Barbour Ralph Henry
The Turner Twins

CHAPTER XVII – LAURIE MAKES A PROTEST

The football team continued to add victories, and as the fateful 20th of November approached enthusiasm grew until, after the Whittier game, which Hillman’s won by a field goal in the final hectic two minutes, it became more a furore than enthusiasm. Ned, by that time, had settled down to a realization that, no matter what progress he made this fall, no matter how adept he became at kicking a football down the field or over the cross-bar, he would not make the first team; that, in short, he was being educated as next year material. There was no injustice in this, and he realized it; for, aside from his proficiency as a kicker, he was not in the class with the school team backs. He couldn’t worm his way through a hole in the opposing line the way Slavin could, nor smash through the defense the way Mason did, nor dodge and side-step in a broken field like Pope. Once going, Ned was rather hard to stop, for he displayed some of the slippery qualities of an eel; but it took him ten yards to get his speed up, and the opponents had a discouraging way of getting through and flooring him before the tenth yard was won! But he had grown to love the game, and no one toiled more conscientiously. There were times when Laurie devoutly wished that Ned hadn’t taken up the game, for after a half-hour of Ned’s chatter Laurie found the subject of football a trifle dull.

On the Wednesday before the Farview contest the Orstead High School team came over for a practice game. At least, Hillman’s called it a practice game and considered it such; but High School had blood in her eye and was secretly determined to wreak all the vengeance possible. Once a year, for the space of some three hours, Orstead High School swore allegiance to Hillman’s and turned out at the field and rooted valiantly for the Blue while she battled with Farview. But all the rest of the time she was frankly hostile and derisive. This Wednesday afternoon the hostility was apparent from the first. More than a hundred boys and a scattering of girls followed their team to the Hillman’s field and demanded revenge for the early-season defeat, while the High School team, which had passed through a rather successful season and was not at all the aggregation that the Blue had beaten 10 to 7, started right out after it.

Coach Mulford began with his first-string players, and against them High School was not dangerous, although there were anxious moments. The second period ended with the score 7 – 0 in Hillman’s favor, only a fumble by Slavin on High School’s eight yards saving the visitor from a second touch-down. When the third quarter began, Coach Mulford put in nearly a new eleven, only Kewpie Proudtree, Farley, Mason, and Pope remaining over. Perhaps the High School coach had talked new strength and determination into his charges during the intermission, for the visitors started in on the second half in whirlwind fashion. The Blue kicked off, and High School’s quarter got the ball on his twenty-five-yard line and scampered back to the thirty-five before he was laid low by Farley, the Blue’s left end. From there, with fierce slams at Hillman’s right and two short forward passes over the center of the line, High School reached the opponent’s thirty-two. There an off-side penalty set her back, and, after two attempts at rushing that produced but three yards, she kicked to the five-yard line. Kendrick fumbled the catch, but recovered and was downed on his ten. Pope punted on second down to mid-field, and from there High School started another slashing advance that took her to the thirty-four yards before she was halted.

On the side-lines, the High School supporters were shouting and beseeching and banners were waving deliriously. A tow-haired full-back, who had all along proved the visitor’s best ground-gainer, smashed through the Hillman’s left for two yards; and then, on fourth down, faking a kick, he set off on a romp around the adversary’s right. Lightner, the second-string end, was effectually boxed, and the runner, turning wide, was off down the field at top speed. Only Hop Kendrick stood between him and the goal-line, and Hop waited on the fifteen yards, wary and alert. The tow-haired boy’s feint to the right didn’t fool him, and when the side-stepping to the left began, Hop was on him with a clean dive and a hard tackle, and the two rolled to earth together. But the ball was on the thirteen yards now, and it was first down for High School, and the latter was not to be denied. A plunge off tackle took the pigskin in front of the goal, though there was no gain. Hillman’s piled up an attack at right guard. On third down, High School called for kick formation, and the tow-haired terror dropped back.

