For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport

by Ralph Henry Barbour

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE FOOTBALL GAME

  Thanksgiving recess began the following Wednesday, to last until Fridayevening, and many of the boys whose homes were near by departed by thenoonday train, superciliously sympathizing with less fortunate friendswhose turkey and cranberry sauce were to be eaten in the school dininghall. Paddy and Don had both received boxes of canned and sugareddelicacies from home, and a supplementary feast, to follow the sixo’clock repast in the hall, was arranged to take place in Paddy’sroom, and that youth, who was to break training after the St. Eustacegame, promised himself to atone for two months of healthful diet by averitable orgy on indigestible luxuries.

  Wayne, Don, and Dave, together with more than fifty other Hilltonians,boarded the morning express and were transported to the littledown-river town of Marshall, where their arrival was enthusiasticallywelcomed by several score of St. Eustace fellows, headed by a brassband, who escorted them twice through the village, and finally leftthem, to recover their breaths before lunch at the hotel. Hillton’sband was already on the ground, having accompanied the football teamthe evening before, and with the arrival of the wearers of the crimsona day of hard work began for it. The band’s repertory was limited,but its energy tremendous, and the Marshall population gathered infront of the hotel to hearken to it and to be mercilessly guyed by theHilltonians who thronged the broad veranda.

  The game was to be called at 2.30. An hour before that time Don andWayne--Dave having taken up with a St. Eustace acquaintance for thewhile--started across the bridge to the far side of the river, where,hidden almost from sight, the rival academy nestled amid its trees. Thefield was already bright with blue banners when the boys arrived andthe St. Eustace band was busily at work.

  “What I don’t understand,” said Wayne, “is why we don’t have to pay anyadmission.”

  “That,” answered Don, “is because Hillton, when she signed the athleticagreement with St. Eustace six years ago, made it one of her terms thatno charge should be made for admission to any of the athletic eventsbetween the two schools. Instead, a number of invitation cards areprinted. The home school gets two thirds of them for distribution andthe visiting school the balance. Of course, it puts the cost of keepingup the eleven and the nine and the other teams on the fellows and thegrads, but they seem willing enough to meet it. And, besides, as Iknow from personal experience, it makes the captains and coaches thinkmore about economy; and we don’t very often travel in parlor cars norput up at the swellest hotels, but we’ve managed to turn out a winningeleven two years out of every three for a long time.”

  “But other schools charge admission,” objected Wayne.

  “I know. St. Eustace does for every game except this one. But the ideais ‘Wheels’s.’ He thinks that playing football or baseball for thegate receipts smacks of professionalism; ‘sport for sport’s sake,’says ‘Wheels.’ And I think he’s right. Look at the big colleges; someof them make from ten to fifteen thousand dollars as their share of animportant game.”

  “But why shouldn’t they?” asked Wayne.

  “Because they’re not professionals; they’re college fellows--theplayers, I mean--and have no business going around country like a lotof--of--circus folk, showing off for money. And, besides, it’s boundto hurt college sport after awhile. If a captain of a big team knowsthat by having a winning eleven he can secure a game with another bigcollege, and get eight or ten thousand dollars, why, in lots of casesit’s going to make that captain careless about little things. He isn’tgoing to inquire too closely into the standing of the fellows that makeup the team; he’s going to excuse a lot of laxity as regards training;and he’s going to overlook lots of dirty playing, and all that hurtsthe college in the end. No, I think ‘Wheels’ is right; and so doesRemsen and lots of the old fellows.”

  “But, look here,” argued Wayne. “When a team makes eight, or ten,or fifteen thousand dollars, you know, that money doesn’t go to theplayers, does it?”

  “Gracious, no!” exclaimed Don. “It’s generally turned into the generalathletic fund, and helps meet the expenses of the crews and other teamsthat don’t pay their way. But don’t you see that it’s a big feather ina fellow’s cap if he can say that he made fifteen thousand dollars forthe athletic association! And the oftener a college team makes a bigpot of money the richer the association gets, and the first thing youknow it’s sending its football and baseball teams around the country ina private car, with a small army of rubbers and coaches and a cook whoprepares all the meals, just as though they were one of those foreignopera companies! It’s all wrong, Wayne. It isn’t good, honest sport;it’s--it’s tommyrot--that’s what it is!”

