Left End Edwards Part 11

"Have you been here long?"

"Two years; this is my third. It's a nice schools, as schools go. I never had much use for them, though. In the Old Country we never held with them much when I was a lad. I dare say you boys'll be tryin' to play football like all the rest of them?"

"We're going out for the team," said Steve, "although I guess, from what a fellow told us last night, we don't stand much show. He said that most of the last year's players were back this fall."

"That's so. We lost but four by graduation. They were some o' the best in the bunch, though. 'Tis queer how the ones that is gone is always the best, ain't it? Who was this feller you was talkin' to?"

"His name is Miller. Do you know him? I suppose you must, though."

"Miller? Do you mean Andy Miller?"

"I don't know. He didn't tell us his other name."

"The initials were A. L. M., though," reminded Tom.

"That's right. Is he a pretty good player?"

"He does fairly well," answered Danny Moore carelessly. "Not that I pay much heed to him, though. I see him around sometimes. I wouldn't think much of what he tells you, though. I don't. If you see him I'd be obliged if you'd tell him that."

But there was a twinkle in Danny's eye and Steve resolved to tell Miller no such thing. "What position does he play?" he asked.

Danny frowned thoughtfully. "It might be end, right or left. I forget. I pay no heed to the likes o' him. He's only the captain, d'ye see?"

"Captain!" exclaimed the two boys startledly, eyeing each other in amazement.

"Sure," said Danny. "An' why not?"

"Er--there's no reason," replied Steve, "only--he didn't say anything about being captain."

"And why would he be after incriminating himself?" Danny demanded.

The boys digested this news in silence for a moment. Then,

"Does that fellow who was just in here play?" asked Tom.

"He does. He plays right guard, and he plays it well. I'll say that for him. Well, it's catchin' no fish I am sittin' here ga.s.sin' with you fellers. Make yourselves to home. I must be gettin' on."

"I guess we'll go, too," said Steve.

They followed the trainer up the stairway to the hall above. There he pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked the big front door for them. "Now, look at that, will you?" he exclaimed in amazement as he turned a small key over between his fingers. "I wouldn't be surprised if that key would fit them lockers down there. Ain't that a pity, an' him wantin' it all the time?"

The boys smiled and agreed gravely that it was. Danny sighed, shook his head and dropped the keys back into his pocket. "If you have trouble with him," he said to Steve, "hit for his head, boy, for you'll make no impression on the body of him."

"Thanks, but I don't expect he will bother me again."

"I know. I'm only tellin' you. A word to the wise, d'ye mind? Good luck to you, boys."

"Thanks. We're much obliged to you, Mr. Moore."

"Mr. Moore! Help! Listen." And Danny bent confidentially. "I won't be mindin' if you call me Mister Moore when we're by ourselves, d'ye see; but don't be doin' it in the presence of others. Them as didn't know might think I was one of the faculty, d'ye see. Call me Danny an' save me self-respect!"

When the door had closed behind them on the grinning countenance of Danny, Steve looked at his watch and exclaimed startledly.

"Nearly ten o'clock!" he said. "And we promised to telegraph to the folks this morning. Let's see if the trunks have come and then hustle to the telegraph office."

CHAPTER IX

BACK IN TOGS

Brimfield Academy was in full swing. The term was a day old and one hundred and fifty-three youths of various ages from twelve to twenty had settled down, more or less earnestly, to the school routine. In 12 Billings trunks had been unpacked and the room had taken on a look of comfort and coziness, although several things were yet lacking to complete its livableness. For instance, an easy-chair of some sort was a crying necessity, a drop-light would help a lot, and a cushion and some pillows on the window-seat were much needed. Tom argued that if the window-seat was furnished they would not require an easy-chair, but Steve held out for the added luxury.

Both boys, Steve by a narrower margin than he suspected, had made the Fourth Form, and this afternoon, as they expeditiously changed into football togs, their glances more than once stole to the imposing piles of books on the study table, books which hinted at many future hours of hard work. Steve, pulling on a pair of much worn and discoloured canvas trousers, sighed as his eye measured again the discouraging height of his pile. It was almost enough to spoil in advance the pleasure he looked forward to on the gridiron!

The athletic field lay behind the school buildings and was a fine level expanse of green turf some twelve acres in extent. There were three gridirons, a baseball diamond, a quarter-mile running-track and a round dozen of tennis courts there. A well-built iron-framed stand, erected in sections, and mounted on small wide-tread wheels could be moved about as occasion required, and at present was standing in the middle of the south side of the football field. On the whole Brimfield had reason to be proud of her athletic equipment, field and gymnasium, as well as of her other advantages.