From the side of the gridiron, Hillman’s rooters chanted: “Block that kick! Block that kick!” But there was no kick to block, for the full-back only backed away a pace or two when the pigskin reached him, and then tossed to the corner of the field and to the eager hands of an uncovered right end who had but to make three strides before he was over the line. Hop got him then; but the damage was done, and the visitors lining the gridiron were cheering and cavorting wildly. The kick was from a difficult angle, but the tow-haired player made it, and the score was tied.

The teams changed fields a minute later. Undismayed, Coach Mulford sent in three new substitutes, one of them in place of Pope. Hillman’s got the ball in mid-field on a fumble, and set off for the adversary’s goal; but the new players were not able to make much headway, and Deering, who had taken Pope’s place, punted. The effort landed the ball on High School’s thirty-seven, and her quarter ran it back eight more before he was stopped. Three tries at the line netted seven yards, and the visitor punted to Hop Kendrick on his eighteen. This time Hop hugged the ball hard and set off along the far side of the gridiron at a smart pace. Fortunately for him, one High School end overran. The other challenged, but missed his tackle. By that time a hasty interference had formed, and, guarded by Mason and Lightner, Hop reached his forty before misfortune overtook him. There a High School tackle crashed through the interference and nailed him hard.

But that twenty-yard sprint had brought new vim to the Blue’s novices, and new confidence, and from their forty yards they began a fast, hard attack that placed High School with her back to the wall almost before she realized it. If the substitutes lacked the experience and brawn of the first-choice players, they at least had sand and speed. And they had a quarter-back who was earnest and grim and determined, and who, sensing that the opponent was weary, realized that speed, and a lot of it, was the one thing that could save the day. And so Hop proved his right to his nickname that afternoon. Hop he did, and so did his team. Signals were fairly shot into the air, and there was no longer any time between plays for High School to recover her breath. Twice, with plunges at the right of the visitor’s line and runs outside her tackles, Hillman’s made her distance and the pigskin rested on the thirty-six yards.

So far the Blue had attempted but three forward passes, of which only one had succeeded. Now, from position, Hop threw straight over the center, and somehow Lightner was there and pulled it down, although the enemy was clustered around him thick. That seven-yard gain was made ten when Deering was poked through the center, ten a little more, for the ball was down on High School’s twenty-four-yard line. The game that had been proclaimed a practice event for the purpose of seasoning the substitutes against Saturday’s contest had developed within the last half-hour into a battle to the death. Outside the gridiron the opposing factions hurled defiant cheers at each other and rooted as they had not rooted all the season. On the field the rivalry was even more intense, and black looks and hard knocks were the order.

High School, sparring for time, administered to a breathless right guard, and then drew into a bunch for a whispered conference, while Hillman’s supporters hooted derisively. Deering gained three and Boessel two more. High School ran two substitutes on, and, after the next play, two more. An old-fashioned criss-cross sent Mason around his own right end for eight yards and planted the ball just short of the ten-yard line. Mason gave place to Beedle. A slide off tackle centered the pigskin and gained a scant yard. Deering struck center for a yard loss, and Lightner was caught off-side. The ball went back to the seventeen yards.

High School was playing desperately and her line had stiffened. Beedle gave way to Ned after that second down, and Ned had his instructions. The ball was in front of High School’s goal, and from the seventeen yards a field goal was an easy proposition if the opponents could be held away from the kicker. Perhaps Hop Kendrick didn’t realize why Ned had been sent in, or perhaps he thought better of his own judgment. Since by the rules Ned could not communicate the instructions from the coach until after the following play, he could only look his surprise when Hop failed to call him back to kicking position. Farley, captain in Stevenson’s absence, seemed to be on the point of protesting, and even took a step toward the quarter-back; but he evidently reconsidered, for he returned to his position at the end of the line, and the starting signal followed.

The play was a fake attack on the right, with Boessel carrying the ball to the left inside of tackle, and it worked to perfection. High School, over-anxious, stormed to the defense of her threatened right side, and Boessel, with Ned hanging at his flank as far as the five-yard line, where the earth suddenly rose up and smote him, romped over the line for the last and deciding touch-down, while the Blue cohorts went fairly wild with delight.

