A Quarter-Back's Pluck: A Story of College Football

by Lester Chadwick

  CHAPTER XXV

  PHIL GIVES UP

  Out on the athletic ground Grasshopper Backus was practicing thestanding broad jump. It was one of the things he was always at, whencehis nickname. But, as Holly Cross used to say, "Grasshopper had about asmuch chance of making the track team as he had of making a perfect scoreat tennis," a game which the big lad abhorred. For, though Grasshopperwas very fond of jumping and practiced it every time he got a chance,there was something wrong with his method, and he never could get beyondthe preliminaries in a contest. Still, he kept at it.

  "Why don't you give up?" asked Phil, who, with Tom and Sid, strolleddown where the lone student was leaping away as if the championship ofthe college depended on it.

  "Say, you let me alone," objected Grasshopper, as he prepared for ajump. "I beat my own record a while ago."

  "By how much?" asked Phil.

  "Well, not much; a quarter of an inch, but that shows I'm improving."

  "Yes; at that rate you'll be through college, and a post graduate likeBricktop before you make enough gain to count," declared Tom.

  "Oh, you let me alone!" exclaimed the exasperated one. With that hejumped, and then, with a measuring tape, he carefully noted the distancehe had covered.

  "Any gain?" asked Sid.

  "No; I went back an inch then," was the reply.

  "Like the frog in the well," went on Phil. "He jumped up three feetevery day, and fell back four feet every night."

  "Aw, quit!" begged Grasshopper, who was sensitive, in spite of hisenormous bulk.

  "You go high enough, but you don't go far enough," commented Sid. "Now,if they allow hurdling in football, you'd be right in it for jumpingover the line to make a touch-down."

  "Maybe they'll change the rules so as to allow it," spoke Grasshopperhopefully.

  "Get out, you old Stoic!" cried Phil. "Come and take a walk with us. Tomis going to blow us to ginger ale."

  "No; I'm going to keep at it until I beat my best mark," and the jumperagain got on the line.

  "Curious chap," commented Phil, as the three chums walked on.

  "But as good as they make 'em," added Tom.

  "That's what!" spoke Sid fervently.

  Snail Looper soon recovered from the effects of the hard Boxer Hallgame, and practice was resumed with the 'varsity bucking against thescrub. There was a big improvement shown in the first team, for theplayers had demonstrated that they could meet with an eleven countedamong the best, and win from it.

  "Well, fellows, are you all ready for the trip Saturday?" asked theCoach at the conclusion of the practice. "None of you are falling behindin studies, I hope?"

  Captain Cross assured Mr. Lighton that every man on the team was A1 whenit came to scholarship.

  "Now, a word of advice," went on the coach. "Don't get nervous over thisout-of-town trip. We're going up against a hard team, and on strangegrounds, but just think of it as if you were going to play Fairview,or Boxer Hall, or Dodville Prep right here. The worst feature ofout-of-town games is that they throw the men off their stride. Don'tlet that happen to you."

  They all promised that it should not, and then the players separated.The coach had arranged for a game with a distant college--WescottUniversity--which boasted of a superb eleven. It meant a long trip onthe train, two days spent away from Randall, and a day to come back in.

  The journey to Wescott University was much enjoyed by the eleven and thesubstitutes. They reached the city at dusk, and were at once taken tothe hotel, where quarters had been secured for them. A big crowd ofstudents had planned to come from Randall to see the game, a specialexcursion train having been arranged for.

  "Now, fellows, early to bed to-night," stipulated the coach after supperwas over. "No skylarking, and don't go to eating a lot of trash. I wantyou all to be on edge. We'll devote to-morrow to practice, and the nextday to wiping up the gridiron with Wescott."

  Tom and Phil roomed together, and at midnight Tom, who had just falleninto a doze, after envying the sound slumber of his chum, was awakenedby the latter.

  "I'm sick, Tom," said Phil faintly.

  "What's the matter, old man?" asked the left-end anxiously, and hejumped out of bed, turning on the electric light.

  "I don't know, but I'm dizzy, and I feel--well, rotten, to put itmildly."

  "That's too bad. Can I get you anything?"

  "Better call Mr. Lighton. I don't want to take a lot of dope unless hesays so."

  Tom quickly dressed and called the coach, who was on the same floorwhere all the football players had their rooms. He came in quickly, andafter one glance at Phil insisted on calling the hotel physician. Thedoctor went through the usual procedure, and left some medicine forPhil.

  "What is it?" asked the coach of the physician.

  "Nothing, only his stomach is a little upset. Change of diet and waterwill sometimes do it. He'll be all right in the morning."

  Phil was better the next day, but when he went out to practice with thelads, there was a lassitude in his movements, and a lack of snap in hismanner of running the team, that made several open their eyes. Mr.Lighton said nothing, but Tom whispered to his chum to "brace up." Philtried to, and managed to get through the practice with some return ofhis former vim. He went to bed early that night, and slept soundly--tooheavily, Tom thought, as it might indicate fever.

  The day of the game, however, Phil seemed all right. His face was palerthan usual, and there was a grimness about his lips that Tom seldom saw.The Randall boys had light practice in the morning, running through thesignals, and then took a rest until it was time to go on the field.

  There was a big attendance, and the cheers of the small contingent ofRandall supporters could hardly be heard. The preliminary practiceseemed to go all right, and when the whistle blew there was a confidenteleven that lined up against Wescott. The play was hard and snappy, withmuch kicking and open work. The rivals of Randall had a couple of backswho were excellent punters, and the visitors were kept busy chasing theball. But there came a change, and when Randall had the pigskin Philrushed his men up the field to such good advantage that they scored thefirst touch-down, to the no small dismay of the Wescott team.

  "Now, Phil, some more work like that," said Holly Cross, but thequarter-back did not answer.

  Wescott got possession of the ball toward the close of the first half,and with surprising power rushed it up the field. In less time than hadbeen thought possible they had a touch-down. Randall lost the pigskin onfumbles, and when Wescott got it again they kicked a field goal. Thisended the half.

  Phil staggered as he walked to the dressing-room for the rest period.

  "What's the matter?" asked the coach quickly.

  "Nothing--I'm--I'm all right," answered the quarter-back, and he grittedhis teeth hard.

  Wescott kicked off in the second half, and Holly Cross managed to runthe ball well back.

  "Rip out another touch-down!" the captain cried as he got in place forthe first scrimmage. Phil began on the signal. He hesitated. Theplayers looked at him quickly. He was swaying back and forth on theground. Once more he tried to give the combination of letters andfigures. But the words would not come. He put his hands out to steadyhimself, and a moment later, with a groan, toppled over.

  "He's hurt!" cried Tom as he sprang to the side of his chum. "But Inever knew Phil to give up."

  Holly Cross was bending over him, while the other Randallites crowdedup, and the Wescott lads stretched out on the field. A doctor ran infrom the side lines on a signal from the coach. He felt of Phil's pulse.

  "Why, the chap has a high fever!" he exclaimed. "He has collapsed fromit. He can't play any more! Take him off the field!"

  A groan went up from the Randall players.