Boys of Columbia High on the Gridiron : or, the Struggle for the Silver Cup

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER V

  THE SIGNAL PRACTICE

  The next day was Friday.

  And with that battle of the gridiron gladiators looming up justahead, it can be readily understood that Mr. Amos Wellington, notto mention Mr. Oswald, and the women teachers in Columbia HighSchool, found it a most difficult task to get any satisfaction outof the many classes before them that day.

  Football was in the air! The very tang of the frosty morningseemed to suggest ideal weather conditions for the comingstruggle. Wherever boys congregated, on the campus before themorning session, or down in the lunch room during intermission,when they sampled the various types of sandwiches and piessupplied by Mrs. Louden, nothing was talked of but the chances ofColumbia against the seasoned players of Clifford.

  "They're heavier than our men," one would lament.

  "But the day of weight in football is gone," cried another,quickly.

  "Yes, for the game as played to-day calls for agility andpertinacity more than heft. And we've got the boys who can dostunts, believe me, fellows!" remarked a third deeply-interestedstudent.

  "They practice for the last time this afternoon, don't they?"

  "Yes, but mostly on signals, I understand. Now the team has beenselected, they want to work in harmony," remarked the fellow whoseemed to know, because he had a big brother on the eleven, andthat was a great honor for the entire family.

  "There's one weak spot," grumbled another prophet of evil.

  "Name it, Sandy."

  "Yes, tell us where it is. I've gone over the whole bunch ever somany times, and with the new men I think it couldn't possibly beimproved."

  "That's just it; you've put your finger on the sore the firstthing. Now, don't all jump on me at once, and say I'm knocking,for I'm not. I think a heap both of Ralph West's playing and thatof Bones Shadduck. They're cracker jacks, and far superior to thefellows they displaced."

  "Then what are you kicking about, Sandy?" demanded Molly Manners,the dudish student, who, while no athlete himself, always felt adecided interest in the accomplishments of his more muscularcomrades.

  "Lack of practice in common will bankrupt us. That's what worriesme. You see, Bones and Ralph haven't worked with the rest, to anyextent, at least. How can they fill their parts in the machine?I'm dubious, that's all, even while hoping for the best," went onthe croaker.

  "Well, now, don't let that keep you awake tonight. CoachWilloughby has been training the scrub just as he did the regularteam. They know the same plays, and once the signals are decidedon the whole thing will move along like a well greased machine.He's done wonders with the raw material. And if Columbia wins thisyear, much of the credit belongs to the trainer, our old Princetongrad."

  "Hear! hear! Three cheers for Coach Willoughby!"

  And they were given with a will.

  Frank and Ralph came together at intermission. While they muncheda bit of lunch, they naturally fell into conversation, and, ofcourse, their talk must be in connection with the stirring eventsof the preceding night.

  "Have you met Tony?" asked Frank, with a chuckle of amusement.

  "No. You see, he's a junior and I'm only a soph, so we run indifferent grooves. What about him, Frank?" asked the other,eagerly.

  "I was sent into Miss Condit's room with a message from Mr.Wellington, and, of course, I felt a little curious to know howTony looked. While I waited for an answer to the note I carried, Iglanced over to where he sat. Would you believe it, he had turneddeliberately around in his seat, so that his back was toward me."

  "Then perhaps I did put my mark on him?" suggested Ralph, eagerly.

  "Well, now, you certainly did. As I glanced further along I saw amirror at the side of the room, and just then discovered that hewas facing it. He turned fiery red when he caught my look, for Ireally couldn't keep from grinning, because, as sure as you live,my boy, our friend Tony is nursing a most beautiful black eye!"

  "It serves him right. He had no business to bother me so. I onlystruck in self-defense, and everyone is entitled to thatprivilege," declared Ralph.

  "Well, I should say so," remarked his friend, quickly, "and I hopeyou did as well by that sneak of an Asa. But he was wise enough tostay home to-day. When you get that fellow off his guard you cancatch a weasel asleep."

  The ending of the recess brought their conversation to a close,but after school, Ralph, possessed by a sort of fascination tobehold his work, haunted the campus until Tony appeared,surrounded by several of his set.

  The two rivals met face to face at the exit of the grounds. Tonyglared at the author of his woes, and his two chums madethreatening gestures; but, of course, they did not dare place afinger on Ralph at such a time.

