Behind the line Part 13

"I think I shall make a touch-down to-day," said Sydney. Neil shook his head, smiling:

"I don't know about that; you're not feeling so fit to-day, you know."

"Oh, that doesn't matter," answered the cripple. "You just watch me."

Neil laughed, and hurrying off, was fitted with his head harness and trotted out to his place. Sydney was mistaken, as events proved, for he--in the person of Neil Fletcher--failed to get over the second's goal-line in either of the short halves; which was also true of all the other varsity players. But if she didn't score, the varsity kept the second at bay, and that was a good deal. The second played desperately, being convinced that Mills would keep his promise and, if they succeeded in scoring on their opponents, give them the honor of facing Harvard the following Wednesday. But the varsity, being equally convinced of the fact, played quite as desperately, and the two teams trotted off with honors even.

"Sponge off, everybody!" was the stentorian command from the trainer, and one by one the players leaned over while the big, dripping sponge was applied to face and head. Then sweaters were again donned and the four laps around the field began, the men trotting by twos and threes, or, in the case of the injured ones, trailing along behind.

The next day, Wednesday, October 16th, Erskine played Dexter. Dexter is a preparatory school that has a way of turning out strong elevens, many of which in previous years had put up excellent fights against Erskine.

On the present occasion Erskine went into the game with a line largely composed of subst.i.tutes and a back-field by no means as strong as possible. During the first half Dexter was forced to give all her attention to defending her goal, and had no time for incursions into Erskine territory. The home college ran up 17 points, Devoe missing one goal. In the second half Erskine made further changes in her team. Cowan took Witter's place at right-guard, Reardon went in at quarter in place of Bailey, and Neil, who had watched the first half greedily from the side-line, went in at left half.

It was Dexter's kick-off, and she sent the ball fully forty yards.

Reardon called to Neil to take it. That youth got it on his ten yards, and by fine dodging ran it back to the eighteen-yard line. From there it was advanced by straight line-plunging to Erskine's forty yards, and it seemed that a procession down the field to another touch-down had begun.

But at this point Fate and Tom Cowan took a hand. Cowan was taken back of the line for a plunge through tackle. With right half and full lined up in tandem behind him he was given the ball and shot through easily for several yards. Then, his support gone, he staggered on for five yards more by sheer force of weight with two Dexter backs dragging at him, and there, for no apparent cause, dropped the pigskin. The Dexter quarter-back, running in to stop Cowan, was on it in a twinkling, had skirted the right end of the _melee_ and was racing toward Erskine's goal. It had happened so quickly and unexpectedly that the runner was fifteen yards to the good before pursuit began. Devoe and Neil took up the chase, but it was a hopeless task, and in another minute the little band of crimson-adorned Dexter supporters and subst.i.tutes on the side-line were yelling like mad. The Dexter quarter placed the ball nicely behind the very center of the west goal, and when it was taken out none but a cripple could have failed to kick it over the cross-bar.

As Dexter's left-end was not a cripple her score changed from a 5 to a 6.

But that was the end of her offensive work for that afternoon. Erskine promptly took the ball from her after the kick-off, and kept it until Neil had punctured Dexter's line between left-guard and tackle and waded through a sea of clutching foes twelve yards for a touch-down. Devoe once more failed at goal, and five minutes later the game came to an end with the final score 22 to 6. Dexter was happy and Erskine disgruntled.

In the locker-house after the game Mills had some sharp things to say, and didn't hesitate to say them in his best manner. There was absolutely no favoritism shown; he began at one end of the line and went to the other, then dropped back to left half, took in quarter on the way, and ended up with full. Some got off easy; Neil was among them; and so was Devoe, for it is not a good policy for a coach to endanger a captain's authority by public criticism; but when it was all over no one felt slighted. And when all were beginning to breathe easier, thinking the storm had pa.s.sed, it burst forth anew.

"Cowan, I don't see how you came to drop that ball," said Mills, in fresh exasperation. "Why, great Scott, man, there was no one touching you except a couple of schoolboys tugging at your legs! What was the matter? Paralysis? Vertigo? Or haven't you learned yet, after two years of football playing, to hang on to the ball? There's a cozy nook waiting on the second scrub for fellows like you!"

Cowan, his pride already sorely wounded, found the last too much for his temper.

"No one can help an occasional accident," he blurted. "If I did fumble, there's no reason why you should insult me. Lots of fellows have fumbled before and got off without being walked on. I've played my position for two years, and I guess I know how to do it. But when a fellow is singled out as a--a scapegoat--"

"That will do, Cowan," interrupted Mills quietly. "You've lost your temper. We don't want men on this team who can't stand criticism--"

"Criticism!" sneered Cowan, looking very red and ugly.

"Yes, criticism!" answered Mills sharply, "and scolding, too, my friend.

I'm here to turn out a team that will win from Robinson and not to cater to any one's vanity; when it's necessary, I'm going to scold and say some hard things. But I've never insulted any fellow and I never will.

I've had my eye on you ever since practise began, Cowan, and let me tell you that you haven't at any time pa.s.sed muster; your playing's been slovenly, careless, and generally mean. You've soldiered half the time.