On the side-line, Coach Mulford turned to Joe Stevenson. “What do you think of Kendrick?” he asked, smiling.

“I’d kiss him if I had him here,” answered Joe, grinning joyously. “I call him one sweet little quarter, Coach!”

“Well, this was his day, all right,” mused the other; “I hope he will show up as well Saturday. Now we’ll see whether Turner can kick a goal. He’s been doing some good work in practice, but he looks scared to death and will probably miss it by a mile.”

And Ned was scared, too. He tried to steady his nerves by assuring himself that, whether he made it or missed it, the Blue had won the game, and that consequently a failure made little difference. But the silence of his schoolmates and the “booing” of the visiting rooters affected him badly. To Hop, holding the ball from the turf, it seemed that Ned would never have done pointing it. And so it seemed to the onlookers. Never was a kicker more deliberate. But at last Hop heard a faint “Down!” and drew his fingers from beneath the oval and waited an anxious moment. Then there was a clean, hard thud, and the quarter-back, watching its flight, saw the pigskin rise lazily, end over end, and go straight and high over the bar.

And he might have heard Ned’s loud sigh of relief, had not the pounding of the charging enemy and the cries of the Hillman’s horde drowned it.

Another kick-off and four plays ended the contest, and High School, after cheering half-heartedly, went off disgruntled and silent.

On his way to the field-house, Ned, trotting along with Hop, encountered Polly and Mae in the throng, and paused to speak. “Bully game, wasn’t it?” he said. Then, seeing Mae’s High School banner, he added: “High School put up a dandy fight, Mae.”

“Indeed she did,” agreed Mae. “I thought once she was going to win, too.”

Polly was laughing. “Poor Mae didn’t know which team she wanted to win,” she explained. “When High School gained she waved her flag, and when Hillman’s gained she waved it just the same. She was waving it all the time! That was a lovely goal you made, Nid.”

“Thanks. I – well, I was so scared I didn’t know whether to kick the ball or bite it! I’m mighty glad it went over, though.” He nodded and hurried on in the wake of Hop, who, being a very earnest young gentleman and completely absorbed in the business of football, considered girls far outside his scheme of things.

Three quarters of an hour later, Laurie arose from his recumbent position on the window-seat of Number 16 East Hall, and delivered an ultimatum in quiet but forceful tones. “Ned,” he said, “I saw that game from about the middle of the first quarter to the bitter end. Nothing escaped my eagle gaze. I can even tell you exactly how many times that High School umpire consulted his rules book when he thought no one was looking. I know how much dirt there was in Frank Brattle’s left ear when they dragged him out. I know – ”

“Well, what of it? What’s your chief trouble?” growled Ned.

“Knowing all this and more, much more, Neddie, I refuse to listen any longer to your reminiscences. You’ve been through the game three times since you landed up here, and there’s a limit to my endurance. And you’ve reached that limit, Neddie – you really have. I’m going down to George’s, where I may hear something besides touch-downs and passes and goals. When you recover, Neddie, come on down.”

“Oh, go to the dickens!” muttered Ned, as the door closed softly.

CHAPTER XVIII – BEFORE THE BATTLE

“The fellow who put these posts in,” grunted Bob, as he heaved and tugged, “must have had more time than brains!”

It was Thursday afternoon. A hard frost, which had frozen the ground a half-inch deep, had counseled him to finish the work of wrecking the arbor. But three posts remained, and at one of these Bob, after having dug around it, and pried at it with a bar until patience was exhausted, was tugging lustily. Laurie, wiping the sweat of honest toil from his brow, cast aside the bar and gave a hand.

“Come on,” he said hopefully. “One, two – three! Heave!”

“Heave!” muttered Bob.

But although the post, which had formed a corner of the arbor, gave from side to side, it refused to leave its nest. Panting, the boys drew off and observed it glumly.

“Guess we’ll have to dig some more,” said Bob.

“Wait a minute. Let me get a purchase on it with the bar.”

