Left Half Harmon

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/American Libraries.)

  LEFT HALF HARMON

  "Go out and play full-back as it should be played"]

  Left Half Harmon

  BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR

  AUTHOR OF

  LEFT END EDWARDS, QUARTER-BACK BATES, FULL-BACK FOSTER, ETC.

  ILLUSTRATED BY LESLIE CRUMP

 

  GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

  Made in the United States of America

  Copyright, 1921 By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I THE THREE GUARDSMEN 1 II KIDNAPPED! 17 III HELD BY THE ENEMY 29 IV HARMON COMES TO TERMS 37 V THE WRONG BOY 53 VI FIRST DAYS AT ALTON 65 VII IN THE COACH'S ROOM 76 VIII THE BOY IN THE GREEN SWEATER 87 IX MCNATT ON SCIENCE 101 X ALTON SQUEEZES THROUGH 116 XI THE FIRST DEFEAT 128 XII "DO YOUR BEST" 146 XIII A FORTY-YARD RUN 157 XIV ONIONS! 167 XV MARTIN CALLS QUITS 180 XVI DIPLOMACY 193 XVII MCNATT JOINS THE TEAM 213 XVIII REVENGE! 227 XIX BLACK PAINT 239 XX EVIDENCE 250 XXI BOB SAYS SO 262 XXII ON PROBATION 274 XXIII MCNATT TRIES PHOTOGRAPHY 287 XXIV ALTON CELEBRATES 302

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  "Go out and play full-back as it should be played" _Frontispiece_

  "You don't come that, Harmon! That's off! You hear me?" 54

  One brief instant they tarried to admire 242

  It was Alton's day all through 310

  LEFT HALF HARMON

  CHAPTER I

  THE THREE GUARDSMEN

  At a few minutes past three o'clock on a particularly warm afternoonin late September of last year three boys removed themselves and theirluggage from the top of a Fifth Avenue stage in New York City and setforth eastward along Forty-second Street. Although decidedly dissimilarin looks and slightly dissimilar in build, they showed, nevertheless,a certain uniformity of carriage and action and, to a lesser degree,of attire. There was nothing strange in that, however, since, for thelast two years, at least, they had spent nine months of the twelve inthe same place, at the same pursuits and under the same discipline. Thelikeness of attire was less in material and color than in a certaintasteful avoidance of the extremes. Joe Myers and Martin Proctor woreblue serge and Bob Newhall a brownish-gray tweed, and in no case wasthe coat snugged in to the figure or adorned with a belt in conformityto the dictums of the Rochester school of sartorial art. Joe and Bobwore gray-and-gold ribbons about their straw hats, Martin a plainblack. Each of the three carried a brown leather suitcase, and, had youlooked closely, you would have discovered on each bag, amongst numerousother labels, a gray triangle bearing two A's in gold snuggled togetherin a pyramid-shaped monogram.

  At Grand Central Station they crossed the street, showing a superbindifference to the traffic. The driver of a pumpkin-hued taxi-cab,whose countenance and manner of driving suggested that he had cut manynotches in his steering-wheel, yielded to a momentary weakness andjammed on his emergency brake, thereby allowing the three boys to stepcalmly and unhurriedly from his path. They seemed not to have observedtheir danger, and yet, having gained the sidewalk unharmed, one of themturned and rewarded the taxi man with a grave wink which threw thelatter into a state of apoplectic anger.

  "Guess," observed Bob with a chuckle, "we spoiled his entire day!"

  "Don't worry," responded Martin. "He'll kill enough to make up forlosing us!"

  Inside the station, they turned their steps toward the right and settheir bags down near one of the ticket windows. "You get them, Joe,"said Bob. "Here's mine." He proffered a five-dollar bill, but Joe wavedit aside.

  "I'll pay for them and you can settle on the train. I'll get all mixedup if you give me the money now." He took a rather fat wallet froman inner pocket of his coat and stepped into the line leading to thenearest wicket. The others moved their own suitcases and Joe's out ofthe way of the passers and settled themselves to wait. Martin comparedthe watch on his wrist with the station clock and yawned.

  "Nearly twelve minutes yet," he observed.

  Bob nodded. "What about parlor-car seats?" he asked.

  "There aren't any on this train."

  "Why not?"

  Martin concealed another yawn with the back of a sunburned hand. "Noparlor-car, dearie. You'll have to wait until five-ten for that, and itisn't worth it. I wouldn't wait in this Turkish bath another hour ifthey promised me a special train! Got anything to read in your bag?"

