CHAPTER XXIII
NEIL GOES IN
But what a dismal beginning it was!
Pearse, who had taken Gillam's place at right half-back, misjudged thelong, low kick, just managed to tip the ball with one outstretched handas it went over his head, and so had to turn and chase it back to thegoal-line. But Mason had seen the danger and was before him. Seizing thebouncing pigskin, he was able to reach the ten-yard line ere theRobinson right end bore him to earth. A moment later the ball went tothe other side as a penalty for holding, and it was Robinson's firstdown on Erskine's twelve yards. Neil, watching intently from the bench,groaned loudly. Stone, beside him, kicked angrily into the turf.
"That settles it," he muttered glumly. "Idiots!"
Pearse it was who met that first fierce onslaught of the Brown's tandem,and he was new to the play; but Mason was behind him, and he was sentcrashing into the leader like a ball from the mouth of a cannon. Thetandem stopped; a sudden bedlam of voices from the stands broke forth;there were cries of "Ball! Ball!" and Witter flung himself through,rolled over a few times, and on the twenty-yard line, with half theErskine team striving to pull him on and all the Robinson team trying topull him back, groaned a faint "Down!" Robinson's tackle had fumbled thepass, and for the moment Erskine's goal was out of danger.
"Line up!" shouted Ted Foster. "Signal!"
The men scurried to their places.
"_49--35--23!_"
Back went the ball and Pearse was circling out toward his own left end,Paul interfering. The north stand leaped to its feet, for it looked fora moment as though the runner was safely away. But Seider, the Brown'sright half, got him about the knees, and though Pearse struggled and wasdragged fully five yards farther, finally brought him down. Fifteenyards was netted, and the Erskine supporters found cause forloud acclaim.
"Bully tackle, that," said Neil. Stone nodded.
"Seems to me we can get around those ends," he muttered; "especially theleft. I don't think Bloch is much of a wonder. There goes Pearse."
The ends were again worked by the two half-backs and the distance thricewon. The purple banners waved ecstatically and the cheers for Erskinethundered out. Neil was slapping Stone wildly on the knee.
"Hold on," protested the left end, "try the other. That one's a bitlame."
"Isn't Pearse a peach?" said Neil. "Oh, but I wish I was out there!"
"You may get a whack at it yet," answered Stone. "There goes a jab atthe line."
"I may," sighed Neil. He paused and watched Mason get a yard through theBrown's left tackle. "Only, if I don't, I suppose I won't get my E."
"Oh, yes, you will. The Artmouth game counts, you know."
"I wasn't in it."
"That's so, you weren't; I'd forgotten. But I think you'll get it, justthe--Good work, Gale!" Paul had made four yards outside of tackle, andit was again Erskine's first down on the fifty-five-yard line. Thecheers from the north stand were continuous; Neil and Stone were obligedto put their heads together to hear what each other said.
For five minutes longer Erskine's wonderful good fortune continued, andthe ball was at length on Robinson's twenty-eight yards near the northside-line. Foster was waving his hand entreatingly toward the seats,begging for a chance to make his signals heard. From across the field,in the sudden comparative stillness of the north stand, thundered theconfident slogan of Robinson. The brown-stockinged captain andquarter-back was shouting incessantly:
"Steady now, fellows! Break through! Break through! Smash 'em up!" Heran from one end to the other, thumping each encouragingly on the back,whispering threats and entreaties into their ears. "Now, then, Robinson,let's stop 'em right here!"
Foster, red-faced and hoarse, leaned forward, patted Stowell on thethigh, caught the ball, passed it quickly to Mason as that youth plungedfor the line, and then threw himself into the breach, pushing, heaving,fighting for every inch that gave under his torn and scuffled shoes.
"Second down; four to gain!"
Robinson was awake now to her danger. Foster saw the futility of furtherattempts at the line for the present and called for a run around leftend. The ball went to Pearse, but Bloch for once was ready for him, and,getting by Kendall, nailed the runner prettily four yards back of theline to the triumphant paeans of the south stand.
