The Crimson Sweater/Chapter 7

CTOBER went its way, a period of bright, crisp, golden weather filled with hard work for the football players. There were defeats and victories both in that early season, but on the whole the team showed up fairly well. Burlen and Warren and Pryor returned to practice at the end of their probation and, although each was more or less stale, their presence in accustomed positions heartened the team. Otto Ferris, too, returned, but his advent was not portentous, since the best he could do was to make the second as a substitute back. Bacon still held his place at quarter, although in two games he had been kept out of the play, his position being filled by Roy. The latter had done excellent work, but he had not had the experience gained by Bacon, and this, together with the fact that he and Horace did not work smoothly together, made it pretty certain that Bacon would go into the game with Hammond. Roy was not greatly disappointed, for he had scarcely dared hope to make the first team that Fall. Next year Bacon would be gone from school, and then, barring accidents, the place would be his. Meanwhile, ever mindful of his promise to Jack Rogers, Roy worked like a Trojan on the second and ran that team in such a way that a score against the first at least every other day of practice became something to expect. Had Roy been able to work with Horace as he did with Forrest, Bacon's position would not have been so secure. Roy was like a streak of lightning when he once got away for a run, and, like a streak of lightning, was mighty hard to catch. At this he quite outplayed Bacon. The latter seldom managed to make his quarter-back runs tell, but he knew his men from long experience and used them like a general.

Chub Eaton, inspired by his friendship for Roy, became a regular attendant at practice and even travelled on more than one occasion to a neighboring town with the team. Chub, however, didn't approve of Roy's presence on the second.

"It's all poppycock," he declared warmly. "You can play all around Bacon and I don't understand why Cobb and Jack don't see it. You're too easy-going, Roy. You ought to make a kick; tell 'em you want what's coming to you; make 'em give you a fair try-out on the first. I tell you, my young friend, you don't gain anything in this world by being over-modest. Get out and flap your wings and crow a few times till they take notice of you!"

At all of which Roy smiled calmly.

The two had become inseparable. Whenever it was possible they were together. In the evening they sat side by side in the study room and afterwards Roy spent his time on the edge of Chub's bed in the Junior Dormitory until the bell rang. There were many stolen hours in the canoe and always, rain or shine, Sunday afternoon found them on the river, floating down with the stream or paddling about the shores engaged in wonderful explorations.

Roy had recovered from his first nervousness regarding studies and was getting on fairly well. He was never likely to astonish any of the instructors with his brilliancy, but what he once learned he remembered and he was conscientious where studies were concerned. His mother mentioned the scholarship less frequently nowadays in her letters and his father asked sarcastically whether they taught anything besides football at Ferry Hill, but was secretly very proud of his son's success in that line.

So November came in with a week of chill, wet days, days when outdoor practice meant handling a slippery ball and rolling about in puddles of water, but which sent them in to supper with outrageous appetites.

Green Academy came and saw and conquered, Pottsville High School was sent home beaten, Cedar Cove School was defeated by a single point—Jack himself kicked the goal that did it—and lo, the schedule was almost at an end, with only the big game of the season, that with Hammond, looming up portentously ten days distant!

The whole school was football mad. Every afternoon of practice saw boys and instructors on the field either playing or watching; only severe illness kept a Ferry Hill student away from the field those days. Every afternoon some graduate or other appeared in a faded brown sweater and after watching practice awhile suddenly darted into the fracas and laid down the law. And there were long and earnest consultations afterwards between the grad and Jack and Mr. Cobb, and fellows who were not too certain of their places trembled in their muddy shoes. And there were changes, too, in the line-up, and more than one pair of muddy shoes either went to the side-line or scuffled about with the second. But only one of the changes became permanent; for Mr. Cobb had selected well. Roy never forgot the day when Johnny King made his appearance.