Laurie seized that implement again and drove it into the softened earth beside the post. As the first drive didn’t send it far enough, he pulled it out, and put all his strength into the next effort. This time he succeeded beyond all expectations. The bar slipped through his fingers and disappeared from sight!

“Well!” he gasped. “What do you know – ”

“Where-where did it go to?” cried Bob, dumfounded.

“It went – it went to China, I guess! It just slipped right through my hands, and kept on slipping!” Laurie knelt and dug at the hole with his fingers.

“Find it?” asked Bob. “Try the shovel.”

“No, I can’t feel it. Hand it here.” Laurie took the shovel and dug frantically. Then Bob dug. The result was that they enlarged and deepened the hole around the post, but the crowbar failed to materialize.

“I suppose,” said Laurie, finally, dropping the shovel and tilting back his cap, “what happened was that I struck a sort of hole, and the bar went right down in. Maybe it was a rat-hole, Bob.”

“I guess so. Anyway, it’s gone, and we’ll have to get a new one.”

“Oh, I guess we’ll find it when we get the post out. Let’s try the old thing.”

They did, and, after a moment of indecision, it came out most obligingly. But there was still no crowbar to be seen. Laurie shook his head, mystified. “That’s the funniest thing I ever saw,” he declared.

“It surely is! Look here; maybe there’s an old well there.”

“Then why didn’t the post go down into it?”

“Because it’s covered over with stones. The bar happened to slip into a – a crevice.”

Laurie nodded dubiously. “That might be it,” he agreed. “Or perhaps we’ve discovered a subterranean cavern!”

“Caverns always are subterranean, aren’t they?”

“No; sometimes they’re in the side of a hill.”

“Then they’re caves.”

“A cave and a cavern are the same thing, you smart Aleck.”

“All right; but even if a cavern is in a hill, it’s underground, and subterranean means under – ”

“Help! You win, Bob! Come on and get hold of this log and let’s get it out of here.” And, as they staggered with it across the garden to add it to the pile of posts and lumber already there, he continued: “There’s one thing certain, Bob, and that’s that you won’t get me to play tennis on your court. I’d be afraid of sinking into the ground some fine day!”

“Maybe you’d find the crowbar then,” said Bob. “Heave!”

Laurie “heaved,” patted the brown loam from his hands, and surveyed the pile. “There’s a lot of good stuff there,” he pondered. “Some of it’s sort of rotten, but there’s enough to build something.”

“What do you want to build?”

“I don’t know. We could build a sort of covered seat, like the one in Polly’s yard, where folks could rest and look on. Take about six of these posts and some of the strips, and some boards for the seat – ”

“Who’d dig the post-holes?” inquired Bob, coldly.

“Oh, we could get a couple of the others to help. Honest, Bob, it would be a lot of fun. Maybe we couldn’t do it before spring, though.”

“I might leave the stuff here,” said Bob. “Thomas could sort of pile it a little neater, you know. I love to carpenter. Sometime we’ll draw a plan of it, Nod.”

“Right-o! How about those other posts? No use trying to do anything with ’em to-day, is there?”

“No; we’ll have to have another crowbar.”

Laurie looked relieved. “Well, let’s go over and see whether the Widow’s got any of those little cakes with the chocolate on top,” he suggested. “Hard work always makes a fellow hungry.”

There was a rousing football meeting in the auditorium that evening, with speeches and music, songs and cheers; and the enthusiasm spilled over to the yard afterward, and threatened to become unruly until Dan Whipple mounted the steps of School Hall and spoke with all the authority of eighteen years and the senior class presidency. Whereupon someone suggested a cheer for the Doctor, and the joyous crowd thronged to the west end of the building and gave nine long “Hillman’s,” with a “Doctor Hillman” on the end. And then suddenly the lights flashed on on the porch, and there were the Doctor and Miss Tabitha, the former looking very much as if he had awakened very recently from a nap – which was, in fact, the case. But he was smiling as he stepped to the doorway and near-sightedly surveyed the throng.