When the teams had again lined up Foster dropped back as though to try akick for goal, a somewhat difficult feat considering the angle. TheRobinson captain was alarmed; he was ready to believe that a team whohad already sprung one surprise on him was capable of securing goalsfrom any angle whatever; his voice arose in hoarse entreaty:
"Get through and block this kick, fellows! Get through! Get through!"
"_Signal_!" cried Foster. "_44--18--23!_"
The ball flew back from Stowell and Foster caught it breast-high. TheErskine line held for a moment, then the blue-clad warriors cameplunging through desperately, and had Foster attempted a kick the ballwould never have gone ten feet; but Foster, who knew his limitations inthe kicking line as well as any one else, had entertained no such idea.The pigskin, fast clutched to Paul's breast, was already circling theBrown's left end. Devoe had put his opponent out of the play, therebyrevenging himself for like treatment in the first half, and Pearse, averitable whirlwind, had bowled over the Robinson left half. There is,perhaps, no prettier play than a fake kick, when it succeeds, and thefriends of Erskine recognized the fact and showed their appreciation ina way that threatened to shake the stand from its foundations.
Paul and Pearse were circling well out in the middle of the field towardthe Robinson goal, now some thirty yards distant measured by whitelines, but far more than that by the course they were taking. Behindthem streamed a handful of desperate runners; before them, rapidlygetting between them and the goal, sped White, the Robinson captain andquarter. To the spectators a touch-down looked certain, for it was oneman against two; the pursuit was not dangerous. But to Paul it seemed ateach plunge a more forlorn attempt. So far he had borne more than hisshare of the punishment sustained by the tackle-tandem defense; he hadworked hard on offense since the present half began, and now, weariedand aching in every bone and muscle, he found himself scarce able tokeep pace with his interference.
He would have yielded the ball to Pearse had he been able to tell theother to take it; but his breath was too far gone for speech. So heplunged onward, each step slower than that before, his eyes fixed on thefarthest white streak. From three sides of the great field poured forththe resonance of twelve thousand voices, triumphant, despairing,appealing, inciting, the very acme of sound.
Yet Paul vows that he heard nothing save the beat of Pearse's footstepsand the awful pounding of his own heart.
On the fifteen-yard line, just to the left of the goal, the criticalmoment came. White, with clutching, outstretched hands, strove to evadePearse's shoulder, and did so. But the effort cost him what he gained,for, dodging Pearse and striving to make a sudden turn toward Paul, hisfoot slipped and he measured his length on the turf; and ere he hadregained his feet the pursuit passed over him. Pearse met the firstrunner squarely and both went down. At the same instant Paul threw upone hand blindly and fell across the last line.
On the north stand hats and flags sailed through the air. The southstand was silent.
Paul lay unmoving where he had fallen. Simson was at his side in amoment. Neil, his heart thumping with joy, watched anxiously from thebench. Presently the group dissolved and Paul emerged between Simson andBrowning, white of face and stumbling weakly on his legs, but grinninglike a jovial satyr. Mills turned to the bench and Neil's heart jumpedinto his throat; but it was Smith and not he who struggled feverishlyout of his sweater, donned a head-harness, and sped on to the field.Neil sighed and sank back.
"Next time," said Stone sympathetically. But Neil shook his head.
"I guess there isn't going to be any 'next time,'" he said dolefully."Time's nearly up."
"Not a bit of it; the last ten minutes is longer than all the rest ofthe
game," answered Stone. "I wonder who'll try the goal."
"We've got to have it," said Neil. "Surely Devoe can kick an easy onelike that! Why, it's dead in the center!" Stone shook his head.
"I know, but Bob's got a bad way of getting nervous times like this. Heknows that if he misses we've lost the game, unless we can manage toscore again, which isn't likely; and it's dollars to doughnuts hedoesn't come anywhere near it!"
