Barbour Ralph Henry
Left Half Harmon

CHAPTER XII
“DO YOUR BEST”

Friday dawned fair and warm, and Willard, looking forth from a window while dressing, smilingly pictured McNatt, far afield, gathering mushrooms from the sunlit meadows. One thing, however, was certain, Willard reflected, and that was that the enthusiastic McNatt would never induce him to partake of that mushroom supper! Yesterday he might perhaps have taken a chance, but today life was too well worth living.

In the afternoon, contrary to custom, there was a hard and prolonged scrimmage between the first and second teams. Ordinarily the day before a contest was given over to formation drill, with only a brief line-up, but today, with Lorimer Academy looming dangerously ahead, Coach Cade couldn’t afford to be lenient. One radical change in the first team line-up was apparent when the two teams faced each other. Arnold Lake, the regular left half-back, was at left end in place of Sanford, and Mawson was at left half. Doubtless it was only an experiment and might not prove satisfactory, but Willard saw, with a quickening of his pulse, that if the change became permanent he would be one notch nearer the realization of his hopes. With only Mawson and, perhaps, Moncks ahead of him, the position of first substitute was just over the horizon. And events that day certainly fostered optimism, for before the practice game was over Mawson was relegated to the bench and Willard took his place. For something like ten minutes life was very strenuous for him. The first was thrice given the ball on the second’s twenty-yard-line and thrice failed to take it over, although Coach Cade stormed and Gil Tarver commanded and Captain Bob Myers implored. The second fought desperately and would not yield the final few feet. In those assaults Willard played his part well, making up in speed and aggressiveness what he lacked in weight. If he didn’t perform any outstanding feat, at least he gained as certainly as Cochran, beside him, and more surely than Steve Browne, again restored to full-back position for lack of a better man. The nearest thing to a mishap befalling Willard was his failure to hold a short forward-pass over the left of the line that might possibly have produced the desired score. But he was sorely beset and, jostled and badgered by the second team backs, he could not make the ball secure after it reached him. That came in the last attack, and afterwards, when Cochran’s desperate attempt at the left of center had failed to carry him over by two feet, the ball was given to the second and Greenwood, standing behind his goal, kicked to safety. It is quite possible that Willard looked for some slight expression of commendation from captain or coach when the whistle blew, for he was under the impression that he had done none so badly for a first appearance on the big team, but the only mention of his part in the fracas that he heard was made by the quarter-back. Probably Tarver had no intention of being unkind, but his regrets haunted Willard for the rest of the day.

“Too bad you couldn’t hold that forward, Harmon,” Tarver said on the way back to the gymnasium. “Gee, we’d have had a score sure if you had!”

Seeking sympathy, Willard repeated the remark to Martin that evening, expecting Martin to tell him that it wasn’t his fault and that Gil Tarver was unreasonable. But Martin only shook his head as he replied cheerfully: “Yes, it was a shame, Brand. Still, I don’t believe first would have scored. Gil threw too short and you were five yards from the line.”

“We-ell,” said Willard, “you think I ought to have caught it?”

“What? Oh, I don’t know about that. You’ve got to be mighty quick to get your hands around a forward or else you’ll miss it. And it’s a heap easier than it looks, usually.”

Willard went to sleep that night somewhat disheartened by the conclusion that Fortune had given him an opportunity to prove his ability and he had failed. Doubtless, he thought, another such opportunity would be long in coming. He lived over that disastrous attempt to catch the forward-pass and wondered whether, had he leaped an instant sooner, he would have held it; whether, in short, anything he could have done and didn’t would have insured success. He tried to comfort himself with the reiterated assertion that no one, not even Captain Myers, whose work on the receiving end of forward-passes was phenomenal, could have done any better, but he fell asleep before reiteration produced conviction and passed through a number of unpleasant dreams before he awoke again to a bright and brisk October morning.

Lorimer was always an uncertain quantity when it came to the yearly gridiron contests with Alton, and, since the red-legged invaders had nosed out a victory over the Gray-and-Gold last fall, it was held to be highly desirable that a conclusive defeat be handed them on the present occasion. And there appeared to be no good reason why Alton shouldn’t win, for, while Lorimer was well coached and knew plenty of football, she had sustained two defeats so far this season and had but one victory to her credit.