“This – er – testimonial would appear to demand some sort of a response,” he announced, as the applause that had greeted his appearance died away. “But I find myself singularly devoid of words, boys. Perhaps some of you recall the story of the visitor in Sunday-school who was unexpectedly called on by the superintendent to address the children. He hemmed and hawed and said, finally, that it gave him much pleasure to see so many smiling, happy faces. And he hoped they were all good little boys and girls and knew their lessons. And then his eloquence failed him, and after an unhappy interim he asked: ‘And now, children, what shall I say?’ And a little girl in the front row lisped: ‘Pleathe, Mithter, thay “Amen” and thit down!’

“Perhaps I’d better say ‘Amen’ and sit down, too,” he went on, when the laughter had ceased; “but before I do I’d like to assure you that I am ‘rooting’ just as hard as any of you for a victory the day after to-morrow. My duties will not allow me to see the team in action, as much as I’d like to, but I am kept well informed of its progress. I have my scouts at work constantly. Mr. Pennington reports to me on the work of the linemen; Mr. Barrett advises me each day as to the backs; Mr. Wells is my authority on – er – stratagem.”

This amused his hearers intensely, since none of the three instructors mentioned had ever been known to attend a game or watch a practice.

“And,” continued the principal, when he could, “I follow the newspaper reports of our enemy’s progress. Of course, I don’t believe all I read. If I did I’d be certain that only overwhelming disaster awaited us on Saturday. But there is one thing that troubles me. I read recently that the Farview center is a very large youth, weighing, if I am not mistaken, some one hundred and seventy pounds. While mere weight and brawn are not everything, I yet tremble to consider what may happen to the slight, atomic youth who will oppose him. Young gentlemen, I shudder when I dwell on that unequal meeting, that impending battle of David and Goliath!”

When the new burst of laughter had subsided, the doctor continued more soberly: “I wish the team all success, a notable victory. Or, if the gods of battle will it otherwise, I wish it the manly grace to accept defeat smilingly and undismayed. I am certain of one thing, boys, which is that, whether fortune favors the Dark Blue or the Maroon and White, the contest will be hard fought and clean, and bring honor alike to the victor and vanquished. You have my heartiest good wishes. And” – the doctor took the hand of Miss Tabitha, who had been standing a few steps behind him – “and the heartiest good wishes of another, who, while not a close follower of your sports, has a warm spot in her heart for each and every one of you, and who is as firmly convinced as I am of the invincibility of the Dark Blue!”

“Three cheers for Tab – for Miss Hillman!” cried a voice; and, at first a trifle ragged with laughter, the cheers rang forth heartily. Then came another cheer for the doctor and a rousing one for “Hillman’s! Hillman’s!! HILLMAN’S!!!” And the little throng, laughing and chattering, dispersed to the dormitories.

Friday saw but a light practice for the first team and a final appearance of the scrubs, who, cheered by the students, went through a few minutes of snappy signal work, and the waving sweaters and blankets dashed off to the field-house, their period of servitude at an end. For the first team there was a long blackboard drill in the gymnasium after supper, and Ned, who, somewhat to his surprise and very much to his gratification, had been retained on the squad, returned to Number 16 at nine o’clock in a rather bemused condition of mind. Kewpie, who accompanied him, tried to cheer him up.

“It’ll be all right to-morrow, Nid,” he declared. “I know how you feel. Fact is, I wouldn’t know one signal from another if I got it this minute, and as for those sequences – ” Words failed him. “But when you get on the field to-morrow it’ll all come back to you. It – it’s sort of psychological. A trick of memory and all that. You understand!”

“I don’t see why he needs to worry, anyhow,” observed Laurie, cruelly. “He won’t get a show in to-morrow’s game.”

Ned looked hopeful for a moment, then relapsed into dejection as Kewpie answered: “I’d like to bet you he will, Nod. I’d like to bet you that he’ll play a full period. You just watch Farview lay for Pope! Boy, they’re going to make hard weather for that lad! They were after him last year, but they couldn’t get him and he played right through. But I’d like to bet you that to-morrow they’ll have him out of it before the last quarter.”

