Tom Fairfield's Pluck and Luck Part 8

"It was an accident, anyhow," the latter added.

"An _avoidable_ accident," put in Bruce quietly. "You are lucky it was no worse, h.e.l.ler. Tom might have been seriously injured."

"A miss is as good as a mile," quoted someone. "Better give him a lift back, Sam. I'll walk."

"Will you ride in the car?" asked Sam, half eagerly, for he realized how popular Tom was, and he knew how thin was the ice on which he was skating. "Come on, there's lots of room."

"No--thank you," said Tom between his teeth, and it was an effort to add the last two words. "I can walk."

There was a little pause--an embarra.s.sed silence, and then Nick said:

"Well, we might as well go on, Sam."

"Yes, I guess so. We can't do any good here. Come on, fellows."

They piled back into the car. There were some good-nights in which Sam and his crony did not join, and then the auto rolled off in the moonlight.

"Can you walk, Tom?" asked Bruce, with his arm around his friend's shoulders.

"Oh, yes. I'm a bit stiff, that's all."

"Too bad. This is my fault. You may be lame for football practice now."

"No, I guess not. I'll use some liniment when I get back. It wasn't your fault at all. It was that h.e.l.ler's confounded meanness, and I've a good notion to------"

"You're not going to make a row over it; are you!" asked Bruce quickly.

"You won't go back on what you said?"

"No, but I'll watch my chance for getting back at him. I almost believe he did it deliberately."

"I hardly think so, though it was mighty careless of him. But we might as well be getting on. It isn't far to the Hall now."

Tom found himself a trifle stiff and lame but he could walk all right, though with a slight limp. Bruce bade him good-night and pa.s.sed on to his own dormitory, while Tom silently made his way to the room he had picked out for himself and his chums. There was a light burning in it, though it was after hours.

"Guess all rules are suspended for a while yet," mused our hero as he entered. "Well, we'll pa.s.s the wig joke for a while. I forgot to get one anyhow."

"h.e.l.lo, what's up?" demanded Bert, who was getting ready for bed.

"Steam roller hit you?" inquired Jack. "Why, your head is cut, Tom!"

"Yes, I had a little go with Sam h.e.l.ler's auto, and I got the worst of it," and our hero told his story of the evening.

"The cad!" cried Jack. "We'll fix him for this. I almost wish you hadn't given Bruce that promise, Tom."

"Oh, that's all right. There are more ways of getting back at Sam than making a cla.s.s matter of it. Let's forget all about it. Whew! but I'm stiff. Any of you fellows got any liniment?"

"I have," declared Bert, producing a bottle of highly-flavored compound. "It's home-made but it goes to the spot," and Tom was soon bathing his injured hip, and telling the story of Bruce's "experiment."

Much against their desires his chums promised with Tom not to proceed against Sam and Nick.

Elmwood Hall began to buzz and hum with activities, not alone of lessons and lectures, but of sports and the rumors of sports. There were also whispers of hazings to come, and the luckless Freshmen cowered in their rooms, and trembled at the sound of a knock on their portals.

"Did you see the notice?" exclaimed Jack one afternoon as he rushed into the room he shared with Tom and Bert.

"What notice?" asked Bert. "Has that sneak h.e.l.ler left? If he has it will save trouble later."

"No such luck," was the answer. "But football practice starts to-morrow on the gridiron. Hurray! Let's get out our suits, and see how many holes there are in 'em."

Books were tossed aside, and from the trunks were pulled the jackets and trousers that had seen yeoman service.

"Mine are all right," announced Tom.

"Whew! There's an all-fired big rip here," declared Jack, as he viewed his trousers. "Anyone got a needle and thread with 'em?"

"Use some wire," suggested Bert. "That's what I do. Thread won't hold."

And then began a busy session for the chums.

It was the day of the first football practice. Out on the field a.s.sembled half a hundred lads from whom the leading school team would be picked. There were at least a dozen lads for every position, and only a few positions to fill, for many of the former players had come back.

"What are you going to try for, Tom?" asked Bert, as he delivered a beautiful drop kick down the field.

"One of the backs--left half for choice."

"Here comes Morse," remarked Jack, as the captain came into sight, surrounded by a score of lads seeking to curry favor.

"And there's Jackson, the coach," added Tom. "He's got a suit on.

Guess he'll go in for practice."

The field soon became a scene of activity. From one side two lads strolled from under the grandstand where some of the dressing rooms were, and advanced toward the coach and captain.

"There are h.e.l.ler and Johnson," said Bert in a low voice. "They're going to have a try, too."

"Did you hear where Sam wants to play?" asked Tom.

"No," answered his chums.

"Come on now, boys, line up!" called the captain. "We'll play a scrub game. Hecker, Miller, Jones, Reilley, you'll be on the scrub for a while," and Morse called on other names to make an eleven.

"Regular team over here!" went on the young captain--"that is what's left of 'em. Tom Fairfield, you'll be left half, I guess. Bert, get in at guard, though I may change you later. Jack, you'll do at tackle, I think."

"Where am I to play?" asked Sam h.e.l.ler as though it was all settled--that is all but naming his position. "I'd like to go in at quarterback."

Morse looked at him. So did the coach, and the latter nodded at the captain.

"Very well, h.e.l.ler. Try it at quarter," a.s.sented Morse, "though I can't promise to always play you there in matches. Now then line up.

Tom will take the ball for a try through the scrub. Be careful in pa.s.sing it, h.e.l.ler."

There was rather a gasp of astonishment from the other players and some of the spectators as the two enemies were thus brought into the limelight. As for Tom, he felt a sinking at his heart, for he realized that Sam had it in his power to make or mar his play by the manner in which he pa.s.sed the ball.