  “Well, maybe it is,” answered the other boy thoughtfully. “Anyhow, Ishan’t kick, you know; it’s saved me a dollar, I dare say.”

  “No, it hasn’t, Wayne, because you’ll have to pay that dollar, andmaybe another like it, into the crew’s pocket, or the baseball nine’spocket, or the track team’s little treasury in the spring.”

  “Oh, I see. The idea is to have the school--that is, the fellows andthe graduates--meet the athletic expenses, and not to ask the publicfor help.”

  “That’s it,” answered Don heartily. “But here comes Hillton.”

  A little squad of youths in crimson sweaters, headed by Gardinerand followed by the Hillton band, defiled on to the field, and theoccupants of the stand where Wayne and Don sat were instantly on theirfeet cheering lustily. The band paraded with ludicrous dignity aboutthe field, and at last found seats near by and for the fifth time beganits programme. A moment later the St. Eustace players entered andwere greeted with acclaim from hundreds of wearers of the dark blueand their friends, and received a cheer from the rival contingent.The two teams and their substitutes went busily to practicing, andWayne watched Paddy, large of bulk and quick of action, snapping backthe ball and forming the apex of numerous little wedges that grew anddissolved under the tuition of the coach.

  The seats about the broad expanse of faded turf were filled now, andmany spectators had taken up positions on the ground just inside theropes that guarded the side-lines. Blue was the prevailing color, andonly on one small section of the stand did the crimson of Hilltonflutter. Presently the substitutes trotted off the gridiron andsquatted, Indian-like in their blankets, along the sides, a coin wastossed, the teams took their positions, and Paddy sent the new ballcorkscrewing toward the St. Eustace goal, where it was gathered intothe waiting arms of the St. Eustace full-back on the thirty-yard lineand advanced by him over two white bars ere the Hillton ends downed him.

  During the six years in which the athletic agreement had been inforce between the two academies Hillton had won three of the footballcontests and tied one. Last year, and again the year before, her elevenhad triumphed over the blue, and St. Eustace, with two consecutivedefeats rankling in her memory, was this year determined upon victory.And it was the very general opinion that she would win it. To be sure,Hillton had played the usual number of games throughout the fall andhad no defeats behind her. Westvale Grammar School had been beaten tothe tune of 27 to 0; the local grammar school had been whitewashed bya monotonously big score; the neighboring military academy had managedto play a tie; and Shrewsburg High School had accepted defeat after aclose and exciting contest, in which Greene had snatched a victory bya spirited forty-yard run for a touch-down. But those who knew shooktheir heads when the subject of the St. Eustace game was mentioned, andtalked vaguely of a “lack of the right stuff,” a term which conveysnothing to the mind of any one save a football player, but which meanseverything.

  The preceding Saturday evening the four friends, with numerous otherboys, had obtained permission to go to the village and learn the resultof the Harwell-Yates game, and when, in the telegraph office, thereport that Yates had been the victor greeted them Paddy had sigheddolefully.

  “That settles it,” he had said. “We don’t always win from St. Eustacewhen Harwell wins from Yates, but we’ve never beaten when she ha
sn’t.It’s St. Eustace’s game.” And no amount of argument could shake hisconviction.

  Wayne and Don voted the first half of the game dull. The teams wereapparently evenly matched in defensive playing, and nearly so inoffensive work. The ball oscillated from one twenty-five-yard line tothe other, Hillton and St. Eustace both looking for an opportunity tosend a back around for a run and finding none. Line-bucking made upthe most of the play, and at this each team held its ground stubbornlywhen on the defensive, and attacked gallantly when it had the ball.It was only at the end of the half that anything exciting occurred.With but three or four minutes to play, and the pigskin near Hillton’sthirty-yard line in St. Eustace’s possession, the backs drew away fromthe line, and amid a tense silence the ball was passed to full for atry at goal. But Paddy it was who frustrated the attempt by breakingthrough St. Eustace’s line and receiving the ascending ball on hisbroad chest. Don and Wayne were sitting on the lowest tier of seats sothat the former might lead in the cheering, and as the ball disappearedunder a heap of wildly scrambling players he was on his feet, cap inhand, and the Hillton section was responding nobly to his appeal; thefellows delighted at a chance to applaud something worth applauding.The half ended with the ball in the arms of the Hillton full-back.

