The Mark of the Knife Part 3

"Teeny-bits," said the coach. "I'm going to pull you up to the first squad; you may not get a chance to play in many of the games, but I think I can use you as a subst.i.tute back. That was a good tackle you made and a good run, but you have a lot to learn yet. One thing is change of pace when you carry the ball. If you sprint the way you do in a track dash, the men against you have a good target for a swift tackle, but if you keep something in reserve and turn it on just as you're about to be tackled, you'll do better. Watch Durant; you can learn a lot from him."

Teeny-bits walked on air on the way back to his room, but no one knew it, for it was his way not to show elation in things that concerned himself, and he told no one of his promotion, for he preferred to let the news get abroad by other means. Neil Durant overtook him before he reached the campus and walked with him to Gannett Hall. "You're always springing surprises, aren't you, Teeny-bits?" said the big half-back with a smile. "I didn't think you had so much speed."

"I don't believe I could do it again," said Teeny-bits deprecatingly.

"Of course you could," declared the captain. "Coach just told me you're to join our squad. I'm glad; I'm counting on you to do big things."

Teeny-bits looked up at his companion and said to himself that one of the biggest reasons why he wanted to do big things was to win the close friendship of this hard-fighting, clean-playing "regular" at his side.

Aloud he said: "I'm going to try like thunder!"

When Coach Murray at the beginning of practice next day announced that Holbrook was to leave the scrub and join the first squad there were murmurs of approval that were joined in by nearly every one. The exception was Tracey Campbell, who considered that Teeny-bits had been unjustly promoted over his head. He determined to show up the newcomer if the opportunity came, and it was noticeable in the practice that afternoon, when Teeny-bits got a chance to play with the first team for a few minutes, that Campbell made a tremendous effort to down the new member of the squad with a crash.

Ba.s.sett was watching on the side lines and that evening he came round to Campbell's room with a proposition.

CHAPTER III

A PLAN AND A GAME

Campbell and the Western Whirlwind had certain qualities in common; both had ambitions to be "sporty." They shared an inclination for lurid neckties, fancy socks and striped silk shirts; they believed themselves wise as to the ways of the world, and each had been heard to express the opinion that Ridgley School was a "slow old dump." Campbell was the leader of the two--he dominated Ba.s.sett as a political boss dominates his hench-men. One reason was that Ba.s.sett foresaw favors to be had at the hands of Tracey Campbell.

Tracey's home was only eight miles away--just on the other side of Greensboro--and within recent years his life had been greatly changed through the fortunes of war. To many homes in the busy town of Greensboro the struggle in Europe had brought privation and to some it had brought tragedy, but to the Campbells it had brought prosperity.

Campbell, Senior, was a wholesale dealer in leather; he had caught the market just right and, in the expressive words of his neighbors, had made "a mountain of money." He had moved from his modest home in the town and had built a pretentious house on a hillock two miles to the west. Those of the townspeople who had been inside "the mansion"

declared that every chair and every picture on the wall was screaming aloud, "He got rich quick! He got rich quick!"

Campbell, Senior, did not believe that the son of a man who had made a million should remain in the public school, and so he had arranged to have Tracey go to Ridgley. The younger Campbell had come to the school on the hill with a certain feeling of superiority that was in no small measure owing to his belief that his father was richer than the father of any other fellow in sight.

Ba.s.sett had been brought up in a somewhat similar home; his father was a promoter of mines and oil wells and had come naturally by a bombastic manner which he had in turn pa.s.sed on to his only son. The elder Ba.s.sett was known behind his back as Blow-Hard Ba.s.sett, and it was said of him that he owned more diamond stick-pins than any other man alive.

On the night after Teeny-bits had practiced for the first time with the "big team", Ba.s.sett knocked on Campbell's locked door.

"Who is it?" demanded Campbell, and slipped the catch when he heard Ba.s.sett's voice. As soon as the "Whirlwind" had stepped inside, Campbell went over to the window and resumed the occupation in which he had been engaged when Ba.s.sett had interrupted him. From the window sill he took a smoldering cigarette and, holding it in his cupped hand so that the glow could not be seen from outside, sucked in, and after a moment cautiously blew the smoke out into the night air. Ba.s.sett watched him in silence for a moment and then he said:

"They slipped something over on you, didn't they?"

