, and then the teams came trotting back
again. It was seen that Duffield had made one
change in his line, Hopkins replacing Koehler
at left guard. It was Adams’ kick-off and Rob
made a clear fifteen yards before he was tackled.
Again, much to the distaste of the Riverport
supporters, Deering kicked on first down.
That gave Adams the ball well inside her forty
yards. She tried the mettle of Hopkins on the
first play and didn’t like the result. It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>
evident at once that that side of the line had
been much strengthened, for Hopkins and Reid
had played side by side all season and knew just
how to help each other. A fake quarter-back
run, with the ball going to left half for a plunge
through the line, gave Adams a few yards, and
then she was forced to punt. The ball went out
of bounds at Riverport’s forty yard-line. Evan
called his signals while the pigskin was being
taken in and almost before Adams had lined
up Jelly had passed and Shaler was squirming
through between right guard and tackle. He
shook off two tacklers and then, with half the
Riverport team hauling and pushing, kept his
feet long enough to carry the ball a good twelve
yards. Riverport went crazy with delight along
the side-line. Shaler was given the ball again
and this time made four yards before he was
stopped. A scant yard by Rob outside of left
tackle left five yards to go. Deering dropped
back, Jelly passed well and the right half ran
out to the left and then threw across to Powers
for twenty yards. It was a beautiful forward
pass and took the ball to Adams’ thirty-five
yards. Deering and Shaler each made three
through the line and Shaler was called on to
make the rest of the distance, which he did on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>
a split-play that fooled Adams nicely. With
the ball less than twenty-five yards from the
goal-line and directly in front of the posts Deering
tried a drop-kick which missed by a few
feet only.</p>
<p>Adams put the ball into play from scrimmage
and found a weak spot on the right of Riverport’s
line, where Kasker was feeling the pace.
Two tries through him netted eight yards and
a tandem on center gave three more. In the
last play the Adams full-back was hurt and
Duffield seized the occasion to take out Kasker
and put in Ward. Adams replaced the injured
full-back with a fresh player and the game went
on. The ball changed hands frequently now
and Deering’s punts were growing shorter.
But so were those of Spring, the Adams kicker,
and observing this, Adams’ coach took out his
right half and put in a new man who thereafter
did most of the punting and was able to out-kick
Deering some five yards. Duffield responded
by replacing Deering with Hinkley.
Once Adams worked the ball down to Riverport’s
thirty-three yards and tried a forward
pass to the corner of the field. But Brimmer
shouldered the opposing end away and captured
the pigskin. The time was growing short<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>
and it was evident that if Riverport was to score
she must get busy. In a punting battle Hinkley
could not be relied on to gain ground. Evan
did some tall thinking about then. While Riverport
had shown herself able to make good gains
through the Adams line on occasions, she was
unable to make ground consistently in that way.
Evan drew Rob aside and they whispered a
moment. Then,</p>
<p>“Kick-formation!” called Evan.</p>
<p>The ball didn’t reach Hinkley, however. It
went to Evan and from him to Rob, and the
latter, with the rest of the backs interfering,
skirted the Adams left end on a wide run. Ten
yards, fifteen—then Rob was alone, his interference
having been bowled over, with the
enemy grabbing at him and diving for his long
legs. Twice he was almost down and twice
he was up again, staggering, whirling, dodging
on along the side-line. And then the Adams
left guard and captain wrapped his arms
around Rob’s legs and Rob came to earth, and
half a dozen blue-stockinged warriors thumped
themselves upon him.</p>
<p>When the pile disentangled itself Rob rolled
over on his back but didn’t seem interested in
getting up. At the end of two minutes he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>
being helped to the side-line, looking very white
and dizzy, and Hover was running out to take
his place. Hover was fresh and eager and had
weight and fight. On the first play Shaler shot
along the side-line for four yards before he was
forced out. Then the ball was carried in and
Hover was given his chance. Straight through
center he plowed for eight yards, fighting and
plunging, and it was first down. Back went
Hinkley and, while the onlookers debated
whether it was really to be a kick, the ball went
into his hands and, with good interference, he
ran the left end for ten yards. On the side-lines
Riverport was cheering madly, exultantly,
Adams madly and imploringly. But it seemed
that at last the Light Blue had found herself,
for Hover and Shaler made gain after gain
through the weakening center and Evan tore
off a short end run that at last placed the ball
on Adams’ thirty-two yards.</p>
<p>“Kick-formation!” cried Evan hoarsely.