Paul staggered up to the bench, Simson carefully wrapping a blanketabout him, and the fellows made room for him a little way from whereNeil sat. He stretched his long legs out gingerly because of the aches,sighed contentedly, and looked about him. His eyes fell on Neil.
"Hello, chum!" he said weakly. "Haven't you gone in yet?"
"Not yet," answered Neil cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, I'm--ouch!--I'm all right; a bit sore here and there."
"Devoe's going to kick," said Stone uneasily.
The ball had been brought out, and now Foster was holding it directly infront of the center of the cross-bar. The south stand was cheering andsinging wildly in a desperate attempt to rattle the Erskine captain. Thelatter looked around once, and the Robinson supporters, taking that as asign of nervousness, redoubled their noise.
"Muckers!" groaned Neil. Stone grinned.
"Everything goes with them," he said.
The referee's hand went down, Devoe stepped forward, the blue-clad lineleaped into the field, and the ball sped upward. As it fell Neil turnedto Stone and the two stared at each other in doubt. From both standsarose a confused roar. Then their eyes sought the score-board at thewest end of the field and they groaned in unison.
"NO GOAL."
"What beastly luck!" muttered Stone.
Neil was silent. Mills and Jones were standing near by and lookingtoward the bench and Neil imagined they were discussing him. He watchedbreathlessly, then his heart gave a suffocating leap and he was racingtoward the two coaches.
"Warm up, Fletcher."
That was all, but it was all Neil asked for. In a twinkling he wastrotting along the line, stretching his cramped legs and arms. As hepassed the bench he tried to look unconcerned, but the row of kindly,grinning faces told him that his delight was common property. Paulsilently applauded.
Meanwhile the teams had again faced each other. Twelve minutes of playremained and the score-board said: Erskine 5, Opponents 6. Both elevenshad made changes. For Erskine, Graham, immense of bulk but slow, hadreplaced Stowell at center, and Reardon was in Foster's position.Robinson had put in new men at left tackle, right end, and full-back.The game went on again.
Devoe got the kick-off and brought the ball back to his thirty yards;but he was injured when thrown and Bell took his place. Smith and Masoneach made two yards around the ends and Pearse got through left-guardfor one. Then a plunge at right tackle resulted disastrously, Masonbeing forced back three yards, and Smith took the pigskin for a tryoutside of right tackle. He was stopped easily and Mason kicked.Robinson got the ball on her fifty yards and ran it back to Erskine'sforty-three. Once more the tackle-tandem was brought into play. Smithfailed to stop it, and the head of the defense was given to Pearse; butRobinson's new left tackle was a good man, and yard by yard Erskine wasborne back toward her goal. The south stand blossomed anew with brownsilk and bunting.
On her thirty yards Erskine was penalized for off-side and the ball wasalmost under her goal. The first fierce plunge of the tandem broke thePurple line in twain and the backs went through for three yards. Masonwas hurt and the whistle shrilled. A cheer arose from the north standand a youth running into the field from the side-line heard it withfast-beating heart.
"_Erskine! Erskine! Erskine! Rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah, rah-rah-rah!Fletcher! Fletcher! Fletcher!_"
Mason was taken off, protesting feebly, and on the next plunge of thetackle-tandem Neil, with Pearse behind him, brought hope back to Erskinehearts, for the "antidote" worked to perfection again. All the pent-upstrength and enthusiasm of Neil's body and heart were turned loose, andhe played, as he had known he could if given the opportunity, as he hadnever played before, either at Erskine or Hillton. The spirit of battleheld him; he was perfectly happy, and every knock and bruise brought himjoy rather than pain. His chance had come to prove to both the coachesand the fellows that their first estimate of him was the correct one.
Robinson made her distance and gained the twenty-yard line by a trickplay outside of left tackle; but that was all she did on that occasion,for in the next three downs she failed to advance the ball a singleinch, and it went to Erskine. Neil dropped back and the pigskin settledinto his ready hands. When it next touched earth it was in Robinson'spossession on her own fifty yards. That punt brought a burst of applausefrom the north seats. Robinson tried tackle-tandem again and Neil andPearse stopped it short. Again, and again there was no advance; but whenNeil picked himself out of the pile-up he made the discovery thatsomething was radically wrong with his right arm and shoulder. He satdown on the trampled turf to think it over and closed his eyes. He heardthe whistle and Reardon's voice above him:
"Hurt?"