To Willard, observing proceedings from the bench, sandwiched between Martin and Ned Richards, the playing of Lake at left end again brought renewed encouragement. At least it was evident that Mr. Cade believed well enough of the experiment to give it a thorough trial, and all during the game Willard rooted hard, if silently, for the ex-half-back and prayed that he would make good as an end! Lorimer took the kick-off and at once showed her running ability when a tow-headed right half reeled off nearly thirty yards before Cochran brought him down. The enemy showed several novel variations of old plays and twice made first down before she was finally forced to kick on Alton’s forty-two yards. She was master of the shift and sent her plays at the long or short side of the line with beautiful and confusing impartiality. Also, her backfield was composed of slim, fast and elusive youths who had a remarkable faculty of slipping out of the opponents’ clutches. In brief, it became apparent during the first few minutes of play that the home team was destined to have her hands full that afternoon and would be supremely fortunate if she kept her goal-line inviolate. The first quarter, however, passed without either team reaching scoring distance. There was much punting, at which Alton was slightly superior, and many attempts at end running by Lorimer, some of which succeeded. Only one forward-pass was tried, and that, by the enemy, went wrong and landed the ball in Alton’s hands. The latter made her distance five times and Lorimer four, and at the end of the first twelve minutes an unbiased critic would have said that on performance the opponents were about equal. He might have added, however, that the Red somehow gave the impression of having more in reserve than the Gray-and-Gold, and if he had said so he would have been proved correct by future events.

Alton started a brave advance in the second period and, with Cochran and Mawson alternating on attacks between tackles and Gil Tarver scampering around the ends, thrice made it first down in enemy territory. But on Lorimer’s twenty-seven yards, Lake became too eager and Alton was set back for off-side, and after a futile attempt to make up the lost ground, Tarver fell back and kicked to the three yards. Lorimer punted on second down and the pigskin fell into Tarver’s hands in midfield and that hustled back seven yards before he consented to stop. Alton took up the journey again, while some three hundred brazen-throated adherents cheered encouragingly from the stand. Halted on the thirty-six, Browne threw overhead to Joe Myers and Joe caught brilliantly and was toppled for an eight-yard gain. Lake, skirting around, took the ball from Tarver and tried hard to make good on the farther side, but was run back for a two-yard loss. Another forward grounded, and Tarver, with twelve to go on third down, faked a kick and carried outside right tackle to Lorimer’s sixteen for the distance. The Gray-and-Gold shouted jubilantly and chanted her desire for a touchdown. But, although Mawson got three through Lorimer’s left and followed it with two more off tackle on the other side, again Fortune turned her thumb down. Stacey Ross was caught holding and a stern referee paced the pigskin back an interminable fifteen yards. Tarver’s run from kick formation failed to fool the enemy and he regained but twelve of the fifteen. Perhaps a forward-pass would have gained the distance, but Tarver chose to try for a field-goal, and, standing near Lorimer’s twenty-five-yard line, he held out his hands while the stands grew still. The angle was not severe and if Leroy, at left tackle, had held firm, the quarter would probably have scored three points that later in the day would have loomed large. But Leroy gave before the desperate onslaught of the foe and Tarver was hurried. The ball had height and distance, but not direction, and passed a foot to the right of the nearest upright.

The half ended a minute later with the pigskin in Lorimer’s possession near her forty.

Willard trotted back to the gymnasium with the rest and hugged the knowledge that Arnold Lake had shown himself a valuable man at the end of the line. Willard could have told you almost every move that Lake had made during those twenty-four minutes of playing time! Coach Cade was sparing of criticism today, for no glaring faults had been apparent and the fighting spirit had been evident. He did warn against infractions of the rules, however, pointing out that had it not been for Ross’s holding Alton would now be at least six points to the good. “We lost thirty yards by penalties, and Lorimer lost only ten. The twenty yards’ difference may mean the loss of the game. Guard against being off-side, fellows, and against holding. Don’t let’s make the opponent any gifts! You’ve got to fight harder this half and run your plays off quicker. You’re up against a heady bunch of fellows and you’ve got to outwit them as well as outplay them if you’re going to win. I want to see the backs start a little quicker and hit the line with more steam. That applies to you especially, Browne. You have a rotten tendency to slow up at the line, just when you should be going the hardest. You miss two and three yards regularly on every play by that sort of thing. See if you can’t put more slam into it!”