It was just a week to a day before the Hammond game. Roy was one of the first on the field that afternoon, but Jack and Mr. Cobb were ahead of him, and with them was a big, broad-shouldered youth in his shirt sleeves. Roy groaned in sympathy with the first team, knowing from experience that they would have an unpleasant time of it. The grad had the look of a chap who knew football, knew what he wanted and was bound to have it. Then the players assembled, went through a few minutes of catching and punting and signal line-up, and finally faced each other in two eager, determined lines. Mr. Cobb blew his whistle and the first came through the second for a yard outside of left tackle. By this time Roy had learned the identity of the graduate, and when he could he examined him with interest, remembering what Jack Rogers had told of the last year's captain. For awhile King had little to say; he merely followed the game as it went back and forth in the middle of the field. Then came a try around the second's left end and Roy, running in, brought the first's left half-back to earth. The tackle was a hard one and the half-back lost the ball and sprang to his feet to find Roy edging toward the first's goal with it under his arm. It was the second's first down then, and Roy sent full-back crashing against the opposing left-guard for a yard and a half. That began an advance that the first was unable to stay. Roy was everywhere, and time and again, when the whistle had blown, he was found at the bottom of the heap still trying to pull the runner ahead. But a fumble by the second's left-tackle, who had been drawn back for a plunge, changed the tide and the ball went back to the first almost under her goal posts. A halt was called, Johnny King conferred a moment with Mr. Cobb and Roy was summoned to the first, Bacon slipping across to the other line. But Roy could have told King then and there that the change wouldn't pay, for he knew Horace Burlen. And it didn't. King frowned and puzzled during three plays. Then his brow lighted.

"Change those centers," he commanded.

Forrest, amazed and embarrassed by the unexpected honor, changed places with Horace.

"Somebody tell him the key number for the signals," said King. "Forrest, let's see you wake up; you're slower than you were last year. Now get in there and do something!"

And Forrest smiled good-naturedly and bent over the ball.

Things went better at once, and, Forrest and Roy working together like well fitted parts of a machine, the ball went down the field on straight plays and over the line for the first score. But Forrest had to work, for Horace, smarting under the indignity of a return to the second, fought over every inch of the ground. The ball was taken from the first and given to Bacon. And then there was a different story to tell. Bacon piled his men through center, Horace getting the jump on Forrest every time and crashing through in spite of the efforts of the secondary defense. King shook his head and frowned. Then he called Jack Rogers out of the line and talked to him for a minute, while the players repaired broken laces and had their heated faces sponged off. Roy, making the rounds of the men, cheering and entreating, caught by accident a portion of the conversation between the two.

"That's where you've made your mistake," King was saying sorrowfully. "You've failed to see the possibilities in Forrest. Slow? Sure he is; slow as an ice wagon! But you could have knocked a lot of that out of him. He's too good-natured; I know the sort; but mark my words, Jack, if you can get him mad he'll play like a whirlwind! Oh, it's too late now; Bacon and Burlen are your best pair. Only—well, there's no use regretting. You've picked a pretty good team, old man, and if you can ginger them up a bit more, get more fight into them next Saturday, you'll stand to win. Remember this, Jack; a fresh center that knows the game, even if he is slow, is better than a tuckered one. Give Forrest a chance in the second half, if you can; and put Porter in with him. They're a good pair. Too bad Porter can't work better with Burlen; he's a streak, that kid! Well—"

Roy moved out of hearing and presently he and Forrest were back on the second and they were hammering their way down the field again. The first fifteen-minute half ended with the ball in possession of the second on the first's twenty-yard line. The players trotted to the side-line and crept under their blankets and sweaters, King and Rogers and Cobb talking and gesticulating a little way off. Roy found himself next to Forrest. The center, rubbing thoughtfully at a strained finger, heaved a sigh.

"Sorry I disappointed Johnny," he said. "But, shucks! Why, I couldn't stand up ten minutes against that Hammond center! I know what I'm good for, Porter; I don't try to deceive myself into thinking I'm a great player; only—well, I'm sorry I couldn't do better for Johnny King."

"You'll do a heap better next Saturday," answered Roy.

"Pshaw! They won't let me into it!"