The scene along the Row as the two friends clattered out of Billings was vastly different from that presented the afternoon of their arrival. Now the walk was alive with boys, heads protruded from open cas.e.m.e.nts and wandering couples could be seen lounging along the gate drive or over the sloping lawn that descended to the road. First practice had been called for four o'clock and the big dial in the ivy-draped tower of Main Hall pointed its hands to three-forty when Steve and Tom turned into the path between Torrence and Wendell leading to the gymnasium and the field beyond. Already, however, the fellows were turning their steps that way, some in playing togs but more in ordinary attire, the latter, yielding to the lure of a warm September afternoon, bent on finding an hour's entertainment stretched comfortably at ease along a side line or perched on the stand.

"That's pretty, isn't it?" asked Tom, as they looked across the nearer turf to where the broad expanse of playing ground, bordered on its further side by a wooded slope, stretched before them. The early frosts had already slightly touched the trees over there, and hints of russet-yellow and brick-red showed amongst the green. Nearer than that, more colour was supplied by an occasional dark red sweater amongst the groups loitering about the edge of the gridiron.

"It surely is pretty," agreed Steve. "I wonder if Miller's there yet. He told us to look him up, you know."

"Maybe he will give us a send-off to the coach," suggested Tom. "He could, you know, since he is captain. I guess it won't do us any harm--me, anyway--to have someone speak a word for us, eh?"

"Wonder what the coach is like," said Steve, nodding agreement. "Miller seemed to think he was pretty good. That's a dandy turf there, Tom; level as a table. They haven't marked the gridiron out yet, though."

"I suppose they don't need it for a day or two," replied the other, trying not to feel self-conscious as he neared the crowd already on hand. "I don't see Miller, do you?"

Steve shook his head, after a glance about him, and, rolling his hands in the folds of his sweater, not because the weather was cold but because that was a habit of his, seated himself at the bottom of the stand. Tom followed him and they looked about them and conversed in low voices while the throng grew with every minute. So far neither had made any acquaintances save that of Andy Miller--unless Eric Sawyer could be called such!--and they felt a little bit out of it as they saw other boys joyously hailing each other, stopping to shake hands or exchange affectionate blows, or waving greetings from a distance. They had made the discovery, by the way, that the proper word of salutation at Brimfield was "Hi"! It was invariably "Hi, Billy"! "Hi, Joe"! and the usual "h.e.l.lo" was never heard. Eventually Steve and Tom became properly addicted to the "Hi"! habit, but it was some time before they were able to keep from showing their newness by "h.e.l.loing" each other.

The stand became sprinkled with youths and the turf along the edge of the gridiron held many more. A man of apparently thirty years of age, wearing a grey Norfolk suit and a cap to match, appeared at the corner of the stand just as the bell in Main Hall struck four sonorous peals.

He was accompanied by three boys in togs, one of them Captain Miller.

The coach was a clean-cut chap with a nice face and a medium-sized, wiry figure. He had sandy hair and eyebrows that were almost white, and his sharp blue eyes sparkled from a deeply tanned face upon which, at the moment, a very pleasant smile played. But even as Steve and Tom watched him the smile died abruptly and he pulled a black leather memorandum book from a pocket and fluttered its leaves in a businesslike way.

Miller had predicted that this fall some eighty candidates would appear, but he had evidently been over-sanguine. Sixty seemed nearer the correct number than eighty. But even sixty-odd looked a good many as they gradually gathered nearer the coach. Steve and Tom slipped from their places and joined the throng.

"Last year's first and second team players take the east end of the field," directed Mr. Robey. "All others remain here. I'm going to tell you right now, fellows, that there's going to be a whole lot of hard work this fall, and any of you who don't like hard work had better keep away. This is a good time to quit. You'll save your time and mine too.

All right now! Take some b.a.l.l.s with you, Milton, and warm up until I get down there. Now, then, you new men, give me your names. Where's Lawrence? Not here yet? All right. What's your name and what experience have you had, my boy?"

One by one the candidates answered the coach's questions and then trotted into the field where Eric Sawyer was in command. Andy Miller and Danny Moore stood at the coach's elbow during this ceremony, and when, toward the last, Steve and Tom edged up, they were greeted by both.

"Here's the fine lad," said Danny, who caught sight of Steve before Miller did. "Mr. Sam Edwards, Coach, a particular friend of mine."

Steve, rather embarra.s.sed, started to say that his name was not Sam, but Miller interrupted him.

"So here you are, Edwards? Glad to see you again. I've been looking for you and Hall to drop in on me. How are you, Hall? Robey, these two have had some experience on their high school team and I think they'll bear watching. Shake hands with Mr. Robey, Edwards."