  But, at any rate, Frank had certainly not understated the facts,for Tony was the possessor of a fine black eye. Of course, it waseasy for him to invent a plausible excuse for this mishap; he hadrun slap against a door when getting up in the dark. And, ofcourse, nobody believed him, though only a select few understoodthe true origin of his damaged optic.

  Ralph said never a word; but he could not keep from smiling a bitas he turned away; and this must have been gall and wormwood tothe other fellow.

  An hour later and the chosen eleven, together with thesubstitutes, gathered on the field for their last instructions,and the trial of the signal code. Frank and the coach werefrequently in secret confab, and the others regarded this ashaving more or less significance.

  "What did your investigation result in, Mr. Willoughby?" Frank wasasking.

  "Just what we expected. I have learned beyond a shadow of a doubtthat the secret signals of Clifford were given to Bellport by sometraitor. A dozen people I interviewed were positive in thatbelief. For while there is as yet no proof, they declare that onno other grounds could the Bellports know just what play wascoming every time the other captain called out his numbers,"replied the coach, in a firm voice.

  "Well, it is what may happen to us, unless we change backward atthe last minute. That would confuse Clifford, and set them on thewrong track," remarked Frank.

  "Just so, and the advantage would be with us. If they can down youboys squarely and fairly, I'll be the last one to knock, but thisthing of trickery makes me angry. Because they feel that they werefooled by Bellport is no reason they should want to pass it along,and defeat you unfairly. I'm surprised that there is no clean-mindedfellow on their team who will positively refuse to take advantageof such a mean game."

  "If Cuthbert Lee was still on the Bellport team," said Frank, "I'msure he'd never have listened to such a thing. It would be justlike him to go to the other side and tell them to change theirsignals, as they had been betrayed. He was a lover of cleansport."

  "Then I only wish there were more like him, Frank. The trouble is,too many boys, yes, and young men, too, believe that anything isfair that promises to bring the advantages to their side. Love ofschool is all very good, but it should never step in the way ofhonest dealing," observed the Princeton man, soberly.

  "Then we'll go on with the signals as they have been used?" askedthe other.

  "To-day, yes, but in the morning we'll get the boys togetherearly, and change the whole order, so that things mean just theopposite of what they are now. You get my meaning, don't you,Frank?"

  "Yes, and think it a capital idea. I've always been told that thetruly wise man is he who grapples with adversities, and makes themwork to his advantage. And that is what you propose to do now.Watch Lanky; he's up to some mischief or other. I can tell it inhis actions. There he goes after the ball that he purposely kickedinto those bushes, I believe."

  "Well, he's got it all right, and is calling to Substitute Busterthat it's up to him to try for a field goal," commented the coach,smiling. "Yes; notice, however, that Lanky makes no effort tohold the ball for the kick, but has set it there on the ground,"continued Frank, who knew the joking propensities of his chum sowell that he could quickly guess when the other had any larkcoming.

  "I suppose Lanky doesn't want to take chances
of a bad kick, and,considering how near the game is, you can hardly blame him.Perhaps he's had some experience with Buster's kicking before.There he goes now!"

  "Look at Lanky, sir, with his fingers in his ears!"

  Hardly had Frank spoken when Buster, swooping down, with all sailset, on the inoffensive oval, brought his right foot against theball with a tremendous effort. The result was certainlyastonishing, for there was a sudden heavy detonation, and thefootball arose about ten feet, in a sadly flattened condition,while the kicker sat down heavily on the ground, looking dazed.

  Lanky had substituted some cleverly constructed gas balloon,placed in an old cover, for the genuine article, having previouslyhidden the fraudulent contraption in those bushes until the chancecame to utilize the same.

  There was a brief silence, and then a shout went up from the huskyband of players, who caught on to the joke. All but the dazedBuster, who, still sitting there and gaping at the seeming remainsof a once fine oval football, shook his head and turnedappealingly toward the coach, called out:

  "Say, that wasn't my fault, Mr. Willoughby. Now, who pays for thatball, anyhow?" which remark brought out renewed shrieks from theothers, some of whom fairly fell over with the violence of theirmerriment.

  When the joke was explained to the fat boy, of course he laughedheartily, for his nature could not take offense at anything.