Five minutes later they were back again, greeted by the longdrawn “A – l – t – o – n! A – L – T – O – N!! A – L – T – O – N!!!” from hundreds of throats. And, when the Gray-and-Gold-striped players had spread down the field for the kick-off, there came the sharp, rifle-shot cheer of

A-L-T-O-N! A-L-T-O-N!! A-L-T-O-N!!!

Win! Win! Win! Win! Win! Win! Win! Win!

It was nip-and-tuck for the first half of that third period, with neither team making headway and the ball in air half the time. Alton’s forward-passes failed whenever tried, for Lorimer had a really brilliant defense against that play. From one thirty-yard line to another the battle raged, Lorimer making up for Alton’s slight superiority at punting by a better end attack. Gains through the line were not forthcoming to either team. Lorimer began to use her substitutes and Coach Cade followed her example by sending in Martin Proctor for Ross. Just before the period ended Gil Tarver gave way to Hutchins at quarter-back. There was no scoring and the whistle piped with the ball in Alton’s hands on her opponent’s thirty-eight.

While the referee carried the ball across the center and the players gathered about the water pails Willard heard his name called and looked down the bench to see Mr. Cade beckoning. His heart turned a complete somersault – or seemed to – while he traversed the eight yards and halted before the coach!

“Harmon, you’ve showed a pretty fair knack of getting away outside tackles,” said Mr. Cade. “Do you think you could manage to do it if you went in there now?”

Willard was conscious of the players on either side of the coach, could feel their slightly amused glances on him and knew they were waiting intently for his answer. He felt supremely awkward and embarrassed at that moment. But he had to say something, for Mr. Cade, although he was watching the players assembling again, was awaiting a reply.

“I’ll try, sir,” he managed.

Mr. Cade nodded. “Won’t promise, eh?” He looked up then into Willard’s face, and the boy was vastly relieved to see that his eyes were twinkling. “All right, go ahead,” said the coach. “Your right end looms the easiest, Harmon. If you can get that left end of theirs to play wide for a forward-pass you ought to be able to get started. Do your best, boy,” Mr. Cade nodded again, smilingly.

“Left half, sir?” asked Willard, through the folds of his sweater, which simply wouldn’t come off.

“Left half,” responded the coach.

CHAPTER XIII
A FORTY-YARD RUN

Mawson yielded position and head-guard unwillingly. He even sneered a little, but Willard was far too excited to see it. He took his position two yards away from Cochran, eyeing that youth’s dirt-streaked countenance with speculative interest as he did so, and awaited Hutch’s signals. Slightly behind him, Browne was breathing stertorously, a cut at one corner of his mouth lending him a particularly ferocious look.

“Third down!” chanted the referee. “About six to gain!”

Then Willard was squirming in between Leroy and Myers, while Browne, hugging the ball, smashed past center on the other side. The play went for three yards. Then Hutch punted miserably, barely over the heads of the forwards, and the ball plumped into the Lorimer quarter-back’s arms and that youth came dodging, dashing back up the field to the thirty-one yards. On the first play Macon was off-side and Alton lost five yards. A complicated criss-cross sent a back plunging between Newhall and Proctor, and Browne’s tackle missed and it was Hutch who laid him low twelve yards behind the line. The visitor’s cohorts cheered madly. Lorimer tried a forward to an end far to the right, but Lake and Willard each had the man marked and the pass grounded. A skin-tackle play off Proctor netted four yards, and, on third down, faking a kick, the Lorimer full-back plunged straight through Nichols, at center, for four more. Willard emerged from that pile-up with a ringing head and was glad when time was called, even though, as it proved, the interlude was necessitated by an injury to Browne. Willard sat down on the ground and tried to look happy, but he was horribly dizzy and the group around the recumbent full-back wavered before his eyes. Eventually they took Browne off and replaced him with Linthicum, and the game went on.