“What do you mean?” asked Laurie, in surprise. “They don’t play that sort of a game, do they?”

“What sort of a game?” responded Kewpie. “They play hard, that’s the way they play! And every time they tackle Pope, they’ll tackle him so he’ll know it. And every time he hits the line, there’ll be one of those red-legs waiting for him. Oh, they don’t play dirty, if you mean that; but they don’t let any chances slip, believe me!”

“It sounds sort of off color to me, though,” Laurie objected. “How are you going to put a fellow out of the game if you don’t slug or do something like that?”

Kewpie smiled knowingly. “My son,” he said, “if I start after you and run you around the dormitory about twenty times – ”

Ned, in spite of his down-heartedness, snickered at the picture evolved, and Kewpie grinned.

“Well, suppose some one else did, then. Anyhow, after he’d done it about a couple of dozen times, you’d be all in, wouldn’t you? He wouldn’t have to kick you or knock you down or anything, would he? Well, that’s what I mean. That’s the way they’ll go after Pope. They’ll tire him out. You understand. And every time they tackle him, they’ll tackle him good and hard. Well, suppose Pope does go out, and there’s a chance for a field goal, as there’s likely to be. Who will Pinky put in? Why, Nid, of course! Who else is there? Brattle can’t kick one goal in six. No more can Deering. What do you think Mulford’s been nursing Nid all the season for?”

“Next year?” said Laurie, questioningly.

“Sure – and this year, too. You watch and see. I’d like to bet you that Nid’ll have a goal to kick to-morrow – yes, and that he’ll kick it, too!”

“Don’t!” groaned Ned. “I never could do it!”

“Well,” laughed Laurie, “I don’t bet for money, Kewpie, but I tell you what I’ll do. If Ned kicks a goal to-morrow, I’ll take you over to the Widow’s, and I’ll buy you all the cream-puffs you can eat at one sitting!”

“It’s a go!” cried Kewpie. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll do it to you!”

“Of course,” explained Laurie, in recognition of his brother’s look of pained inquiry, “I’m not making the offer because I think Ned can’t do it, or because I don’t want him to play. You bet I do! It’s because I do want him to, Kewpie. You see, I usually lose bets!”

“All right, you crazy galoot. I’ve got to beat it. Pinky made us swear by the Great Horn Spoon to be in bed by ten. Good night. Don’t let the signal stuff worry you, Nid. It’ll come out all right to-morrow. You understand. Night!”

When the door had closed, Laurie laughed and turned to Ned. “He’s a good old scout, isn’t he? I say, what’s the matter with you, Ned? You look like the end of a hard winter! Cheer up! It may not be true!”

But Ned shook his head, although he tried to smile unconcernedly. “It’ll happen just the way he told, Laurie,” he said, sadly. “I just know it will! They’ll get Pope out of the way, and there’ll be a field goal wanted, just as there was Wednesday, and Mulford will send me in!”

“Well, what of it? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I – I’m scared!”

“Oh, piffle, Neddie! You’ve got nerves, that’s all. The night before the battle, you know, and all that! In the morning you’ll be as right as rain. Get your clothes off and tumble in. Want me to read a story to you? There’s a corker in the ‘Post’ this week.”

“No, thanks; I guess not. I’d better go to sleep.”

But, although Ned, stifling a desire to sit up and read the corking story himself, put the light out at ten minutes before ten, he lay awake until after midnight and suffered as blue a case of funk as any boy ever did. And when, at length, sleep came, it was filled with visions in which he stood in the center of a vast arena, the object of countless eyes, and tried over and over, and never with success, to kick a perfectly gigantic leather ball over a cross-bar that was higher than the Masonic Temple at home!

The truth is that Ned was over-trained and stale. And the further truth is that when he awoke to as sweet a November morning as ever peered down from a cloudless sky through golden sunlight, he felt, as he phrased it to himself, like a sock that had just come through the wringer!