"You wait and see," said Roy. "And if you go in I guess I will. And if we do get into it, Forrest, let's show them what we can do, will you?"

Forrest turned and observed the other's earnest countenance smilingly.

"I'll do the best I know how," he said good-naturedly, "but I guess they'll do better to leave me out."

"Oh, you be hanged!" grunted Roy. "You'll fight or I'll punch you!"

"Oh, I guess I'll get my fill of punches," laughed Forrest. "They say that Hammond center is a corker at that game!"

"I believe you're scared of him," taunted Roy.

But Forrest only shook his big head slowly.

"Oh, I guess not," he answered. "Come on; time's up."

The first scored again soon after play was resumed, Jack Rogers getting through outside left-tackle for a twelve-yard plunge across the line. Then the ball went to the second and, with the injunction to confine his plays to straight plunges at the line, Roy took up the fight. But the first were playing their very best to-day; perhaps the presence of the old captain had a good deal to do with it; at all events, the second's gains were few and far between and several times it lost the ball only to have it returned by order of the coaches. They were trying out the first's defense and although twice Roy stood inside of the first's ten-yard line, the practice ended without a score for the second.

"I thought you'd made the first that time," said Chub as he and Roy walked back to the campus together later. "You would have, too, if Horace hadn't passed like an idiot."

"I knew he would," said Roy. "There wasn't much use trying to do anything with him in front of me. If only Forrest would get some snap into his playing! Great Scott, he's a regular tortoise!"

"Well, there's a week yet," said Chub hopefully. "There's no telling what may happen in a week."

"There won't anything happen as far as I am concerned," answered the other a trifle despondently.

Nor did there. When practice was over on Thursday Roy stood with the second and answered the cheer given them by the first, and afterwards he and Forrest walked over to the gymnasium together trying not to feel blue.

"Well, that's over with for this year," grunted Forrest. "Tomorrow we'll be gentlemen and strut around in some decent clothes." He looked thoughtfully at his torn and faded brown jersey. "I guess this is the last time I'll wear you, old chap," he said softly.

But Forrest was mistaken, for the next afternoon he and Roy and four other members of the second were out on the gridiron again walking through plays and learning the new signals of the first. Jack Rogers wasn't going to lose the morrow's game on account of lack of players. There was a solid hour and a quarter of it, and when Roy went to bed at half-past nine, a half hour earlier than usual, formations and signals were still buzzing through his brain.

The gridiron, freshly marked, glistened under bright sunlight. November could not have been kinder in the matter of weather. There had been no hard freeze since the rains and the field was as springy under foot as in September. Over on the far side a big cherry and black flag fluttered briskly in the breeze and beneath it, overflowing from the small stand onto the yellowing turf, were Hammond's supporters. Opposite were the Ferry Hill hordes under their brown and white banner and with them a sprinkling of townsfolk from Silver Cove. Here were Doctor Emery, Mrs. Emery and Harry, the latter armed with a truculent brown and white banner; nearby was Mr. Buckman acting as squire to a group of ladies from the town. Beyond was Roy, one of a half-dozen blanketed forms; still further along, squatting close to the side-line, was Chub Eaton, and from where he sat down to the farther thirty-yard line boys with brown and white flags and tin horns were scattered. And between the opposing ranks were two dozen persons upon whom all eyes were fixed. Eleven of them wore the brown jerseys and brown and white striped stockings of Ferry Hill School. Eleven others wore the cherry-colored jerseys and cherry and black stockings of Hammond Academy. Two more were in ordinary attire save that sweaters had taken the places of coats. These latter were the officials, both college men, the umpire showing in his sweater the light red of Cornell, and the referee, by the same means, proving allegiance to Columbia. The two teams had been facing each other for fifteen minutes, during which time the ball had hovered continuously in mid-field. And now for the fourth time it had changed hands and Bacon was crying his signals. From the Ferry Hill supporters came a rattling cheer; "Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Ferry Hill! Ferry Hill! Ferry Hill!"

And from across the field of battle swept back, mocking and defiant, Hammond's parody "Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah rah, rah! Very Ill! Very Ill! Very Ill!"

