The Jester of St. Timothy's Part 21

The spectators cheered the injured player who came off so reluctantly; then they cheered Westby as he ran out upon the field. Irving was near the group of subst.i.tutes when Dennison hobbled in.

"Hurt much, Denny?" asked Briggs.

"No-just that same old ankle-hang it all!" Dennison slipped into a blanket and lowered himself painfully to the ground.

Irving's eyes were upon Westby; he hoped that this time the boy would not fail. Westby had an opportunity now to steady his nerves; it was St.

Timothy's ball and only the first down. Collingwood gave the signal; Irving watched closely, saw Westby take the ball on the pa.s.s and dive into the line. In a moment all the St. Timothy's eleven seemed to be behind him, hurling him through, and St. Timothy's on the side-lines waved and shouted, for Westby had gained five yards.

Collingwood called on him again; he gained three yards more. Irving shouted with the rest; he turned to Mr. Randolph and said,-

"That ought to give Westby confidence."

"I hope it does; he's so erratic," Mr. Randolph answered. "If only he's starting in now on one of his brilliant streaks!"

Lane, the Fifth Form halfback, tried to go round the end on the next play, but made no gain. Then Westby was driven again at left tackle, but he got only two yards.

Collingwood gave the signal for a criss-cross; Lane took the ball, and pa.s.sed it to Westby, who was already on the run. Westby got clear of the St. John's end, and seemed well started for a brilliant run; but their halfback chased him across the field and finally, by a tremendous diving tackle, pulled him down. As it was, Westby had made so much of a gain that the distance had to be measured; he had failed by only a few inches to make the required amount, and the ball went to St. John's on their thirty-five-yard line.

St. John's made two ineffectual rushes; then their fullback, Warner, prepared to kick. Westby and Collingwood raced to their places in the back field.

There was a tense moment on both sides; then Warner sent the ball flying high and far. It was Westby's ball; the St. John's ends and one of their tackles came down fast under the kick.

Irving, with his heart in his throat, watched Westby; the boy, with both hands raised, was wabbling about, stepping to the right, to the left, backward, forward; the ends were there in front of him, crouched and waiting; Collingwood tried to fend them off, but the big tackle rushed in and upset him, and at the same instant the ball fell into Westby's arms-and slipped through them.

One of the ends dropped on the ball, rolled over with it a couple of times, rolled up on his feet again and was off with it for the St.

Timothy's goal; he had carried it to the twenty-yard line when Collingwood pulled him down. St. John's were streaming down their side line, shrieking and waving their blue flags; St. Timothy's stood dazed and silent.

"Oh, b.u.t.terfingers!" cried Briggs, stamping his foot.

"Just like Wes-he wouldn't make a football player in a thousand years!"

exclaimed Windom.

Irving heard the comments; he heard other comments. If St. John's should score now! He hoped they wouldn't; he was sorry enough for Westby. But St. John's did score, by a series of furious centre rushes, and their fullback kicked the goal. And when, fifteen minutes later, the referee blew his whistle, the game was St. John's, by that score of six to nothing.

Irving could understand why some of the St. Timothy's boys had tears in their eyes. It was pretty trying even for him to see the triumphant visitors rush upon the field, toss the members of their team upon their shoulders, and bear them away exultantly to the athletic house, yelling and flaunting their flags, while the St. Timothy's players walked disconsolately and silently behind them.

It was trying afterwards to stand by and see those blue-bedecked invaders form into long-linked lines and dance their serpentine of victory on St. Timothy's ground. It was trying to stand by and watch barge after barge bedecked with blue roll away while the occupants shouted and waved their hats-and left the field to silence and despair.

But still St. Timothy's did not abandon the scene of their defeat. They waited loyally in front of the athletic house to welcome and console their team when it should emerge. Collingwood led the players out, and the crowd gave them a good one.

Collingwood said, with a smile, though in an unsteady voice, "Much obliged, fellows," and waved his hand.

Then the crowd dispersed; slowly they all walked away.

That evening, as Irving was about to leave his room to go down to supper, a boy brought him a telegram. It was from his brother; it said,-

"We licked them, twelve to six. Feeling fine. Lawrence."

At the table Irving tried not to appear too happy. He apologized for his state of mind and told the boys the cause; those who, like Carroll, were Harvard sympathizers derived a little cheer from the news, and the others seemed indifferent to it. Westby was not there. The training table was vacant, and at the other tables were empty chairs where subst.i.tutes on the team had sat. Mrs. Barclay was entertaining the football players.

"I wish I was breaking training there," said Carroll to Irving; "she has the most wonderful food."

In the discussion of the game there seemed to be little disposition to blame Westby.

"After all," said Blake, "he was only a sub, and he never got so very much practice in handling punts. I don't think fellows ought to be sore on him."

"No, he's just sore on himself," said Carroll.

"It's hard luck, anyhow; except for that one thing he played mighty well."

The mail boy pa.s.sed, leaving a letter for Irving. It was in his uncle's handwriting; and his uncle never wrote to him; it was his aunt who kept him posted on all the news of home. Did this mean that she was ill-or that some disaster had befallen?

Irving determined that if it was bad news, he would reserve it until he should be alone; he put the letter in his pocket and waited anxiously for the meal to end.

When he was again in his room, he tore open the envelope and read this letter:-

DEAR IRVING,-I have not helped you and Lawrence much financially. I thought it would do you and him no harm to try out your own resources. But I always meant to give you a lift whenever it should seem wise, and whenever a lift could be most advantageously arranged.

Your father was never able to lay up any money; his work was of a kind that did not permit that. But he would always have shared with me whatever he had. I have had it in mind to do the same by his children. I have sold half the farm-the western half-your half and Lawrence's. There is four thousand dollars in cash for each of you, and four thousand on a mortgage for each of you at six per cent.

You had better draw out of school-teaching as soon as possible and study law-if that is still what you most want to do.

Your aunt is well and sends her love. We are both looking forward to seeing you and Lawrence at Christmas.

Your affectionate uncle,

ROBERT UPTON.

A flood of warm emotion poured through Irving; his eyes filled. He had sometimes thought his uncle selfish and narrow-and all the time he had been working towards this!

Irving wrote his reply; he wrote also to Lawrence. Then he took his letters down to the Study building, to post them so that they might go out with the night mail. On his way he pa.s.sed the Barclay house; it was all brightly lighted, the sound of laughter and of gay boy voices rang out through the open windows; the notes of a piano then subdued them, and there burst out a chorus in the sonorous measured sweep of "Wacht am Rhein."

Irving stood for a few moments and listened; his exultant heart was responsive to that shouted song. Fellows who could sing like that, he thought, must have trodden disappointment under heel.

An hour later, when Irving sat in his room, the boys who had been entertained at the Barclays' came tramping up the stairs. They were still singing, but they stopped their song before they entered the dormitory. Irving met them to say good-night-first Dennison and then Morrill and then Louis Collingwood.

"Have you heard the new song Wes has got off, Mr. Upton?" asked Dennison.

"No, what's that?"

"Hit it up, Wes."

"Oh, choke it off." Collingwood grinned uneasily.

"Go on, Wes,-strike up. We'll all join in."

"Wait till I get my banjo-you don't mind, do you, Mr. Upton?"

"No. I'd like to hear it."