  During the intermission Dave turned up, and the three boys stampedabout the ground to keep their feet warm and sang “Hilltonians”vociferously to show their joy. And the band did wonders.

  “Looks like a tie, Dave,” said Don.

  “Well, I don’t know,” responded that youth, with his usual caution.“Paddy’s dreadfully used up; he’s been playing center and left-guardand right-guard and half the team. And if Paddy goes out--well, wemight as well go home and read about the game in to-morrow’s paper.”

  “Bowles seems to be running the team well,” mused Don.

  “Yes, he’s braced up wonderfully; he’s all right. Gardiner’s delightedwith him. Two weeks ago he couldn’t hold a snapped ball.”

  “Oh, have you seen Gardiner? What’s he say?”

  “Nothing, but he looks cheerful. That’s a bad sign. When Gardiner lookscheerful, it means that he’s worried. Hello! here they come again.Let’s get these stuffed images to cheer.” Dave turned to the seats:“Now, fellows, you’ve been doing some of the worst cheering that Iever heard outside of a girls’ school. We’re going to win, but we’vegot to use our lungs. So let’s give ’em nine long Hilltons, as thoughwe were glad we’re living.”

  The response was all that Dave desired, and he and Don and “Pigeon”Wallace, president of the senior class, kept the cheers going until theball was aloft and the game was on again.

  St. Eustace forced the playing at once. Down the field they cameby short rushes, and ere the watchers on the stand knew what washappening, the ball was on the Hillton ten-yard line and theblue-stockinged backs were massed close behind their line for a tandemon guard. A yard resulted from this play. “Second down!” cried thereferee. “Four yards to gain!” The Hillton boys were on their feet,cheering at the top of their lungs. Another massed attack, and but twoyards was needed by the St. Eustace eleven. But those two yards werebeyond accomplishment, for Paddy led the crimson line in a sturdy,desperate resistance, Hillton took the ball on her seven-yard line, anda moment after it was sailing down the field from Grow’s nimble foot,and Wayne, Dave, and Don were yelling frantically and pounding eachother enthusiastically over the head.

  But back came the ball as before, St. Eustace’s steady short rushesbeing supplemented once by a stirring run around Hillton’s left endthat brought the blue’s champions to their feet in a mighty burst ofnoise. Past the middle of the gridiron went the charging St. Eustaceplayers, and the ball was down on Hillton’s forty yards ere anotherfive minutes had flown by. Then the whistle piped shrilly and Daveclutched Don’s sleeve.

  “Paddy’s laid out!” he cried hoarsely.

  And so it was; and there was a deal of anxiety in that little thronguntil the plucky center climbed to his feet again and broke away fromthe trainer’s hands. Then all Hillton shrieked joyously and the gamewent on. But it was plainly to be seen that Paddy was suffering, andit was equally evident that there was good reason; for he had not onlyto play his own position, but to help the guards as well, and now,to make his difficulties greater and to increase his troubles, theopposing team had decided upon a plan of play that made Dave writheimpotently in his seat, and which caused even Wayne’s careless goodtemper to revolt. Time after time the full force of the St. Eustacebacks was thrown upon Paddy. For long he stood it doggedly, holding histemper in check under every fresh assault; but there is an end to allendurance, and now, with fifteen minutes of the second half gone, Paddywas visibly weakening, and every successive plunge at the center of theHillton line resulted in a greater gain.

  “There’s slugging going on there, Don!” cried Dave. “That St. Eustaceright-guard struck Paddy then. You watch this time!”