"What can you expect?" was Campbell's reply. "But I can tell you this--if I don't get a fair show pretty quick, I'm going to quit--and I'll not only quit playing football, but I'll say good-by for a lifetime to Ridgley School. I'm not going to be the goat much longer--you can bet your gold pieces on that."

"You'd have been on the first team already if it hadn't been for Teeny-bits," said Ba.s.sett.

"Some day I'm going to show that fellow up," said Campbell. "It makes me sick the way the whole crowd falls for him."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well you watch and see!"

"Got any plan?"

"Not yet."

"I have--one that will work this time." Ba.s.sett looked at his friend keenly and seeing that Campbell's face betrayed skepticism he prepared himself mentally to exercise the same talents that had made his father, Blow-Hard Ba.s.sett, a successful seller of mining stock.

The game with Wilton, on the last Sat.u.r.day in October, was the first hard test of the season. The outcome of the struggle with Wilton had always been taken at Ridgley as an indication of the probable result of the game with Jefferson,--the final athletic event of the year and the crisis of the football season. If Ridgley pushed back the st.u.r.dy Wilton team and s.n.a.t.c.hed victory from the wearers of the purple, then there were reasonable grounds for hoping that three weeks later there would be a bonfire on the campus and a midnight parade to celebrate a victory over Jefferson, the ancient and honored foe of Ridgley. If, on the other hand, Wilton showed an impertinent disregard for the best line that Ridgley could a.s.semble and carried their impertinence to such an extreme as to romp home with the victory, the situation looked black as ink, and the tense atmosphere that accompanies forlorn hopes took possession of Ridgley School and penetrated not merely to the recitation halls, but even, it was said, to the office of Doctor Wells, the head. In such times there were mighty efforts to bolster up the spirit of the team, to feed it concentrated football knowledge and to ward off by Herculean effort the black shadow of defeat that raised its ugly head like a thunder cloud pushing itself higher and higher over the white buildings on the hill.

Before the Wilton game Coach Murray had a few words to say to the team that made every member tingle with a desire to show what he could do.

When the whistle blew and the game began, Teeny-bits was sitting on the side lines with the other subst.i.tutes.

Ridgley kicked off to Wilton, and immediately received a terrific surprise. The pigskin went sailing through the air impelled by the heavy boot of big Tom Curwood; it fell into the purple-covered arms of a rangy Wilton half-back who, instead of running with the ball, immediately sent away a long spiral punt that flew over the heads of the charging Ridgley players. Neil Durant yelled out a quick warning and turned with his team-mates.

Ned Stillson was nearest the ball when it struck the ground; he intended to gather it up as it bounced, and then he meant to carry it far back toward the Wilton goal, but his calculations went wrong. His outstretched fingers touched the ball and almost grasped it, but the pigskin oval slipped from him and next instant--to the horror of the Ridgley watchers--was seized by a swift-footed son of Wilton who had come tearing downfield as if some weird instinct had informed him that Ned was to make the fatal error. Before any Ridgley player could overtake him he was lying between the goal posts with a satisfied grin on his features. The game was scarcely thirty seconds old and the score was 6-0 in favor of the invaders! A moment later the Wilton captain kicked an easy goal and the tally was seven.

Nor was that all of the misery in store for Ridgley; before the timekeeper had signaled the end of the first quarter, another disaster had occurred; and this time the element of luck, which might have been said to enter somewhat at least into the scoring of the first touchdown, played favorites no more with Wilton than with Ridgley. The home team was outgeneraled. By a series of strong rushes the visitors carried the ball sixty-five yards for a well-earned touchdown. The baffling thing about their play was a sudden shift; the quarter-back began to shout his numbers, then he yelled "Shift" and with a quick jump several members of the Wilton team took new positions; almost instantly the pigskin was snapped and before the Ridgley players had the Wilton runner down, the ball was five or ten yards nearer their goal line. That had happened again and again during Wilton's successful march to Ridgley's goal line.

Wilton scored near the corner of the field and failed to kick the goal.

The tally was 13-0.

The brief rest between the first and the second quarters was put to good use by Neil Durant; he got his players together and so rallied their spirits that in the second quarter they not only held their own, but gradually pushed their opponents back and back until they were threatening the line. But they did not quite succeed in scoring; with thirty seconds more to play, Ridgley had the ball on Wilton's five-yard line. It was first down. A rush through tackle failed and while the Ridgley team was lining up for another try, the timekeeper's whistle blew. The chance had been lost.