Neil looked up and shook his head. His gaze fell on Simson headed towardhim followed by the water-carrier. He staggered to his feet, Reardon'sarm about him.
"Keep 'Baldy' away," he muttered. "I'm all right; but don't let him getto me."
Reardon looked at his white face for a second in doubt. Simson wasalmost up to them. He wanted to win, did Reardon, and--
"All right here," he cried.
Neil went to his place, Simson retreated, suspicion written all over hisface, and the whistle sounded.
Neil met the next attack with his left shoulder fore-most. And it wasErskine's ball on Robinson's fifty-yards.
On the first try around the Brown's left end Smith took the leathertwenty yards, catching Bloch napping. The north stand was on its feet inan instant. Cheer after cheer broke forth encouraging the Purplewarriors to fight their way across those six remaining white lines andwrest victory from defeat. But there was no time to struggle over thethirty yards that intervened. A long run might bring a touch-down ifErskine could again get a back around an end, but two minutes was tooshort a time for line-bucking; and, besides, Reardon had his orders.
On the side-line the timekeeper was keeping a careful eye upon hisstop-watch.
A try by Neil outside of right tackle netted but a yard and left himhalf fainting on the ground. Pearse set off for the left end of the lineon the next play, but never reached it; the Robinson right tackle gotthrough on to him and stopped him well back of his line.
"Third down," called the referee, "five to gain!"
The teams were lined up about half-way between the Robinson goal and thesouth side of the field, the ball just inside the thirty-yard line.Reardon had been directed to try for a field-goal as soon as he gotinside the twenty-five yards. This was only the thirty yards, and theangle was severe. There was perhaps one chance in three of making a goalfrom placement; a drop-kick was out of the question. Moreover, to makematters more desperate, Neil was injured; just how badly Reardon didn'tknow, but the other's white, drawn face told its own story. If theattempt failed he would be held to blame by the coaches, if it succeededhe would be praised for good generalship; it was a way coaches had. Hisconsideration of the problem lasted but a fraction of a minute. Heglanced at Neil and their eyes met. The quarter-back's mind was made upon the instant.
"_Signal_!" he cried. "_Steady, fellows; we want this; every one holdhard_!"
He trotted back to the thirty-five-yard line and dropped to his knees,directly behind and almost facing center. Neil took up his positionthree yards from him and facing the goal. Pearse and Smith stood guardbetween him and the line. The Robinson right half turned and sped backto join the quarter, whose commands to "Get through and stop this kick!"were being shouted lustily from his position near the goal-line.
"Signal!" Reardon repeated. Graham stooped over the ball. Neil, pale butwith a little smile about his mouth, m
easured his distance. Victorydepended upon him. From where Reardon knelt to the goal was nearly fortyyards on a straight line and the angle was severe. If he made it, welland good; if he missed--He recalled what Mills had told him ere hesent him in:
"I think you can win this for us, Fletcher. Once inside theirtwenty-five Reardon will give you the ball for a kick from drop orplacement, as you think best. Whatever happens, don't let your nervesget the best of you. If you miss, why, you've missed, that's all. Don'tthink the world's coming to an end because we've been beaten. A hundredyears from now, when you and I aren't even memories, Erskine will stillbe turning out football teams. But if we can, we want to win. Just keepcool and do your level best, that's all we ask. Now get in there."
Neil took a deep breath. He'd do his best. If the line held, the ballought to go over. He was cool enough now, and although his shoulderseemed on fire, the smile about his mouth deepened and grew confident.Reardon stretched forth his hands.
