Behind the Line: A Story of College Life and Football

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER IV

  NEIL MAKES ACQUAINTANCES

  Neil's and Paul's college life began early the next morning when,sitting side by side in the dim, hushed chapel, they heard white-hairedDr. Garrison ask for them divine aid and guidance. Splashes and flecksof purple and rose and golden light rested here and there on bowed headand shoulders or lay in shafts across the aisles. From where he sat Neilcould look through an open window out into the morning world of greeneryand sunlight. On the swaying branch of an elm that almost brushed thecasement a thrush sang sweet and clear a matin of his own. Neil madeseveral good resolutions that morning there in the chapel, some of whichhe profited by, all of which he sincerely meant. And even Paul, far lessimpressionable than his friend, looked uncommonly thoughtful all the wayback to their room, a way that led through the elm-arched nave ofCollege Place and across the common with its broad expanses ofsun-flecked sward and its simple granite shaft commemorating the heroesof the civil war.

  At nine o'clock, with the sound of the pealing bell again in their ears,with their books under their arms and their hearts beating a littlefaster than usual with pleasurable excitement, they retraced their pathand mounted the well-worn granite steps of College Hall for their firstrecitation. What with the novelty of it all the day passed quicklyenough, and four o'clock found the two lads dressed in football togs andawaiting the beginning of practise.

  There were some sixty candidates in sight, boys--some of them men as faras years go--of all sizes and ages, several at the first glancerevealing the hopelessness of their ambitions. The names were taken andfall practise at Erskine began.

  The candidates were placed on opposite sides of the gridiron, and half adozen footballs were produced. Punting and catching punts was the orderof the day, and Neil was soon busily at work. The afternoon was warm,but not uncomfortably so, the turf was springy underfoot, the sky wasblue from edge to edge, the new men supplied plenty of amusement intheir efforts, the pigskins bumped into his arms in the manner of oldfriends, and Neil was happy as a lark. After one catch for which he hadto run back several yards, he let himself out and booted the leatherwith every ounce of strength. The ball sailed high in a long archingflight, and sent several men across the field scampering back into thegrand stand for it.

  "I guess you've done that before," said a voice beside him. A short,stockily-built youth with a round, smiling face and blue eyes thattwinkled with fun and good spirits was observing him shrewdly.

  "Yes," answered Neil, "I have."

  "I thought so," was the reply. "But you're a freshman, aren't you?"

  "Yes," answered Neil, turning to let a low drive from across thegridiron settle into his arms. "And I guess you're not."

  "No, this is my third year. I've been on the team two." He paused tosend a ball back, and then wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "Iwas quarter last year."

  "Oh," said Neil, observing his neighbor with interest, "then you'reFoster?"

  "That's me. What are you trying for?"

  "Half-back. I played three years at Hillton."

  "Of course; you're the fellow Bob Devoe was talking about--or one ofthem; I think he said there were two of you. Which one are you?"

  "I'm the other one," laughed Neil. "I'm Fletcher. That's Gale overthere, the fellow in the old red shirt; he was our captain at Hilltonlast year."

  Foster looked across at Paul and then back at Neil. He was evidentlycomparing them. He shook his head.

  "It's a good thing he's got dark hair and you've got light," he said."Otherwise you wouldn't know yourselves apart; you're just of a heightand build, and weight, too, I guess. Are you related?"

  "No. But we are pretty much the same height and weight. He's half aninch taller, and I think I weigh two pounds more."

  In the intervals of catching and returning punts the acquaintanceripened. When, at the end of three-quarters of an hour, Devoe gave theorder to quit and the trainer sent them twice about the gridiron on atrot, Neil found Foster ambling along beside him.

  "Phew!" exclaimed the latter. "I guess I lived too high last summer andput on weight. This is taking it out of me finely; I can feel wholepounds melting off. It doesn't seem to bother you any," he added.

  "No, I haven't much flesh about me," panted Neil; "but I'm glad this isthe last time around, just the same!"