The third quarter started more auspiciously; two forward pa.s.ses netted Ridgley forty yards of gain. The ball was far within the enemy territory again, but Wilton held, and on the fourth down Ned Stillson fell back and made a successful drop kick.

During the rest of this quarter there was a good deal of seesawing back and forth and neither side seemed to have the advantage, until Tom Curwood recovered a fumble on the visitors' twenty-five-yard line. Again the Wilton line held and again the Ridgley team scored by a drop kick.

This time it was Neil Durant's toe that sent the oval between the uprights and over the cross-bar. The third quarter ended with the score 13-6, and Wilton's cheering section indulged in vociferous expressions of glee.

At the beginning of the final quarter Coach Murray sent in Teeny-bits to take the place of White, the left half-back, who was limping. The Wilton players glanced at the subst.i.tute and exchanged looks of satisfaction; the newcomer seemed too small to be dangerous. It was the first big game that Teeny-bits had ever been in; he was quivering with eagerness to run with the ball. But the opportunity did not seem to come; most of the time Ridgley was on the defensive, fighting desperately to hold back the Wilton plungers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AT THE BEGINNING OF THE FINAL QUARTER COACH MURRAY SENT IN TEENY-BITS TO TAKE THE PLACE OF WHITE.]

When Ridgley finally did get its chance the time was slipping swiftly away, and hope was glimmering but faintly in the home stands. There was to be one more sensation, however. The ball was Ridgley's on its own twenty-five-yard line. Durant carried it forward ten yards, then Tom Curwood plunged through for five more. Then Dean called on Teeny-bits.

"Twenty-seven, sixteen, eleven," he called out, and the ball came back swiftly into his hands. Teeny-bits took it from Dean on the run and began to circle the right end of the line; a gap opened for an instant; he was through it like a rabbit diving through a hedge and with a thrill dashed on. He did not mean to stop until the last whitewashed line was behind him.

In front, the Wilton quarter-back was crouching tensely to intercept him. Teeny-bits shifted direction to pa.s.s him, but the quarter-back was not only wily, but swift; he was after Teeny-bits like a cat and began to force him to run diagonally across the field. Two Wilton players converged on Teeny-bits from the other side and one of them made a desperate tackle. Teeny-bits used his straight arm to ward off the attack and succeeded in slipping from the tackler's clutches, but the fraction of a second that he lost opened an opportunity to the Wilton quarter-back. Teeny-bits felt himself tackled heavily; he fell against the player who had first tackled him and to his utter dismay felt the ball knocked from his grasp and saw it go bounding over the ground. He lay sprawling, so tangled with the Wilton players that for the moment he could not rise. With horrified gaze he saw the leather oval roll free and he felt the overwhelming shame of one who has failed to be equal to the demands of a crisis. But his feeling of self-condemnation immediately gave way to an entirely different emotion, for a swiftly moving pair of legs incased in the Ridgley red and white came within the range of his vision. He glanced up and saw that it was Neil Durant. Two Wilton players were after the ball also, but the Ridgley captain was before them; he scooped it up and ran swiftly down the field. While the stands roared in a frenzy of delight, Neil crossed the goal line and circled round till he placed the ball squarely behind the posts. Tom Curwood kicked the goal, and two minutes later the game ended with the ball in mid-field and the score 13-13.

"I'm glad you dropped that ball," said Durant, joining Teeny-bits as the subst.i.tute half-back was walking off the field; "it came just right to bounce up into my hands."

"It _was_ lucky," admitted the candidate, "but I was mighty ashamed of myself."

"Well, it was a hard tackle," said Durant. "I don't blame you for dropping the ball."

Teeny-bits was about to make a reply when he saw coming toward them a white-haired man who walked with a limp. "There's Dad," he said, "I didn't know he was coming to the game."

Old Daniel Holbrook approached them with a beaming face. "Well, well, son!" he exclaimed, "I thought maybe you'd play, so I came to see the game."

Teeny-bits introduced Durant and tried to smother a feeling of embarra.s.sment, the source of which he would not have cared to probe.

"Your ma, Teeny-bits, wants you should come down for Sunday dinner to-morrow," said the station master, "and she's particular for you to bring a friend. I've killed two young roosters and ma's fixin' 'em up with the kind of stuffin' you like. Now if this friend of yours here would like to come down with you I'll drive up and get both of you in the morning after church. He looks as if he'd have a good appet.i.te."