"_Signal!_" he cried for the third time; but no signal was forthcoming.Instead Graham sped the ball back to him, steady and true, and theRobinson line, almost caught napping, failed to charge until the ovalhad settled into Reardon's hands and had been placed upon the groundwell cocked at the goal. Then the Brown's warriors broke through andbore down, big and ugly, upon Pearse and Smith; but Neil was steppingtoward the ball; a long stride, a short one, a long one, and toe andpigskin came together. Pearse was down and Smith was shoulderingvaliantly at a big guard. Two blue-clad arms swept upward almost intothe path of the rising ball; there was a confused sound of crashingbodies and rasping canvas, and then a Robinson man bounded against Neiland sent him reeling to earth.
For an instant the desire to lie still and close his eyes was strong.But there was the ball! He rolled half over, and raising himself on hisleft hand looked eagerly toward the posts. The pigskin, turning lazilyover and over, was still in flight. Straight for the goal it wasspeeding, but now it had begun to drop. Neil's heart stood still. Wouldit clear the cross-bar? It seemed scarcely possible, but even as despairseized him, for an instant the bar came between his straining eyes andthe dropping ball!
A figure with tattered purple sleeves near at hand leaped into the air,waving his arms wildly. On the stand across the field pandemoniumbroke loose.
Neil closed his eyes.
A moment later Simson found him there, sitting on the thirty-five-yardline, one arm hanging limply over his knee, his eyes closed, and hiswhite face wreathed in smiles.
Erskine 10, Opponents 6, said the score-board.
CHAPTER XXIV
AFTER THE BATTLE
"You'll not get off so easily this time," said the doctor.
"No, sir," replied Neil, striving to look concerned.
He was back on the couch again, just where he had been four weeksprevious, with his shoulder swathed about in bandages just as it hadbeen then.
"I can't see what you were thinking about," went on the other irritably,"to go on playing after you'd bust things up again."
"No, sir--that is, I'm sure I don't know." Neil's tone was very meek,but the doctor nevertheless looked at him suspiciously.
"Humph! Much you care, I guess. But, just the same, my fine fellow,it'll be Christmas before you have the use of that arm again. That'llgive you time to see what an idiot you were."
"Thank you, sir."
The doctor smiled in spite of himself and looked away.
Erskine vs. Robinson--The Second Half.]
"Doesn't seem to have interfered with your appetite, anyhow," he said,glancing at the well-nigh empty tray on the chair.
"No, sir; I--I tried not to eat much, but I was terribly hungry, Doc."
"Oh, I guess you'll do." He picked up his hat; then he faced the couchagain and its occupant. "The trouble with you chaps," he said severely,"is that as long as you've managed to get a silly old leather wind-bagover a fool streak of lime you think it doesn't matter how much you'vebroke yourselves to pieces."
"Yes, it's very thoughtless of us," murmured Neil with deepcontriteness.
"Humph!" growled the doctor. "See you in the morning."
When the door had closed Neil reached toward the tray and with muchdifficulty buttered a piece of Graham bread, almost the only ediblething left. Then he settled back against the pillows, not withoutseveral grimaces as the injured shoulder was moved, and contentedly ateit. He was very well satisfied. To be sure, a month of invalidism wasnot a pleasing prospect, but things might have been worse. And the endpaid for all. Robinson had departed with trailing banners; the coachesand the whole college were happy; Paul was happy; Sydney was happy; hewas happy himself. Certainly the bally shoulder--ouch!--hurt at times;but, then one can't have everything one wants. His meditations wereinterrupted by voices and footsteps outside the front door. He boltedthe last morsel of bread and awaited the callers.
These proved to be Paul and Sydney and--Neil stared--Tom Cowan.
"Rah-rah-rah!" shouted Paul, slamming the door. "How are they coming,chum? Here's Burr and Cowan to make polite injuries after yourinquiries--I mean inquiries--well, you know what I mean. Tom's beensaying all sorts of nice things about your playing, and I think he'dlike to shake hands with the foot that kicked that goal."
Neil laughed and put out his hand. Cowan, grinning, took it.