  Bob was about to answer in the affirmative when a sudden shout from theticket window interrupted and both boys looked across in time to seeJoe clutch unsuccessfully at the arm of a man who, swinging away fromthe window, now started to run fast toward the nearest exit. PerhapsBob or Martin, had he sensed instantly what was happening, might haveintercepted the man, but he had a good start before either of themrealized that the black object he slipped into a pocket as he ran wasJoe's wallet, and so it was Joe himself who led the evidently futilechase, Joe shouting "_Stop him! Stop him!_" most lustily. Abandoningsuitcases, Bob and Martin dashed after.

  The thief showed skill born of experience as he dodged his way towardthe door, avoiding a stout lady with two small children in tow oneinstant and side-stepping a bundle-laden messenger boy the next andscarcely lessening his speed. Joe had poorer luck, however, for,although he got safely past the stout lady by a miracle of dexterity,he came a cropper a stride beyond and went down in a shower of parcels!

  By now the waiting-room was in wild confusion. Cries of "Thief! Thief!"filled the air; those about the entrance were trying hard to get outof the way and those at a distance were striving madly to reach thescene. Station policemen hurriedly joined the pursuit, but theirquarry was already on the threshold of freedom when a new actor madehis appearance in the drama. Just as the thief swung toward the doorssomething shot through space, there was a crashing thud, a surprisedgrunt and the chase was over!

  A boy of seventeen unwrapped his arms from the legs of the motionlessform on the floor, arose to his feet, dusted his clothes and lookedsomewhat embarrassedly into the faces of the throng that had alreadysurrounded him. A gray-coated officer pushed his way into the center ofthe circle, gave a quick, inquiring glance at the boy and leaned overthe figure on the floor.

  "He's all right. Hit his head when he went down. Give a hand with him,Conlon, and we'll get him to one side. You come along, sir, till I getthe rights of it." A brother policeman aiding, the thief, now showingsigns of consciousness, was lifted to one side of the entrance. By thattime Joe and his companions had worked their way to the front and Joequickly told his story.

  "Grabbed your pocketbook, did he?" asked the first policeman. "Let'ssee has he got it. Sure, he has! Is this it? Hold on now, not so
fast!What's your name?"

  Martin whispered swiftly in Joe's ear, "Myers Joseph," answered Joeafter a brief hesitation.

  "And where do you live?"

  "Philadelphia."

  "Philadelphia, eh? What about making a charge against this feller?"

  "I don't see how I can," answered Joe. "My train leaves in fiveminutes."

  "Never mind the charge," broke in a new voice. "I know this duck andI'll look after him. On your feet, Clancey!"

  A clean-shaven, lean-jawed man had pushed his way through the crowd,and now he gripped the thief's coat lapels and fairly lifted him to hisfeet.

  "Detective," whispered a man behind Martin.

  "This guy's wanted," continued the newcomer. "Stand up, you're allright, 'Spike.' Put up your hands." The captive, finding that playingpossum would not do, obeyed meekly and the detective ran quick andpractised fingers over him. Then a pair of handcuffs were slipped ontothe man's wrists and he was being whisked through the throng.

  "Here's your pocketbook, young man," said the policeman importantly."You'd not have it saving this feller here." He indicated the boy whosefootball tactics had ended the chase and who, hemmed in by the crowd,was now striving to get away. "Better see if the contents is correct."

  Joe had tried to express gratitude to the other boy, examine hispocketbook and listen to the low-voiced urging of Martin all at thesame time, with the result that he was decidedly incoherent andconfused. Martin was tugging at his arm and telling him that they hadbut five minutes to get the train. The policeman came to his rescue.

  "Move on now! Move on!" he commanded sternly, pushing right and left."Stop blocking up this passage!"

  The throng dissolved almost as quickly as it had formed. Somehow,Joe and Martin, hurrying back to where Bob had returned to guard thesuitcases, found themselves close to the boy who had made the capture.He had rescued his luggage, a large kit-bag, from a bystander and, too,was seeking the ticket window.

  "I'm much obliged to you," said Joe. "I guess he'd have got away if youhadn't stopped him."

  The stranger nodded. "Yes, he was in quite a hurry. I'd just come inwhen I saw him swing around the corner and knew that something was up.I wasn't sure he was the man they were after, but I thought I'd bettertake a chance."

  "I'm certainly glad you did," replied Joe emphatically. "It was mightynice of you."

  "Not at all." The boy smiled and stepped into line at a window. Joefollowed while Martin and Bob, bags in hand, stood ready to run for thegate. A moment later the stranger turned and found Joe behind him.