  After their baths in the little green-roofed locker-house the two walkedback to the yard together, Paul, as Neil saw, being in closecompanionship with a big youth whose name, according to Foster, wasTom Cowan.

  "He played right-guard last year," said Foster. "He's a soph; this ishis third year."

  "Third year!" exclaimed Neil. "But how--"

  "Oh, Cowan was too busy to pass his exams last year," said Foster with agrin. "So they let him stay a soph. He doesn't care; a little thinglike that never bothers Cowan." His tone was rather contemptuous.

  "Is he liked?" Neil asked.

  "Oh, yes; he's very popular among a small and select circle offriends--a very small circle." Then he dismissed Cowan with an airy waveof one hand. "By the way," he continued, "have you any candidate for thepresidency of your class?"

  "No," Neil replied. "I haven't heard anything about it yet."

  "Good; then you can vote for 'Fan' Livingston. He's a _protege_ of mine,you see; used to know him at St. Mathias; you'll like him. He's anawfully good, manly, straightforward chap, just the fellow for theplace. The election comes off next Thursday evening. How aboutyour friend?"

  "Gale? I don't think he has any one in view. I guess you can count onhis vote, too."

  "Thanks; just mention it to him, will you? I'm booming Livingston, and Iwant to see him win. Can't you come round some evening the first of theweek? I'd like you to meet him. And meanwhile just talk him up a bit,will you?"

  Neil promised and made an appointment to meet the candidate thefollowing Saturday night at Foster's room in McLean Hall. The two partedat the gate, Foster going up to his room and Neil traversing the campusand the common to his own quarters. As he opened the study door he wassurprised to hear voices within. Paul and his new acquaintance, TomCowan, were sitting side by side on the window-seat.

  "Hello," greeted the former. "How'd it go? Like old times, wasn't it?Neil, I want you to meet Mr. Cowan. Cowan has quarters up-stairs here.He's an old player, and we've been telling each other how good we are."

  Cowan looked for an instant as though he didn't quite appreciate thelatter remark, but summoned a smile as he shook hands with Neil andcomplimented him on his playing in Hillton's last game with St. Eustace.Neil replied with extraordinary politeness. He was alwaysextraordinarily polite to persons he didn't fancy, and his dislike ofCowan was instant and hearty. Cowan looked to be fully twenty-threeyears old, and owned to being twenty-one. He was fully six feet two, andapparently weighed about two hundred pounds. His face was ratherhandsome in a coarse, heavy-featured style, and his hands, as Neilobserved, were not quite clean. Later, Neil discovered that theynever were.

  After listening politely for some moments to Cowan's tales of formerfootball triumphs and defeats, in all of which the narrator played,according to his words, a prominent part, Neil broke into the stream ofhis eloquence and told Paul of his meeting with Foster, and of theirtalk regarding the freshman presidency.

  "Well," answered Paul, smiling at Cowan, "you'll have to get out of thatpromise to Foster or whatever his name is, because we've got a planbetter than that. The fact is, Neil, I'm going to try for thepresidency myself!"

  "I suppose you're fooling?" gasped Neil.

  "Not a bit! Why shouldn't I have a fling at it? Cowan here has promisedto help; in fact, it was he that suggested it. With his help and yours,and with the kind assistance of one or two fellows I know here, I daresay I can pull out on top. Anyhow, there's no harm in trying."

  "I think you'll win," said Cowan. "This chump Livingston that Foster isbooming is a regular milksop; does nothing but grind, so they say; cameout of St. Mathias with all kinds of silly prizes and such. What thefello
ws always want is a good, popular chap that goes in for athleticsand that will make a name for himself."

  "Foster said Livingston was something of a dab at baseball," said Neil.

  "Baseball!" cried Cowan. "What's baseball? Why not puss-in-the-corner? Achap with a football reputation like Gale here can walk all round yourbaseball man. We'll carry it with a rush! You'll see! Freshmen are likea lot of sheep--show 'em the way and they'll fall over themselves toget there."