Then cheers were forgotten, for Kirby, Ferry Hill's full-back, was tearing a gash in the red line outside of right-guard. He was almost free of the enemy when Pool, the opposing quarter, dragged him down. But twelve yards is something to gladden the heart when for a quarter of an hour half-yard gains have been the rule. Ferry Hill forgot to cheer; she just yelled, each boy for himself, and it was more than a minute before Chub, leading, could get them together. This time Hammond forgot to mock and instead sent up a long, lusty slogan that did her credit:

"Rah, rah, rah! Who are we? H-A-M-M-O-N-D! Hoorah, Hoorah! Hammond Academy! Rah, rah, rah!"

Another break in the cherry-hued line and Ferry Hill was down on the opponent's thirty-yard line Jack Rogers holding the ball at arm's-length as he lay on the turf with half the Hammond team upon him. Then came two unsuccessful attempts to get through the center, followed by a double-pass that barely gained the necessary five yards. Chub was busy now and so were all the others on that side of the gridiron. Even Harry joined her shrill voice, the while she waved her flag valiantly. Again the Brown charged into the enemy's line, but this time her attack was broken into fragments and Whitcomb was borne back for a loss of six yards. A tandem on right-tackle failed to regain more than a yard of the lost ground and Pryor, left half-back, fell back for the kick. It was a poor attempt, the ball shooting almost straight into air. When it came down the Hammond right-tackle found it, fought his way over two white streaks and was finally pulled to earth on the forty-yard line. Then the tide of battle turned with a vengeance. Back over the field went Hammond, using her heavy backs in a tackle-tandem formation with telling effect. The gains were short but frequent. The wings caught the worst of the hammering, for at center Hammond found it impossible to gain, although Jones, her much-heralded center-rush, was proving himself a good match for Horace Burlen. Jack Rogers, at left-tackle, was a hard proposition, but Fernald, beside him at left guard, was weak, and not a few of the gains were on that side. On the other side Hadden at tackle was playing high, and although Gallup was doing his best to break things up, that wing gave badly before Hammond's fierce onslaught. The backs saved the day time and again, bringing down the runner when almost clear of the line. Hammond tried no tricks, but pinned her faith to straight football, relying upon an exceptionally heavy and fast set of backs. Down to Ferry Hill's twenty-five yards swept the line of battle, slowly, irrevocably. There, Bacon shrieking his entreaties and Jack heartening the men with slaps on backs and shoulders, the brown-clad line held against the enemy and received the ball on downs.

Maybe Ferry Hill didn't leap and shout! Down the side-line raced Chub and his companions, waving flags and awakening the echoes with discordant, frenzied tootings on their horns. And Mr. Cobb, quietly chewing a grass-blade, smiled once and heaved a sigh of relief.

The Brown's first attempt netted scarcely a yard. Her second, a quarter-back run, came to an inglorious end, Bacon being nailed well back of the line. Then, with six yards to gain on the third down, Pryor once more fell back for a kick. This time he got the ball off well and the opponents went racing back up the field. Hammond's quarter gathered it in, reeled off some ten yards and was brought down by Warren. Once again the advance began, but now there were fewer gains through the left of the brown line; Fernald had found his pace and he and Jack Rogers were working together superbly. The other side was still vulnerable, however, and soon, before the fifty-five-yard line had been passed, the Ferry Hill supporters saw with dismay that Hammond was aiming her attack, and not without success, at the center of her opponent's line. Horace Burlen was weakening, and although Fernald and Gallup, on either side, were aiding him all in their power, Hammond's tandem plunged through his position again and again for small gains. Bacon's voice, hoarse and strained, coaxed and commanded, but down to the forty yards went the cherry and black, and from there to the thirty-five, and from there, but by shorter gains now, to the thirty.