  "I can get a ticket for Lakeville here, can't I?" he asked.

  "Yes. Are you a Kenly fellow?"

  "Not yet. I'm just entering. Are you going there?"

  "No, I'm Alton." The other looked slightly puzzled and so Joeexplained. "Alton Academy, you know. That's twelve miles this side ofLakeville. We play you fellows at football and baseball and so on."

  "Oh, I see. Maybe I'll see you again some time then."

  The purchaser in front hurried away and he turned from Joe to theticket seller. A minute or so later, when the three were walkingalong the platform, they again overtook the stranger, and Joe saidsmilingly: "If you're looking for a parlor car, there isn't one."

  "Thanks, I thought maybe it was up ahead."

  "Not on this train. Better come and sit with us and we'll turn a seatover."

  Fortunately for that project, the car they entered was no more thanhalf filled, and soon, having stowed their suitcases in the rackoverhead, they settled down, Bob and Martin taking the front seat andJoe and the stranger the other, the latter placing his kit-bag, whichwas too large for the rack, between his feet. As soon as they weresettled the train started.

  "By the way," said Joe, "my name's Myers, and this is Newhall and thisis Proctor."

  The other acknowledged the introductions with a smile. "Very glad toknow you," he said. "My name's Harmon."

  "Joe says you're going to Kenly," observed Bob, trying hard to keeppity out of his voice.

  "Yes, I'm just entering." There was an embarrassed silence after thatwhile the train rumbled its way through the tunnel. Then:

  "Well, everyone to his taste," murmured Martin. Joe frowned rebukinglyand Martin grinned back.

  "Guess you chaps don't think much of Kenly," said Harmon with a laugh.

  "Oh, don't pay any attention to Mart," said Bob. "Kenly's all right, Iguess. She licked us last year, 14 to 6. Beat us at hockey, too."

  "That's right," agreed Martin, though it evidently hurt him. "Kenly'sgoing to have a good team this year, too, I hear."

  "Is she?" Harmon didn't seem vastly interested.

  "Guess you play football, don't you?" asked Bob. "A fellow back theresaid you made a corking tackle of that thief!"

  "I've played some."

  Joe started. "Did you say your name was Harmon?" he demanded almostbrusquely. The other nodded inquiringly. "Did you go to Schuyler Highlast year?" pursued Joe. Harmon nodded again. Joe shot a meaningfullook at Bob and Martin. Bob answered with a slow wink, but Martinlooked puzzled. Joe relapsed into thoughtful silence, and conversationceased for a minute or two. When the train emerged from the tunnel,however, Joe settled himself further into his corner, which enabled himto see his seat companion without turning his head so far, and asked:"If it isn't too personal, Harmon, how did you happen to decide onKenly Hall?"

  Harmon looked the least bit surprised, but he answered unhesitatingly."My brother was going to Kenly," he explained. "Then he decided he'dquit school and join the Navy. So I just thought I might as well gowhere he'd started for. Guess that was the way it happened. I don'treally know much about the place. Dare say, if I'd heard of your schoolfirst I'd have gone there."

  "Gee, I wish you had!" said Joe in heartfelt tones.

  Harmon viewed him bewilderedly. Then he laughed with a suggestion ofembarrassment. "Thanks," he murmured. "Guess your school isn't missingmuch, though." He turned his gaze and busied himself with gettinghis ticket ready for the conductor. Bob, opposite, viewed him withflattering attention. He saw a boy of apparently seventeen years,well if not heavily built, with clean-cut features, quiet gray-blueeyes and brown hair. He was not particularly good-looking, but hissomewhat serious and self-confident expression would have brought asecond glance from anyone. Then, too, when he smiled he looked verylikable. Bob's thought was, as he turned his gaze away: "Thinks wellof himself, but doesn't put on any airs. Doesn't do much talking, butthinks a lot. Looks like he'd be mighty shifty on his feet and prettyhard to stop if he once got started."

  When the conductor had taken their tickets and gone on, Bob said: "Isuppose you'll be going out for the Kenly team, Harmon."

  "I think I'll have to try for it, but I guess I won't stand much of ashow." Harmon smiled deprecatingly.

  Bob frowned slightly. It was all right, he reflected, to be modest,but there was no sense in being a humbug! Joe laughed. "Oh, I daresay you'll get by," he said, faintly ironic. After a moment he addedlightly: "If they turn you down, come over to us. I'll promise you aplace!"

  Harmon smiled politely, and Bob leaned across to him. "Better take himup, Harmon," he said. "Joe's our captain, you know."