  "Well, we're freshmen ourselves, you know," said Neil sweetly. Cowanlooked nonplussed for a moment. Then--

  "Oh, but you fellows are different; you've got sense. I was speaking ofthe general run of freshmen," he explained.

  "Thanks," murmured Neil. Paul scented danger.

  "I'll put the campaign in your hands and Cowan's, Neil," he said. "Youknow several fellows here--there's Wallace and Knowles and Jones.They're not freshmen, but they can give you introductions. Knowles is aSt. Agnes man and there are lots of St. Agnes fellows in our class."

  "I think you're making a mistake," answered Neil soberly, "and I wishyou'd give it up. Livingston's got lots of supporters, and he's had hiscampaign under way for a week. If you're defeated I think it'll hurtyou; fellows don't like defeated candidates when--when they'reself-appointed candidates."

  "Oh, of course, if you don't want to help," cried Paul, with a trace ofanger in his voice, "I guess we can get on without you."

  "I'm sure you won't desert your chum, Fletcher," said Cowan. "And Ithink you're all wrong about defeated candidates. If a fellow makes agood fight and is worsted no fellow that isn't a cad does other thanhonor him."

  "Well, if you've made up your mind, Paul," answered Neil reluctantly,"of course I'll do all I can if Foster will let me out of my promiseto him."

  "Oh, hang Foster!" cried Cowan. "He's a little fool!"

  "Is he?" asked Neil innocently. "I hadn't noticed it. Well, as I say,I'll do all I can. And I'll begin now by going over to see him."

  "That's the boy," said Paul. "Tell Foster there's a dark horse in thefield."

  "And tell him I say the dark horse will win," added Cowan.

  Neil smiled back politely from the doorway.

  "I don't think I'd better mention your name, Mr. Cowan." He closed thedoor behind him, leaving Cowan much puzzled as to the meaning of thelast remark, and sought No. 12 McLean. He found the varsity quarter-backwriting a letter by means of a small typewriter, his brow heavilycreased with scowls and his feet kicking exasperatedly at the legs ofhis chair.

  "Hello," was Foster's greeting. "Come in. And, I say, just look aroundon the floor there, will you, and see if you can find an L."

  "Find what?" asked Neil, searching the carpet with his gaze.

  "An L. There was one on this pesky machine a while ago, butI--can't--find--Ah, here it is! 'L-O-V-I-N-G-L-Y, T-E-D'! There, that'sdone. I bought this idiotic thing because some one said you could writeletters on it in half the time it takes with a pen. Well, I began thisletter last night, and I guess I've spent fully two hours on italtogether. For two cents I'd pitch it out the window!" He pushed backhis chair and glared vindictively at the typewriter. "And look at theresult!" He held up a sheet of paper half covered with strangecharacters and erasures. "Look how I've spelled 'allowance'--alliwzee!Do you think dad will know what I mean?"

  Neil shook his head dubiously.

  "Not unless he's looking for the word," he answered.

  "Well, he will be," grinned Foster. "Don't suppose you want to buy afine typewriter at half price, do you?"

  Neil was sure he didn't and broached the subject of his call. Fostershowed some amazement when he learned of Gale's candidacy, but at onceabsolved Neil from his promise.

  "Frankly, Fletcher, I don't think your friend has the ghost of a show,you know, but, of course, if he wants to try it it's all right. And I'mjust as much obliged to you."

  During the next week Neil worked early and late for Paul's success. Hemade some converts, but not enough to give him much hope. Livingston waseasily the popular candidate for the presidency, and Neil failed tounderstand where Cowan found ground for the encouraging reports that hemade to Paul. Paul himself was hopeful all the way through, and lent illattention to Neil's predictions of failure.

  "You always were a raven, chum," he would exclaim. "Wait until Thursdaynight."

  And Neil, without much hope, waited.