Over the Line Part 27

Judd and Cateye watched the throngs jostling back and forth across the campus from their window in the dormitory. The football men had been given strict orders not to mingle with the crowd and to retire early.

The two chums felt rather awed by the spirit of the occasion and the significance of the morrow. For a long time they sat side by side listening to the college yells and songs drifting up to them from below. Although a veteran football man, Cateye was deeply affected by the display of enthusiasm and college spirit.

"What a wonderful thing it all is," he found himself musing aloud.

"What all is?" inquired Judd.

"Why,--this college spirit."

"Hump!" breathed Judd, lightly, "I thought you was talkin' about some patent medicine."

The careless reply and Judd's former actions caused Cateye to wonder if college spirit really meant anything to the rube. Cateye knew Judd to be intensely loyal to his friends and wished that his chum might show that same sense of loyalty to his college or team.

After a fifteen minute silence Judd began to show signs of restlessness which Cateye wrongly interpreted.

"Nervous?" he asked, softly, throwing an arm about his chum's brawny shoulders.

"Naw!" growled Judd, disgustedly, "Just anxious for fear I won't get a chance to play tomorrow."

The singing and yelling did not cease until after eleven o'clock but two hours before this time Coach Phillips made sure that every football man was snugly stowed away in bed. Judd dropped off to sleep immediately upon retiring, but nothing short of chloroform could have caused Cateye to lose consciousness while the din kept up. His mind was too occupied with the trend of coming events.

As the last song was sung and the last yell was yelled Cateye delved into the mysteries of slumberland.

For two hours his rest was undisturbed. But after this came more interruptions. Cateye awoke with a start. The same sort of chill crept up his spine as on the night of Judd's arrival. This time, however, Cateye sensed at once just what had produced the sensation.

Judd was talking in his sleep again. It was his first offense since that memorable night so long ago.

"Gimme that ball! ... No, I'm not hurt! Jes' gimme the ball an' I'll take her across! ... Signals over! That's it! My number. Look out, there!"

The talking stopped and Judd began to grind his teeth, an unpleasant sound, especially at night. This was too much for Cateye. He bounded out of bed and switched on the light. At the same moment Judd came out of his nightmare by emitting a loud groan and kicking the bed free of covers.

"What's the matter?" gasped Cateye.

"Oh, nothin'," grinned Judd, sleepily, "I only made a touchdown."

Cateye crawled back into bed, shivering from the aftermath. Judd soon began to snore regularly showing what little effect the scoring of a touchdown had upon him. After listening to the hoa.r.s.e rumble for a few minutes Cateye buried his head in a pillow and muttered to himself: "Oh, for a maxim silencer!" Despite the snores he soon fell asleep and did not awaken until late Thanksgiving morning.

By noon of the eventful day an enormous crowd of people had gathered, representing loyal rooters and supporters of the respective colleges, Bartlett and Pennington, as well as those impartial to either team, who were attracted for sheer love of the game itself.

The college grounds shone with bobbing pennants and colors; the Red and Blue of Pennington; the Black and Gold of Bartlett. Outside the gate to the gridiron at one o'clock a great throng of football enthusiasts clamored for entrance.

One half hour later a special train, carrying the rival eleven, Pennington; a band, and five hundred rooters, pulled in. As the Penningtonites leaped off the train dressed in full football garb; red and blue jerseys, Indian blankets of the same color design and striped hosiery, they received a tremendous ovation from the a.s.sembled crowd.

Led by their college band the football warriors paraded to the gridiron followed by a wild column of Pennington rooters, each waving a red and blue pennant. The sight was very impressive and thrilling.

When, at exactly two-twenty, the Pennington eleven trotted, unheralded, onto the field and, tossing off their blue Indian blankets, began to run through some snappy signal work, from the Pennington stands a ma.s.s of red and blue rose and fell in perfect rhythm to the tune of "The Warrior," Pennington's football song.

The Bartlett rooters in the stands directly across the field tried their best to defeat the demonstration being made by Pennington, combining the efforts of band and cheer leaders in order to do so, but the momentary enthusiasm of the visiting college at sight of their splendid eleven, for a time, eclipsed all attempts to drown them out.