"It was fine, Fletcher," he said with genuine enthusiasm. "And, someway, I knew when I saw you drop back that you were going to put it over.I'd have bet a hundred dollars on it!"
"Thunder, you were more confident than I was!" Neil laughed. "I wouldn'thave bet more than thirty cents. Well, Board of Strategy, how did youlike the game?"
Sydney shook his head gravely.
"I wouldn't care to go through it again," he answered. "I had all kindsof heart disease before the first half was over, and after that I wasin a sort of daze; didn't know really whether it was football orFriday-night lectures."
"You ought to have been at table to-night, chum," said Paul. "We madeRome howl. Mills made a speech, and so did Jones and 'Baldy,' and--oh,every one. It was fine!"
"And they cheered a fellow named Fletcher for nearly five minutes,"added Sydney. "And--"
"Hear 'em!" Cowan interrupted. From the direction of the yard came along volley of cheers for Erskine. Dinner was over and the fellows wereready for the celebration; they were warming up.
"Great times to-night," said Paul happily. "I wish you were going out tothe field with us, Neil."
"Maybe I will."
"If you try it I'll strap you down," replied Paul indignantly. "By theway, Mills told me to announce his coming. He's terribly tickled, isMills, although he doesn't say very much."
"He's still wondering how you went stale before the game and then playedthe way you did," said Sydney. "However, I didn't say anything." Hecaught himself up and glanced doubtfully toward Cowan. "I don't knowwhether it's a secret?" He appealed to Neil, who was frowning acrossat him.
"What's a secret?" demanded Paul.
"Don't mind me," said Cowan. "It may be a secret, but I guessed it longago, didn't I, Paul?"
"What in thunder are you all talking about?" asked that youth, staringinquiringly from one to another. Sydney saw that he had touched onforbidden ground and now looked elaborately ignorant.
"Oh, nothing, Paul," answered Neil. "When are you all going out to thefield?"
"But there is something," his chum protested warmly. "Now out with it.What is it, Cowan? What did you guess?"
"Why, about Fletcher going stale so that you could get into the game,"answered Cowan, apparently ignorant of Neil's wrathful grimaces. "Iguessed right away. Why--"
"Oh, shut up, won't you?" Neil entreated. "Don't mind them, Paul;they're crazy. Sydney, you're an ass, if you only knew it."
"But I thought he knew--" began Sydney.
"No, I didn't know," said Paul, quietly, his eyes on Neil's avertedface. "I--I must have been blind. It's plain enough now, of course. If Ihad known I wouldn't have taken the place."
"You're al
l a set of idiots," muttered Neil.
"I'm sorry I said anything," said Sydney, genuinely distressed.
"I'm glad," said Paul. "I'm such a selfish brute that I can't see halfan inch before my nose. Chum, all I've got to say--"
"Shut up," cried Neil. "Listen, fellows, they're marching across thecommon. Some one help me to the window. I want to see."
Paul strode to his side, and putting an arm under his shoulders liftedhim to his feet. Sydney lowered the gas and the four crowded to thewindow. Across the common, a long dark column in the starlight, trampedall Erskine, and at the head marched the band.
"Gee, what a crowd!" muttered Cowan.
The head of the procession passed through the gate and turned toward thehouse, and the band struck up 'Neath the Elms of Old Erskine. Hundredsof voices joined in and the slow and stately song thundered up towardthe star-sprinkled sky.
Paul's arm was still around his room-mate; its clasp tightened a little.
"Say, chum."
"Well?" muttered Neil.
"Thanks."
"Oh, don't bother me," Neil grumbled. "Let's get out of this; they'restopping."
Sydney had stolen, as noiselessly as one may on crutches, to thechandelier, and suddenly the gas flared up, sending a path of lightacross the street and revealing the three at the window. Neil,exclaiming and protesting, strove to draw back, but Paul held him fast.From the crowd outside came the deep and long-drawn _A-a-ay!_ and grewand spread up the line.
And then the cheering began.
Behind the Line: A Story of College Life and Football Page 23