  The line-up was directly opposite the boys’ seats and but a few yardsfrom the side-line, and they watched attentively as Paddy was helped tohis feet and groped his way to his place. “Tackles back!” called theSt. Eustace quarter, “78--36--76--16--” Then the two lines met with ashock, there was a rasping of canvas, and ere the Hillton line gaveand the St. Eustace backs piled through, a clinched hand rose and felltwice, and Paddy fell weakly to his knees and slowly stretched himselfout on his face. Not only the three boys saw the blows struck, butalmost every fellow in the immediate vicinity, and a veritable wave ofhisses drowned the applause of the St. Eustace cheerers. And at thesame moment Wayne, with blazing cheeks and angry eyes, leaped from thestand, darted through the throng about the rope, and strode menacinglytoward the St. Eustace right-guard. But before his upraised fistreached the surprised player his arm was seized and in a moment he wasstruggling in the grasp of two of the Hillton team. Half of the Hilltoncrowd had impulsively followed Wayne’s lead, and now an indignant hordebroke through the ropes and invaded the field with loud cries forvengeance.

  It was a time for action, and Gardiner, Greene, and several more ofthe wearers of the crimson resolutely stemmed the tide, pleading andthreatening in a breath.

  “Fellows! Fellows!” cried Gardiner. “Go back! It’s all right; don’tdisgrace the school!”

  “Get off the field, fellows!” shouted Greene. “I swear I’ll knock downthe first fellow that comes any nearer! You’re acting like a lot ofkids!”

  “Make ’em take him off, then!” was the reply from dozens of throats, asthe crowd wavered and gave back unwillingly.

  “Yes, it’s all right--it’s all right,” said Gardiner soothingly. “Onlygo back to the stand, like good chaps.”

  The boys withdrew beyond the wrecked ropes again, but did notimmediately return to their seats. Many St. Eustace fellows had drawnnear and were glaring threateningly toward them. Wayne, in the graspof his friends, was dragged off the field, trembling with anger anddoggedly promising the offending St. Eustace guard a licking afterthe game. Paddy, with a badly bruised eye, was supported to a placeby the ropes, and the belligerent St. Eustace player was ruled out ofthe game. The Hillton contingent cheered lustily for Paddy and groanedderisively at his assailant, and went slowly back to their places,while the St. Eustace fellows were dispersed by some of the older lads.Then some one caught sight of Wayne, held in his seat by Don and Dave,and shouted, “Bully for Gordon!” which cry was taken up by others andprolonged until Don jumped up and faced the stand.

  “Fellows,” he pleaded, “shut up, please! Everything’s all right now.Only keep still, will you?”

  Laughter and cheers greeted him and good humor came back to the crowd.A small junior shrilled, “We’ll beat them, anyhow!” and the sentimentwas applauded to the echo.

  But victory for Hillton was too much to expect with Paddy no longer inline. Burton, who took his place, was a fair center, but far from heavyenough to stop the opponent’s triumphant advance down the field, andthough Hillton worked desperately for the next ten minutes the
ballwas at length within scoring distance of her goal, and again the St.Eustace full-back dropped back for a punt.

  “Can’t be done from there,” whispered Don breathlessly. “It’s fortyyards, I’ll bet.” But Dave shook his head.

  “That full-back’s a wonder, they say, and I wouldn’t be surprised tosee him do it. If only we can get through!”

  But the St. Eustace line held like a wall, the ball sped back, the fullcaught it neatly, and with admirable care poised it in his palm beforedropping it. Then his toe caught it on the rebound and up it sailed,straight and unwavering, cleanly between the posts and over the bar!And blue flags waved and cheers for St. Eustace filled the air, andDave and Don looked sorrowfully at each other and groaned in unison.Only Wayne in all that throng seemed not to heed or care; he waswatching vindictively a boy who was waving a blue sweater on the farside of the field.

  There was no more scoring done, although the Hillton team, to allappearances undismayed, returned to the game with hammer and tongs, asit were, and forced the ball to her opponents’ twenty yards ere shelost it for holding, and afterward stubbornly and heroically contestedevery inch of turf ere yielding it to the victorious foe. But thewhistle soon sounded, the two teams gathered breathless in mid-fieldand cheered each other, the St. Eustace band paraded the gridiron,followed by a shouting, dancing train of ecstatic youths with blueflags, and Wayne, still pining for vengeance, was dragged willy nillyto the village and on to the train and borne back to school understrict guard and in dire disgrace--a disgrace that did not deter manya mistaken fellow from clapping him on the shoulder, and whispering ahearty “Good boy, Gordon!” into his ear.