Lorimer was on her mettle now and she made it first down on Alton’s forty-one with a smashing attack at left tackle. Finding that spot weak, she tried it again and, although Captain Myers worked like a Trojan to stop up the gap, an enemy back charged through for nearly five yards. Leroy was pretty well played out after that, and Putney took his place. Lorimer made her distance in two more downs, using a shift to the left followed by a quarter-back plunge through the opponent’s short side that netted the needed five yards and placed the pigskin almost on the home team’s thirty. There, however, Alton stiffened and, after two attempts at the line, Lorimer faked a forward and sent a half straight through between Nichols and Newhall for seven yards. With three to go on fourth down, and the ball on the twenty-two, Lorimer walked back and talked it over. Then the stage was set for a placement kick and the cheering and shouting ceased.

Followed a still, tense moment, broken only by Hutch’s imploring “Break through, Alton! Block it!” and the quarter’s precise, slow signals. Back went the ball, too high but straight enough, and the quarter, kneeling on the turf behind the Lorimer line, caught it deftly, lowered it quickly to earth and pointed it. Cries, warnings, the rasping of canvas against canvas, smothered gasps, and the scene, so orderly an instant before, broke into confusion. Alton tore through desperately, shouldering, plunging, reaching into the path of the ball. But the Lorimer full-back, deliberate to the point of danger, swung his foot and the ball sailed off, barely above the charging foe, rising slowly and turning lazily over and over on in its flight. There was a moment of suspense and then a white-sweatered timekeeper swung his hands above his head and Lorimer cheered wildly, triumphantly! On the score-board an important young Alton sophomore placed a glaring white 3.

Willard followed his teammates back to midfield in silence. There wasn’t much chatting just then, although Hutch called cheerfully enough for a score. There was less than six minutes remaining, but that, Willard assured himself, was enough time to win in. On the stand Alton was cheering heartily, undismayed. Coach Cade was sending in three new men: Johnston for Proctor at right tackle, McLeod for Macon and Moncks for Cochran. For a moment, seeing Moncks trotting on, Willard’s heart sank, but it was Cochran’s head-guard that the newcomer donned. Martin had done none so badly at tackle, but the position was a strange one to him and he had had his bad moments.

Lorimer kicked off and the battle began again. The ball went to Moncks and Willard swung in ahead and was joined by Hutchins and the three went sweeping diagonally across the field. Then Willard met an enemy and both sprawled, and Linthicum darted away from the interference and ran straight into the arms of a big Lorimer guard. The teams lined up in the twenty-four yards close to the side-line. Hutch’s heave to Joe Myers went short, was tipped by a Lorimer end and fell to the ground. On the next play, Willard, ball hugged tight, swept around his own end behind Hutch and Myers, dodged the opposing end, turned in and dodged and twisted for eight yards before he was dragged, still fighting hard, to earth. Linthicum tried the right of the line and lost a yard and Moncks made it first down past tackle. A short forward over the line landed safely in Joe Myers’ hands for nine yards and Willard added two through left guard.

Just short of the middle of the field, with the minutes running fast, Hutch called for Formation C and the Alton line spread widely. Lorimer edged out in answer. Willard, crouched behind his left guard, looked straight ahead. Hutch called his signals. Linthicum swung and ran across the field to the left. Back shot the ball to Hutch, five yards behind center. Lorimer charged, coming through the wide gaps in the Alton line. Hutch stepped back while Willard crossed in front of him. Then came a short pass and the left half, the ball snuggled in his right elbow, shot straight into the line. Linthicum’s diversion had drawn the Lorimer backfield from position, and Willard, having dodged one slow-moving Lorimer forward, found an open field for several yards. Then, however, the enemy closed about him and his race seemed run. There was no interference to aid him, for Hutch was down, and Moncks, having run the end out, was far behind. McLeod made a desperate effort to get into the running, but Willard was fleeter. He side-stepped a Lorimer half and was momentarily free, and swung toward the middle of the field as he crossed the enemy’s forty. Behind him raced friend and foe. He had slipped through the worst of the opposition, but ahead of him a determined quarter awaited and from the left speeded a half. The latter Willard scarcely feared, for he had a fair lead, but the quarter spelled disaster. Nearer and nearer he came to the latter, a smallish, hard-fighting youth who held his distance grimly, only moving slightly to the right as though anticipating Willard’s intention. The Alton stand was shouting wildly, confusedly, but Willard had no knowledge of it. The thumping of his heart and the rasping of his breath seemed to be the only sounds in the world!