And I think we can get along without you for the rest of the season."

Mills, his blue eyes sparkling, turned away, and Stowell and White, who for a minute past had been striving to check Cowan's utterances, now managed to drag him away.

"Shut up!" whispered White hoa.r.s.ely. "Don't be a fool! Come out of here!" And they hauled him outside, where, on the porch, he gave vent anew to his wrath until they left him finally in disgust.

He slouched in to see Paul after dinner that evening, much to Neil's impatience, and taking up a commanding position on a corner of the study-table, recited his tale of injustice with great eloquence. Paul, who had spent the afternoon with other unfortunates on the benches, was full of sympathy.

"It's a dirty shame, Tom," he said. "And I'm glad you waded into Mills the way you did. It was fine!"

"Little white-haired snake!" exclaimed Cowan. "Drops me from training just because I make a fumble! Why, you've fumbled, Paul, and so's Fletcher here; lots of times. But he doesn't lay _you_ off! Oh, dear, no; you're swells whose names will look well in the line-up for the Robinson game! But here I've played on the team for two years, and now off I go just because I dropped a ball. It's rank injustice!

"I suppose he thinks I've got to play football here. If he does he's away off, that's all. I could have gone to Robinson this fall and had everything I wanted. They guaranteed me a position at guard or tackle, and I wouldn't have needed to bother with studies as I do here, either."

The last remark called a smile to Neil's face, and Cowan unfortunately glanced his way and saw it.

"I dare say if I was willing to toady to Mills and Devoe, and tell everybody they're the finest football leaders that ever came down the pike, it would be different," he sneered angrily. "Maybe then Mills would give me private instruction in goal-kicking and let me black his boots for him."

Neil closed his book and leaned back in his chair, a little disk of red in each cheek.

"Now, look here, Tom Cowan, let's have this out," he said quietly.

"You're hitting at me, of course--"

"Oh, keep out, chum," protested Paul. "Cowan hasn't mentioned you once."

"He doesn't need to," answered Neil. "I understand without it. But let me tell you, Cowan, that I do not toady to either Mills or Devoe. I do treat them, however, as I would any one who was in authority over me. I don't think merely because I've played the game before that I know all the football there is to know."

"Meaning that I do?" growled Cowan.

"I mean that you've got a swelled head, Cowan, and that when Mills said you hadn't been doing your best he only told the truth, and what every fellow knows."

"Shut up, Neil!" cried Paul angrily. "It isn't necessary for you to pitch into Cowan just because he's down on his luck."

"I don't mind him," said Cowan, eying Neil with hatred. "He's sore about what I said. I dare say I shouldn't have said it. If he's Mills's darling--"

Neil pushed back his chair, and rose to his feet with blazing eyes.

"Kindly get out of here," he said. "I've had enough of your insults.

This is my room; please leave it!" Cowan stared a moment in surprise, hesitated, threw a glance of inquiry at Paul's troubled and averted face, and slid from the table.

"Of course you can put me out of your room," he sneered. "For that matter, I'm glad to leave it. I did think, though, that part of the shop was Paul's, but I dare say he has to humor you."

"The room's as much mine as his," said Paul, "and I want you to stay in it." He looked defiantly over at his friend. Neil had not bargained for a quarrel with Paul, but was too incensed to back down.

"And I say you sha'n't stay," he declared. "Paul and I will settle the proprietorship of the room after you're out of it. Now you get!"

"Maybe you'll put me out?" asked Cowan with a show of bravado. But he glanced toward the door as he spoke. Neil nodded.

"Maybe I will," he answered grimly.

"Cowan's my guest, Neil!" cried Paul. "And you've no right to put him out, and I sha'n't let you!"

"He'll go out of here, if I have to fight him and you too, Paul!" Paul stared in wonderment. He was so used to being humored by his roommate that this declaration of war took his breath away. Cowan laughed with attempted nonchalance.

"Your friend's a bit chesty, Paul," he said. "Perhaps we'd better humor him."

"No, stay where you are," said Paul. "If he thinks he's boss of me he's mistaken." He glared wrathfully at Neil, and yet with a trifle of uneasiness. Paul was no coward, but physical conflict with Neil was something so contrary to the natural order that it appalled him. Neil removed the gorgeous bottle-green velvet jacket that he wore in the evenings, and threw open the study door. Then he faced Cowan. That gentleman returned his gaze for a moment defiantly. But something in Neil's expression caused his eyes to drop and seek the portal. He laughed uneasily, and with simulated indifference laid his hand on Paul's shoulder.

"Come on, old chap," he said, "let's get out before we're torn to bits.

There's no pleasure in staying with such a disagreeable fire-eater, anyhow. Come up to my room, and let him cool off."

Paul hesitated, and then turned to follow Cowan, who was strolling toward the door. Angry as he was, deep in his heart he was glad to avoid conflict with his chum.

"All right," he answered in a voice that trembled, "we'll go; but"--turning to Neil--"if you think I'm going to put up with this sort of thing, you're mistaken. You can have this room, and I'll get another."

"I'd suggest your rooming with Cowan," answered Neil, "since you're so fond of him."