  Then the work began in earnest. The efficient coach drilled theplayers in all the various plays that were apt to come up duringthe course of the game. He expressed his pleasure at the masterlyway these were carried out.

  "I'm satisfied that the changes I made have vastly strengthenedthe whole team," he said, as he and Frank came together during aperiod of rest, after a fierce foray, in which every player workedsystematically, and really clever passes and runs were made aroundimaginary hostile forces.

  In other days they had rubbed up against the scrub team, andpracticed all their arts against real foes, but this last practicewas to be in secret. Signal work and the drilling of Ralph andBones in their respective positions, must occupy much of theafternoon.

  To keep spectators away from the field, several dozen boys hadvolunteered to patrol the neighborhood, completely surrounding theopen. Thus it would seem that there could be no one close enoughto overhear when the signal numbers were deliberately called bythe captain.

  "Still, I'm under the impression that there may be someone hiddenin those bushes, or in a hollow tree, watching our work, anddrinking in all we say. When fellows descend to such low practicesas betraying their schoolmates to the enemy, they become verycrafty. On the whole, it will be better to change the code justbefore the game to-morrow," remarked the coach, later on, duringanother rest.

  Frank said no more. Secretly, however, he was planning to findout, if it could be possible, that this idea of Mr. Willoughby hadreason back of it. In other words, he had made up his mind thatwhen the crowd of players went back to town, he would find someopportunity to drop behind, and keep watch over that field.

  For the third and last time, play was resumed. Again did the coachfollow the carefully arranged maneuvers. Up to the present he hadfound it necessary to stop them in the midst of the play to startafresh, because of some inaccuracy. Not once did this occur now.

  "Well, sir, how was that?" asked Frank, as, with disheveled hairand soiled clothes, he came out of the fracas and sought the sideof the man who knew.

  There was hardly any need to ask. Coach Willoughby's bronzed facewas all smiles.

  "Fine! I never saw the thing executed better, even by the leadingcolleges. Depend on it, my boy, if you and your men do as well asthat to-morrow, and there's no treachery shown, you're going tomow Clifford down far worse than she suffered at the hands ofBellport. I congratulate you, every one, for the fine form youshow. It does my heart good to see it. And now, home, lads, andsee to it that you don't overeat to-night, and go to bed at areasonable hour. That's all from me, and I feel that my work iswell done!"

  The afternoon had worn away while they strained and labored,trying for the last time some of the plays by means of which theyhoped to carry the ball into Clifford territory during the cominggame.

  Each member of the team felt more or less weary when the coachdeclared that they had done enough, and dismissed them for theday.

  "Don't forget the secret directions given for an early morningmeet in the place selected, to go over the changed signals," wasspoken in the ear of every fellow before they started back totown.

  Frank held out behind the rest, pretending to be busy with anumber of things that fell to his lot as captain of the eleven. Hehad whispered his intentions to Lanky, and the latter, whilelaughing at his fears, promised to keep any of the others fromreturning to look for the leader, should they notice his absence.

  Watching his chance, Frank dropped behind some bushes. Then,without wasting any time, he started to crawl back to where hemight have a view of the wooded side of the athletic field.

  Perhaps, after all, the fears of the coach had been groundless. Hewould spend a short time watching, and then, if nothing developed,he could hasten home.

  At the same time, the thought of how Clifford had been deceivedand beaten by the too free handling of their secret code, gaveFrank an uneasy feeling.

  When he had gained a position that would allow him to observe theground he deemed most suspicious, he waited for developments.

  "What was that?" he asked himself in another minute; for it seemedto him that he had heard a sharp crack, as of a rotten branchgiving way.

  Then his attention was attracted toward a certain spot, wheresomething had undoubtedly fallen to the ground. Eagerly he rivetedhis eyes on the place, and in this way became aware of the factthat something was certainly moving up among the branches of thepine tree.

  Then an object came heavily to the ground, rolled over once ortwice, and scrambled half erect. Though some little distance away,Frank could see that this was no animal, but a human being, a boyat that, who was rubbing his elbow furiously, as though it hadbeen smartly tapped in his fall.

  No need to put a label on this fellow to signify what his presencemeant. Frank knew that he was looking on a spy, who had beenperched among the thick branches of that pine tree during thebetter part of the afternoon, making notes of the signal play ofthe Columbia eleven!

  And he was now moving off, possessed of information that was oftremendous value to the Clifford team!