  Harmon looked with slightly more interest at Joe. "Really?" he asked."I'll have to remember your offer then." But the joking tone in hisvoice indicated that he wasn't taking the suggestion very seriously.While his head was turned, Bob surreptitiously reversed the leathertag that hung from the handle of the kit-bag at his feet. Behind thelittle celluloid window the named stared out distinctly:

  Gordon Edward Harmon.

  "Yes, we're both guards," Joe was saying when Bob sank back in his seatagain. "In fact, all three of us are, for that's Proctor's position,too."

  "Oh, I'm only a sub," disclaimed Martin, "one of the 'also-rans.'"

  "'The Three Guardsmen,'" laughed Harmon. "I guess I read about youfellows once."

  "Wasn't there a fourth one?" asked Bob. "I never could see why thatfellow Dumas called the
story 'The Three Guardsmen.'"

  "That's right," said Martin. "D'Artagnan made the fourth."

  "Maybe D'Artagnan was a back," suggested Joe, chuckling.

  "Guess he was quarter-back," said Martin, "for he usually ran the game!"

  Bob shifted his feet and stretched. "Guess I'll walk through and see ifany of the fellows are aboard," he said. "Want to come along, Joe?"

  "Sure." Joe arose with alacrity and joined Bob in the aisle, and theymade their way forward. Martin, left alone with the new acquaintance,gazed wistfully after his friends and then, with a sigh, put his feetwhere Bob had sat and prepared to make polite conversation. MartinProctor was seventeen, rather thick-set and had a round face fromwhich a pair of brown eyes viewed the world with quizzical good humor.Just now the good humor was slightly obscured, for he wasn't keen onentertaining this strange youth who preferred Kenly Hall to AltonAcademy. However, conversation progressed well enough, once started,and presently Martin forgot his hostility.

  Meanwhile Joe and Bob had come to anchor in a seat in the smoking carahead. "It's he, all right," announced Bob triumphantly.

  Joe nodded. "Yes, I guess it is."

  "I don't guess; I know! Wasn't Harmon's name Gordon Harmon?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, that's the name on his bag. I looked when he was talking to you.Gordon Edward Harmon's his name!"

  Joe shrugged. "I wonder how they got him, Bob," he said.

  "You heard his yarn, didn't you?" replied Bob, chuckling.

  "Yes, and I believed it--not! I'd just like to know how Kenly gets allthe good players every year. They pretend they don't go after them,but it's mighty funny! There's a heap more than luck in it! Here weare needing a good full-back like Harmon the worst way, and he has toselect Kenly. It makes you sick!"

  "Reckon he's as good as the papers made him out?"

  "Of course he is! Great Scott, you can't get away from his record,Bob! Why, last year every one of the New York papers that I saw madehim first-choice full-back on the All-Scholastic Team. The man was awonder, considering his age. Funny thing is that he doesn't look it. Imean he doesn't look as heavy as they said he was. He does look prettygood, though."

  "Y-yes, but I'd never take him for a plunger. Doesn't seem to be theright build. Looks more like a fellow who'd be fast and shifty outsidetackles."

  "Yes," Joe agreed, "but you can't always tell by appearances. Anyway, Iwish to goodness we were getting him instead of Kenly!"

  Bob nodded and there ensued a long silence during which Joe lookedfrowningly from the window and Bob gazed fixedly at his hands. It wasBob who spoke first. "Say, Joe," he asked slowly, "you don't suppose wecould persuade him to come to Alton instead, do you?"

  Joe sniffed. "He looks like a fellow you could persuade, doesn't he?"he asked sarcastically. "Besides, what are you going to offer him?And if we did make him an offer we'd get in wrong with faculty. TheAthletic Committee wouldn't back us up, either."

  "Reckon Kenly's making it easy for him?" asked Bob doubtfully.

  "I don't know. Looks like it, doesn't it? I know they pretend to haveclean hands and all that, and they surely do enough blowing, but it'smighty funny they're always getting star players from the high schoolsand smaller prep schools. Look at last year. If they hadn't had Greeneand Powers they'd never have licked us; and Greene had just enteredfrom that school up in Rhode Island and Powers was fresh from StamfordHigh. Oh, well, there's no use grouching. Let's go back."

  "Wait a moment." Bob still stared at his hands and spoke thoughtfully."Seems to me this chap's too good to lose, Joe, without making aneffort."

  "Sure he is," growled the captain. "What's on your mind?"

  Bob looked around guardedly. "I'll tell you," he said.