In the locker room sixteen Bartlett team-mates, primed for battle, heard the roar that swept across the field as the Pennington eleven swooped upon the gridiron. Benz, pulling his shoulder pads in place, strode about the room, nervous and anxious for the fray to begin.

Other players showed signs of uneasiness. Judd was the only one on the team who seemed perfectly calm. As the din was at its height he turned to Pole, who had laced and unlaced his shoe three times for no reason whatever, and remarked quietly: "A noisy bunch, aren't they?"

At this moment Coach Phillips entered. He had been watching the enemy eleven as they ran through light signal practice before the frenzied crowd.

A few of the players gathered in a semi-circle about him, arms thrown over each other's shoulders. Some were laboriously rubbing resin into their hands to insure against fumbling the ball. Others, a little affected by the mighty demonstration going on from without, paced restlessly up and down.

"It's going to be a real battle to-day," warned the coach. "Pennington has a wonderful aggregration. Their defeat of the State University some weeks ago gives them the highest rating of any team in this part of the country. A victory to-day puts Bartlett on the football map as never before. And in order to win we must fight, fight, fight, every second of the sixty minutes!

"Pennington has been depending largely this season upon the great work of Gordon, fullback. He is a giant, six feet tall, weight two hundred and fourteen pounds, and fast on his feet. He is the man you must stop! Pennington has won every game this year in the first half. They use this Gordon as a human battering ram, breaking up the opposing line and making victory easy. No eleven this season had been able to check his advances!

"Stop their slashing attack the first half, fellows, and you'll win the game. The reason General Grant was so successful in his campaigns was that he did not realize when he was defeated. He advanced despite his defeats. That's the spirit I want you fellows to show! If you fail to gain ground in one attempt put just that much more strength into the next attempt. Game starts in ten minutes, fellows, so you'd better be getting out on the field. Benz, remember to hit that line lower.

Neil, call your signals fast and snappy. Keep the team up and at 'em.

You linemen, the fate of to-day's game is largely up to you. You must shoulder the brunt of the work and shatter the Pennington attack. The men who will start to-day's game are,--"

Sixteen heads bobbed suddenly up and sixteen pairs of entreating eyes focused themselves upon the coach.

"Left end, Bartz; left tackle, Oole; left guard, Frey; center, Williams; right guard, McKean; right tackle, Potts; right end, Pole; quarterback, Neil; left half, Gary; right half, Patterson; fullback, Hoffmaster. Now, out of here, every one of you! Show lots of pep and don't let that crowd bother you! You have played in front of big crowds before and won. Do it today!"

The eleven fortunate men jumped nimbly to their feet and filed quickly out of the locker room.

Judd slapped Cateye on the back as his chum arose to go.

"Give 'em fits, pal," he said, simply.

CHAPTER XVII

THE FIRST HALF

The appearance of the Bartlett eleven touched a match to all the explosives that the Bartlett rooters had stored up and a riot of deafening sound rocked the field.

The crowd easily outnumbered any ever congregated at Bartlett. Half of the eastern bleachers had been reserved for the Pennington rooters, while the section directly across was occupied by Bartlett enthusiasts.

The seating capacity was greatly overtaxed. At least two thousand people hovered behind the goal posts at the ends of the field and swarms were even accommodated in roped off areas between the foot of the bleachers and the playing lines.

Both teams appeared a trifle nervous before the game commenced, undoubtedly caused by the magnitude of the crowd and the importance of winning.

McDonald, Thorpe, Preston, McCabe, and Judd, all Bartlett subst.i.tutes, swathed in extra sweaters, seated themselves by the sidelines, in an advantageous position, to watch the game.

Benz, captain, conferred with Melvin, Pennington captain. The referee tossed a coin. Melvin won the toss and chose to receive the kickoff.

Benz selected the north goal for Bartlett to defend. The two teams lined up quickly. An avalanche of sound came from the spectators.

"Are you ready?" shrieked the referee to the Pennington captain.

Melvin raised his hand in the affirmative.

"Ready, Bartlett?"

But Benz was crouching, tying up a shoe lace, preparatory to kicking, and trying to overcome his nervousness. This prolonged the tenseness.