Andy at Yale

by John Kendrick Bangs

  CHAPTER XIII

  BARGAINS

  "That's enough! Get up off him! Don't you know enough, Gaffington, totell when a man's down?"

  Andy heard the sharp voice of the coach, Holwell, but the tones seemedto come from a great distance.

  "Water here!"

  "Somebody's keeled over!"

  "It's that freshman, Blair. Plucky little imp, too!"

  "Who tackled him?"

  "Gaffington. Took him a bit high and fell on him!"

  "Oh, well, this is football; it isn't kindergarten beanbag."

  Dimly Andy heard these comments. He opened his eyes, only to close themagain as he felt a dash of cold water in his face.

  "Feel all right now?"

  It was the voice of the coach in his ears. Andy felt himself beinglifted to his feet. His ears rang, and he could not see clearly. Therewas a confused mass of forms about him, and the ground seemed to reelbeneath his feet.

  Then like another dash of cold water came the thought to him, sharplyand clearly:

  "This isn't playing the game! If I'm going to go over like this everytime I'm tackled I'll never play for Yale. Brace up!"

  By sheer effort of will Andy brought his staggering senses back.

  "I--I'm all right," he panted. "Sort of a solar plexus knock, I guess."

  "That's the way to talk!" exclaimed the coach, grimly. "Now then,fellows, hit it up. Where's that ball? Oh, you had it, did you, Blair?That's right, whatever happens, keep the ball! Get into the play now.Varsity, tear up that scrub line! What's the matter with you, anyhow?You're letting 'em go right through you. Smash 'em! Smash 'em good andhard. All right now, Blair?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Get in the game then. Scrub's ball. Hurry up! Signal!"

  Sharp and incisive came his tones, like some bitter tonic. Not a word ofpraise--always finding fault; and as for sympathy--you might as wellhave looked for it from an Indian ready to use his scalping knife. Andyet--that is what made the Yale team what it was--a fighting machine.

  Once more came the line-up, the scrub quarter snapping out his signals.

  Andy took his old place. He was rapidly feeling better, yet his wholebody ached and he felt as though he had fallen from a great height. Hewas terribly jarred, for Mortimer had put into the tackle all his fierceenergy, adding to it a spice of malice.

  Andy heard the signal given for the forward pass, and felt relieved. Hecould take another few seconds to get his breathing into a more regularcadence. He looked over at Mortimer, who grinned maliciously. Andy knew,as well as if he had been told, that the tackle had been needlesslyfierce. But there was no earthly use in speaking of it. Rather would itdo him more harm than good. This, then, was part of the "getting even"game that his enemy had marked out.

  "He won't get me again, though!" thought Andy, fiercely. "If he does, itwill be my own fault. Wait until I get a chance at him!"

  It came sooner than he expected. The forward pass on the part of thescrub was a fluke and after a few more rushing plays the ball was givento the varsity to enable them to try some of their new plays.

  Several times Mortimer had the pigskin, and was able to make good gains.Then the wrath of the coach was turned against the luckless scrubs.

  "What do you fellows mean?" cried Holwell. "Letting 'em go through youthis way! Get at 'em! Break up their plays if you can! Block theirkicks. They'll think they're playing a kid team! I want 'em to work!Smash 'em! Kill 'em!"

  He was rushing about, waving his hands, stamping his feet--a veritablelittle cyclone of a coach.

  "Signal!" he cried sharply.

  It came from the varsity quarter, and Andy noticed, with a thrill in hisheart, that Gaffington was to take the ball.

  "Here's where I get him!" muttered Andy, fiercely.

  There was a rush--a thud of bodies against bodies--gaspings of breaths,the cracking of muscles and sinews. Andy felt himself in a maelstrom ofpushing, striving, hauling and toppling flesh. Then, in an instant, therecame an opening, and he saw before him but one player--Mortimer--withthe ball.

  Like a flash Andy sprang forward and caught his man in a desperateembrace--a hard, clean tackle. Andy put into it all his strength,intent only upon hurling his opponent to the turf with force enough tojar him insensible if possible.

  Perhaps he should not have done so, you may say, but Andy was onlyhuman. He was playing a fierce game, and he wanted his revenge.

  Into Mortimer's eyes came a look of fear, as he went down under theimpact of Andy. But there was this difference. Mortimer's previousexperience had taught him how to take a fall, and he came to no morehurt through Andy's fierce tackle than from that of any other player,however much Andy might have meant he should. Our hero did not stop tothink that he might have injured one of the varsity players so as to puthim out of the game, and at a time when Yale needed all the good men shecould muster. And Gaffington, in spite of his faults, was a good player.

  There was a thud as Andy and Mortimer struck the earth--a thud that toldof breaths being driven from their bodies. Then Andy saw the ball jarredfrom his opponent's arms, and, in a flash he had let go and had rolledover on it. An instant later there was an animated pile of players onboth lads, smothering their winded "Downs!"

  "That'll do! Get up!" snapped the coach. "What's the matter with you,Gaffington, to let a freshman get you that way and put you out of thegame? Porter!" he shouted and a lad came running from the bench, pullingoff his sweater as he ran, and tossing it to a companion. He had beencalled on to take Gaffington's place, and the latter, angry andshamed-faced, walked to the side lines.

  As he went he gave Andy a look, as much as to say:

  "You win this time; but the battle isn't over. I'll get you yet."