Then the supreme instant came. Close to the thirty-yard line the enemies met. Something had told Willard that the opponent was too knowing, too quick and agile to be fooled by side-stepping, and so, a few yards away, Willard shifted the ball to his stomach, clasped both hands over it and put his head down. Straight into the quarter he charged, with every ounce of strength thrusting his body forward. And as he charged he twisted and spun.

Arms encompassed, his thighs and hands clutched desperately, yet he found his stride again and went forward. Something clung for a moment to one leg and he staggered, fell to a knee and threw his body forward. The weight was gone and he was on his feet again! He set his straining eyes on the goal posts and struggled forward. But now it seemed that his feet were huge pieces of lead and his head swam dizzily. Four strides, five, six, and again he felt the touch of fingers that groped for a hold. Summoning his remaining strength, he moved free, head back and lungs bursting. He was past the fifteen-yard line and the gray, padded posts wavered in the sunlight, close at hand. But he was not to reach them.

If Willard had run a good race, so, too, had the Lorimer right half-back, and the latter had been but a scant five yards away when Willard had shaken himself free of the quarter’s tackle. And so, just short of the ten yards, the struggle ended. A last supreme effort and the pursuer’s arms wrapped themselves around the quarry’s legs. One short stride followed and then pursued and pursuer lay prone and unmoving across the lime mark!

That ended Willard’s usefulness for that day, just as it ended the usefulness of his captor, for both boys were fairly run out. But the ball lay well inside the ten yards, and Alton’s cheers were exultant and unceasing while the half-fainting youths were administered to, Longstreth raced out to replace Willard and Lorimer sent in a substitute right half. Willard saw the last three minutes of the game from a pile of blankets at the end of the bench, saw his teammates make three gallant attempts to conquer those last stubborn nine yards, saw, with a sinking heart, Moncks stopped two yards from the line and hurled back, saw Captain Myers walk determinedly back up the field to kicking position.

Hopeless gloom shrouded the bench. Myers was no goal kicker, and all knew it. Had there been a single, solitary player out there who knew the least thing about that art he would never have attempted it. But substitution had deprived the team of Cochran and Tarver and Macon, and none of those who remained on the bench could be depended on. When all was said and done, perhaps Hutch might have chosen more wisely had he risked a forward-pass on that final down. Yet Hutch knew that Lorimer would be looking for that play and knew that if it failed Alton’s last opportunity to score would be lost. And he didn’t make the choice unaided, for Joe Myers counseled it. Joe said afterwards that he had no more idea of booting the ball over than he had of flying. Yet a more effortless, more perfect drop-kick than he made would have been hard to imagine! Straight between the uprights and well over the cross-bar it sailed, and no one needed the corroboration of the official’s upthrown hands to tell him that Alton had tied the score!

And a tied score it remained when the final whistle blew.

Alton showed as much delight over the drawn battle as though she had won overwhelmingly, and Lorimer, trying hard to smile, took what comfort she could. But if the School felt jubilant and triumphant, it was plainly to be seen that Coach Cade did not share its emotions. That game had clearly demonstrated the fact, long suspected, that the Gray-and-Gold backfield was far from the scoring combination it should be. With Lake playing left end, a position he had proved his fitness for that afternoon, the left half-back position was left to Mawson or Harmon. Each, while he showed much promise, was inexperienced. Cochran, on the other side, was steady but far from brilliant. The full-back position was the weakest spot of all. Neither Browne nor Linthicum had the hard-fighting spirit needed. That Alton had not met defeat was due to a flash of cleverness on the part of Harmon and not to any dependable team-work by the backs. The coach, while he appeared to be listening attentively enough to Joe Myers’ short-breathed remarks as they walked together to the gymnasium, was in reality grimly determining on a backfield shake up when Monday arrived.

“If there’d been anyone around him to put that Lorimer half-back out,” said Joe, “he’d have made it easily.”

“Who?” Mr. Cade asked blankly.

“Why, Brand Harmon! He made a corking try, anyway!”

“Harmon? Yes, that’s so,” agreed the coach thoughtfully. “Think it was an accident? Suppose he could do it again?”

“He’s got it in him,” answered Joe convincedly. “Give him a try, sir. I would.”

“I think I shall,” mused the other. “He certainly deserves it.”