“How much time is there, sir?”</p>
<p>“A little over five minutes,” answered the
field judge.</p>
<p>“Lots of time, fellows! Kick-formation!
Every one into this now! 44—54—69—18—”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p>
<p>“Signal!” cried Hover anxiously.</p>
<p>“44—54—69—18—24! Got it?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” was the answer as Hover dug his toes
into the turf.</p>
<p>“9—7—8—”</p>
<p>Forward plunged the backs, Evan shot the
ball at Shaler, Jelly and Devens opened the
hole and the play slammed through for three
yards. The same play with Hover carrying
the pigskin gave three more. But Adams was
desperate now, almost under the shadow of her
goal, and Evan knew that a line attack would
not give him the rest of the distance. He debated
whether to try again for a field-goal. If
Hinkley made it it would probably give them
the game, but Hinkley couldn’t be depended on
like Deering. A forward pass the enemy would
be looking for, and the chances of bringing it
off successfully were slim. An end run seemed
the only thing unless—!</p>
<p>“I’ll try it!” he told himself.</p>
<p>“Kick-formation!” he called. “24—87—17—41—”</p>
<p>Back came the ball to him and with the two
halfs speeding ahead as interference he shot
toward the right end of the line as though for
a quarter-back run. Adams started to head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>
him off. But when he had gone some five paces
Evan slowed down and, swinging around,
dropped the ball from his hands and kicked
it obliquely across the field.</p>
<p>“Left!” he cried. “Left!”</p>
<p>There was no one near the ball when it came
down save Brimmer, and Brimmer let it settle
into his arms and started on his ten yard journey
to the goal-line. Adams had been caught
napping, but her quarter had not gained his
reputation for nothing. He reached Brimmer
three yards from that last fatal white line and
bore him backwards.</p>
<p>“First down!” called the referee.</p>
<p>“Line up, fellows!” shrieked Evan. “Get
a move on! Lower, you right tackle. Now
make this go, fellows. Put it over! Devens
back!” Gus fell from his place and formed
into the tandem. “73—34—24—14—8—6—”</p>
<p>Straight at the center of the enemy charged
the tandem, Hover snuggling the ball to his
stomach and grunting like an enraged bull as
the lines met. Forward he went; some one went
down before him and seized one knee; he struggled
on grimly, dragging the enemy with him;
for a moment he was stopped; then something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
gave in front and he went falling, staggering
over the line for the touchdown amid the wild
shouts of Riverport.</p>
<p>It was all over shortly after Hinkley had
kicked goal, and the team was borne off the
field on the shoulders of as joyously mad a
throng of fellows as ever yelled themselves
hoarse over a victory.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>Four hours later Evan slipped out of the
dining-room into the arms of a waiting
crowd that filled the corridor from side to
side.</p>
<p>“Who’s elected, Kingsford?” they cried as
they surrounded him.</p>
<p>“Hopkins proposed Rob,” he cried,
“and—”</p>
<p>“Good stuff!”</p>
<p>“Bully for Hop!”</p>
<p>“But Rob refused because he was a junior.”</p>
<p>“Refused! Then who—”</p>
<p>“Gus Devens! Rob proposed him and it
went with a roar! Gus is captain. Let’s give
him a cheer when he comes out. There he is.
Now then, fellows! All together!”</p>
<p>And as the doors opened wide and the victorious
players came out they were greeted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>
with a roar that shook the windows of Second
House and went rolling out into the night to
apprize the few absent ones that Riverport had
elected her football captain for next year.</p>
<p class="p2 noic">THE END.</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<div class="tnote">
<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p>
<p class="smfont">Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.</p>
<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p>
<p class="smfont">Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved,
(e.g. football vs. foot-ball).</p>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 57740 ***</div>
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