  As for Andy, his revenge had been greater than he had hoped. He had puthis enemy out of the game more effectively than if he had knocked thebreath from him by a tremendous tackle.

  "Good tackle, Blair!" called the scrub captain to him, as the line-upformed again. "That's the way to go for 'em!"

  The coach said nothing, but to the varsity captain he whispered:

  "Keep your eye on Blair. If he keeps on, he may make a player yet. He'sa little too wild, though. Don't say anything that will give him aswelled head."

  The practice went on unrelentingly, and then the candidates were orderedback to the gymnasium on the run, to be followed by a shower and a briskrub.

  Glowing with health and vigor, and yet lame and sore from the hardtackle, Andy went to his room, to find Dunk Chamber impatiently waitingfor him.

  "Oh, there you are, you old mud lark!" was the greeting. "I've beenwaiting for you. Come on around to Burke's and have some ale and ararebit."

  "No thanks. I'm in training, you know."

  "That's so. Been out on the field?"

  "Yes. I wonder you don't go in for that."

  "Too much like work. I might try for the crew or the nine. I'm afraid ofspoiling my manly beauty by getting somebody's boot heel in the eye. Bythe way, you don't look particularly handsome. What has somebody beendoing to you?"

  "Nothing more than usual. It's all in the game."

  "Then excuse me! Are you coming to Burke's? You can take sarsaparilla,you know. Thad and his bunch are coming."

  "Sure, I don't mind trailing along. Got to get at a little of thatinfernal Greek, though."

  "All right, I'll wait. The fellows will be along soon."

  And as Andy did a little of necessary studying he could not helpwondering where Dunk would end. A fine young fellow, with plenty ofmoney, and few responsibilities. Yale--indeed any college--offerednumberless temptations for such as he.

  "Well, I can't help it," thought Andy. "He's got to look out forhimself."

  And again there seemed to come to him that whisper:

  "Am I my brother's keeper?"

  Surely Dunk was a college brother.

  Andy had scarcely finished wrestling with his Homer when there came aseries of loud and jolly hails:

  "Oh, you Dun
k!"

  "Stick out your top, Blair!"

  "Here come the boys!" exclaimed Dunk. "Now for some fun!"

  The three friends trooped in.

  "Some little practice to-day, eh, Blair?" remarked Bob Hunter.

  "And some little tackle Gaffington gave you, too!" added Thad.

  "Yes, but Andy got back at him good and proper, and put him out of thegame," remarked Ted. "It was a beaut!"

  "Did you and Mortimer have a run-in?" asked Dunk quickly.

  "Oh, no more than is usual in practice," replied Andy, lightly. "Heshook me up and I came back at him."

  "If that's football, give me a good old-fashioned fight!" laughed Dunk."Well, if we're going to have some fun, come on."

  As they were leaving the room they were confronted by two otherstudents. Andy recognized one as Isaac Stein, more popularly known asIkey, a sophomore, and Hashmi Yatta, a Japanese student of more thanusual brilliancy.

  "Oh boys, such a business!" exclaimed Ikey. He was a Jew, and notashamed of it, often making himself the butt of the many expressionsused against his race. On this account he was more than tolerated--hehad many friends out of his own faith. "Such a business!" he went on,using his hands, without which he used to say he could not talk.

  "Well, what is it now?" asked Dunk with good-humored patience. "Necktiesor silk shirts?" for Ikey was working his way through college partly byacting as agent for various tradesmen, getting a commission on hissales. Dunk was one of his best customers.

  "Such a business!" went on Ikey, mocking himself. "It is ornaments,gentlemans! Beautiful ornaments from the Flowery Kingdom. Suchvawses--such vawses! Is it not, my friend Hashmi Yatta?" and he appealedto the Japanese.

  "Of a surely they are beautiful," murmured the little yellow lad. "Thereis some very good cloisonne, some kisku, and one or two pieces inawaji-yaki. Also there is some satsuma, if you would like it."

  "And the prices!" interrupted Ikey. "Such bargains! Come, you shall see.It is a crime to take them!"

  "What's it all about?" asked Dunk. "Have you fellows been looting acrockery store?"

  "No, it is Hashmi here," said the Jew. "I don't know whether hisimperial ancestors willed them to him, or sent them over as a gift, butthey are wonderful. A whole packing case full, and he'll sell them dirtcheap."

  "What do we want of 'em?" asked Andy.

  "Want of 'em, you beggar? Why they'll be swell ornaments for your room!"

  That was an appeal no freshman could resist.

  "What do you say?" asked Dunk, weakly. "Shall we take a look, Andy?"

  "I don't mind."

  "You will never regret it!" vowed Ikey. "It is wonderful. Such bargains!It is a shame. I wonder Hashmi can do it."

  "They are too many for me to keep," murmured the Jap.

  "And so he will sell some," interrupted Ikey, eagerly.

  "And pay you a commission for working them off, I suppose," spoke Thad.

  Ikey looked hurt.

  "Believe me," he said, earnestly, "believe me, what little I get out ofit is a shame, already. It is nothing. But I could not see the bargainsmissed. Come, we will have a look at them. You will never regret it!"

  "You ought to be in business--not college," laughed Dunk, as he slippedinto a mackinaw. "Come on, Andy, let's go and get stuck good andproper."

  "Stuck! Oh, such a business!" gasped Ikey, with upraised hands. "Theyare bargains, I tell you!"