"Hold 'em! Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" was the cry from the wavers of the brown and white banners. But it was far easier said than done. Once more within sight of a score, Hammond was desperately determined to reach that last white line. To the twenty-five yards she crept, and then she was almost to the twenty. A long plunge through center and the fifteen was close at hand. And then, while the wearied and battered defense crawled to their feet, a whistle shrilled sharply and the half was over! And Jack Rogers as he limped across the trampled turf to the bench thanked his star for the timely intervention.

The players disappeared through the gate to the gymnasium, followed by Mr. Cobb and a handful of graduates. On the other side of the gridiron the Hammond warriors, wrapped in their red blankets, sat in a long row and were administered to by rubbers and lectured by coaches. On the Ferry Hill side the boys were singing the school song and interspersing it with cheers and blasts of tin horns. Chub sought out Roy.

"Everybody says you'll go in this half," he whispered. "If you do, sock it to 'em!"

"I won't get in unless Forrest does," answered Roy.

"Well, he's sure to, isn't he? Why, Horace is almost done up already!"

"Maybe, but ten minutes of rest brings a fellow around in great shape, and I wouldn't be surprised if he lasted the game out."

"Last nothing! Look at the way Hammond was plowing through him! Say, that's a great tandem of theirs, isn't it?"

"Pretty good."

"Pretty good! I should think so!"

"It wouldn't be so much against a team that got started quicker. Our line's too plaguey slow and half of them are playing away up in the air. Look at Hadden! Rogers ought to make him get down on his knees. Hello, here they come."

"Can we keep them from scoring, do you think?" asked one of the substitutes anxiously as the brown-stockinged players trotted back through the gate.

"Yes, I guess so," Roy answered. "But I don't believe we can score ourselves."

"Well, a tie is better than being beaten," said the first youth hopefully.

"No it isn't," said Chub. "It's the meanest kind of an ending. You've done nothing and the other fellow's done nothing and you're no better off than you were when you started. We played eleven innings with Hammond year before last and quit six to six. My, but we were mad! And tired! I'd rather they'd licked us."

"Hope I get a show," muttered the other wistfully. He was a substitute end and only his lack of weight had kept him off the team.

"There's Cobb laying it down to 'em," whispered Chub. "Watch his finger; you'd think he was in class, eh? Any new men going in? Yes there's—No, it isn't, either. Blessed if every man isn't going back! Oh, hang!"

"Some of them won't be there long, I guess," said Roy.

"Well, I must go back and get some noise. The lazy chumps don't half cheer. Hope you get on, old chap. So long!"

Presently the Ferry Hill cheer was ringing across the field, and Chub, his coat thrown aside, was out on the side-line leading as only he could. Over the fading white lines the two teams arranged themselves. From the Hammond side came a last burst of noise. Spectators scurried back to points of vantage. The referee raised his hand.

"Ready, Ferry Hill?"

Jack answered "Ready!"

"Ready, Hammond?"

"All right," called the Cherry's right-end and captain.

The whistle sounded and the game was on again.

The greater part of the second half was almost a repetition of the first. Both teams were playing straight football and it would be difficult to say which was the more aggressive. For a time, the ball was in Ferry Hill's territory, and then for another ten minutes, in Hammond's. There were many nerve-racking moments, but each side, whenever its goal seemed in danger, was lucky enough to get the ball on downs and, by a long punt, send it out to the middle of the field.

Jack Rogers kicked off to Hammond's left half-back who made fifteen yards behind good interference and landed the ball on his own thirty-five yards. Back went the right-tackle, the tandem swept forward and broke into fragments against the Brown's left wing. No gain. Once more it sprang at the line and this time went through between Gallup and Hadden for two yards. Third down and three to go. A fake kick gave the ball to the right half and that youth reeled off four yards before he was downed. The next attack, at the center, netted a yard and a half; the next, at the same place, two yards; the rest of the distance was gained outside of left tackle. So it went for awhile and once more the ball was in Ferry Hill territory.

Hammond was plugging steadily now at center and right side, Burlen, Gallup and Hadden all receiving more attention than they coveted. At last a long gain through Hadden left that youth crumpled up on the turf. The whistle blew and a big sub, tearing off his sweater, raced onto the field. Hadden was up in a minute, only to discover that his way led toward the side-line. The sub, Walker, was a trifle harder proposition for Hammond, and for awhile that side of the line showed up well, but by the time the tide had swept down to the thirty-five-yard line Hammond was once more gaining almost as she liked through right-tackle and guard. There were no gains longer than four yards, and such were infrequent owing to the good work of the backs, but almost every attack meant an advance, and not once did Hammond fail of her distance in three downs. But on the thirty-yard line Ferry Hill called a halt. The play was directly in the middle of the field and the goal-posts loomed up terribly near. Hammond's first try failed, for Bacon guessed the point of attack and Ferry Hill threw her whole force behind Burlen. Foiled there, Hammond tried right-tackle again, shoved Walker aside and went through for a scant two yards. It was third down, and over on the side-line Roy measured the distance from cross-bar to back-field and watched for a place-kick. But Hammond, true to her plan of battle, made no attempt at a kick but sent her tandem plunging desperately at the line. It was a mistake, as events proved, to point the tandem at Jack Rogers, for although the attack gained something by being unexpected, it failed to win the required distance. Jack gave before it, to be sure, and spent a minute on the ground after the whistle had blown, but when the referee had measured the distance with the chain it was found that Hammond had failed of her distance by six inches!

Bedlam let loose on the Ferry Hill side as Bacon ran in from his position almost under the goal-posts, clapped his hands and cried his signals. Pryor fell back to the fifteen-yard line, there was a breathless moment of suspense, and then the ball went arching up the field, turning lazily over and over in its flight.

Hammond captured it on her forty yards but was downed by the Ferry Hill left-end. Then it began all over again, that heart-breaking, nerve-racking advance. And this time the gains were longer. At center Hammond went through for a yard, two yards, even three. Once a penalty cost Hammond five yards, but the distance was regained by a terrific rush through Gallup, that youth being put for the moment entirely out of the play. Later, down near Ferry Hill's forty-five-yard line, a fumble by Pool, the plucky, hard-playing Hammond quarter, cost his side ten yards more. And although Pool himself managed to recover the ball it went to the opponent on downs.

I think that fumble was in a measure a turning point in the game. Hammond never played quite as aggressively afterwards. She had gained a whole lot of ground at a cost of much strength, only to be turned back thrice. It began to look as though Fate was against her. And a minute later it seemed that Fate had decided to favor her opponent. For when Pryor kicked on first down the breeze suddenly stiffened and took the ball over the head of Pool. The latter turned and found it on the bound near the ten yards, but by that time the Ferry Hill ends were upon him and he was glad to call it down on his fifteen yards. The sight of the two teams lined up there almost under Hammond's goal brought joy to the hearts of the friends of the Brown, and the cheering took on a new tone, that of hope. But the ball was still in the enemy's hands and once more the advance began. They hammered hard at Burlen and gained their distance. They swooped down on Walker and trampled over him. They thrust Gallup aside and went marching through until the secondary defense piled them up in a heap. But it was slower going now, there was more time between plays, and knowing ones amongst the watchers predicted a scoreless game. And there was scarcely twelve minutes left.

Roy, his blanket trailing from his shoulders as he moved crouching along the border of the field, prayed for a fumble, anything to give his side the ball there within striking distance of the Hammond goal. But Hammond wasn't fumbling to any extent that day; wearied and disappointed as they were, her players clung to the ball like grim death. On her twenty-five yards she made a gain of three yards through center and when the pile of writhing bodies had been untangled Horace Burlen still lay upon the sod. Roy turned quickly toward Forrest. That youth was watching calmly and chewing a blade of grass. Failing to catch his eye, Roy looked for Mr. Cobb. Already he was heading toward them. The substitute end tied and untied the arms of the brown jersey thrown over his back with nervous fingers. But the coach never looked in his direction.

"Forrest!" he called. And Forrest slowly climbed to his feet.

"Porter!" And Roy was up like a flash, had tossed aside his blanket and was awaiting orders.