Frank Armstrong at Queens

by Matthew M. Colton

  CHAPTER III.

  JIMMY GETS IN THE GAME.

  "Now, they'll get it for fair," observed the Wee One as the coachwent striding down the field, following the scattered members of theFirst eleven who jogged sulkily down to the goal; and get it they did.

  "I'm ashamed of you, Hillard," burst out Horton. "You've been playingtwo years on this team, and you can't hang onto a ball yet. If anyone crosses his fingers in front of you, you lose the ball. Go andsit down." Hillard turned and walked slowly toward the side of thefield, with head hanging. He was a good back, but had the fatal habitof fumbling. He was so clever at dodging and so fast on his feet,however, that the coach, knowing well his failing, was still temptedto put him in the line-up,--and, besides, he belonged to the powerfulGamma Tau.

  "Tucker, you take Hillard's place, and see if we can't do something.Here we are, only three weeks from our last game, and you are playinglike a perfectly lovely eleven from the Mount Hope Female Seminary.Think a little about the game, and squeeze that ball, PLEASE."

  The coach took the ball from Tompkins, and started up the field, thewhole crowd of players straggling along behind him, the First elevensour in face and heavy in step, the Second grinning broadly.

  "There, now," said Horton, putting the ball down at midfield againwith a good deal more force than was necessary. "Let's have somefootball. First eleven's ball. Make it go. You've got to carry itfrom here, don't kick it, carry it. Make it go," and he jumped out ofthe way as the two lines crashed together.

  "That's something like it. Second down, two yards to go. Some morelike that."

  "Big Dutton carried it that time," said Patterson to Frank. "That bigfellow with the light hair. He's the best plunger on the field, buthe's something of a bonehead, and he can't remember the signals. PoorHorton has his own worries with him. There he goes again."

  "First down," yelled Horton from the field. "That's going. Squeezethat ball, Dutton. Steady in the line there and keep on side.Wait till the ball is snapped, Burnham. Wait till the ball issnapped--there, what did I tell you?" as Burnham, the right tackle,anticipating the signal, plunged ahead. Little Hopkinson, quarter ofthe Second, had his hand up and was yelling for the penalty, which hegot.

  "Now, First team, you've got to make that loss up this time."Harding, the captain, stepped out of his place at guard, in the line,and conferred with Dixon a minute.

  "It's going to be a long pass, I'll bet dollars to shoelaces," saidthe Wee One, as the lines settled down on their toes.

  "22--16--34--146," shouted Dixon. There was a quick pass from center,and the quarter, turning half-way round, tucked the ball cleverlyin the right half's pocketed arms as he went shooting past him. Thehalf ran straight out, seemingly bent on turning in at the firstpossible moment. But this little ruse was only to draw the fire ofthe opponents who came charging at him. Then he stopped dead in histracks, stepped backwards and threw the ball unerringly to the rightend who had edged away out toward the side line at the proper time,entirely unnoticed by the Second backs who had been drawn over. Thecatch was clearly made, by Campbell, and he was away like a breeze,with no one near him. Hopkinson came up on him hard, a little toohard for safety, and he was easily sidestepped by the fleet-footedend who, though hard pressed, eluded all tackles and carried the ballover. It was a pretty piece of work, and the coach, for once, seemedto be satisfied.

  "Now, that's what I call pretty football," exclaimed Frank. "Ithought you said this team was no good."

  "Well, it isn't," replied Patterson. "Once in a while they can pull aplay like that off, but most of the time they make a grand fizzle outof it. They don't seem to have the spirit, somehow. I'll bet they'llflub-dub it yet."

  "Good work, good work," said the coach as he took the ball again. "Notime for goal-kicking now. First, see what you can do in carrying itthrough the line. What's the matter, Harper?"

  This last remark was directed at the right half on the Second team,who was limping around, having got in the way of one of the First'slinemen, and received a bad tumble in open field while chasingCampbell.

  "My old ankle," replied Harper, walking around and wincing every timehe touched his foot to the ground. "The one I hurt last week."

  "Go and sit down. I'll attend to it after practice; loosen yourshoe if it hurts. I want someone to take Harper's place," continuedHorton, glancing up and down the row of boys sitting on the sideline."Hey, you Freshman, what's-your-name," indicating Turner, "get in andplay this half."

  "Who is that going in?" inquired the Wee One, as Jimmy jumped up andran onto the field. "Looks like a likely kid."

  "He's a friend of mine, Jimmy Turner; he's a Freshman."

  "He looks as strong as a bull. Does he know the game?"

  "No, not very well, but he's crazy about it, and I'll bet he makesgood."

  Jimmy took his position, and the next instant he was on the bottomof a pile of bodies and arms and legs. Big Dutton had come throughthe line, and Jimmy met him with all his force, and stopped him. Butthere had been a gain. Again Dutton came ramming through. This timethe guard and tackle had opened a hole in the Second's line five feetwide, and Dutton had time to get up some speed before he reachedJimmy, who waited for him. It was a bigger gain this time.

  "Come on," yelled the coach, dashing around from behind the attackingeleven. "This Second line isn't doing its work at all. Here you,"indicating Jimmy, "don't wait for that back to come through on you,play up to the line, you've got to throw him back. Now again!"

  This time the play slammed through the opposite side of the line forthree yards to a first down.

  "That's more like it now," encouraged Horton. "Show this school thatyou are good for something. Come on, a few more will take it across!"

  This time Dixon sent his catapult at Jimmy's territory. But althoughthe line opened wide enough to admit two like Dutton, Jimmy was inthe breach. He sprang hard and low, and carried Dutton's legs rightout from under him. It is needless to say that the ball stopped rightthere.

  "Second down, four to go," called out the coach, not before he hadducked around behind Jimmy and hit him a slap on the back, at thesame time giving him an encouraging "Good work, Freshman."

  Having respect for the strength of that side of the secondarydefense, the play was directed at the other side of center, and whenthe pile was untangled, the ball lay only a yard from first down, andless than two yards from the goal line.

  "Now," yelled Chip Dixon, "we have 'em where we want 'em. Make it goand hang onto the ball, 22--36--19----"

  "It's coming through center," yelled little Hopkinson, "back-up,center----"

  "Change signals," shouted Chip, and then began to reel off a signalwhich he meant to have the effect of spreading out the defense, butthe acute quarter, now playing close in, whispered to his backs:"It's a fake, it's a fake, the play's coming through center. Lookout, look out----"

  And through center it came with a vengeance, Dutton carrying theball, crashing and grinding past the guard and tackle who had notbeen deceived by the trick of changing signals.

  "Keep your feet, keep your feet," yelled Horton, dancing around nearthe end of the line.

  Just when it looked like a certainty that Dutton had cleared theline, the two backs of the Second team, reinforced by the ends whohad come around to help, threw themselves at the big back. Jimmy wasunderneath, and the big fellow came crashing to the ground; with atwist and a wriggling half turn he struck hard right across the goalline, and the ball popped from beneath his arm into plain view. In aninstant there was a scramble, everyone within distance diving for thesphere without regard to danger of broken heads.

  "The First has scored," said Frank. "Jimmy couldn't stop him, Iguess."

  "I don't know about that," said the Wee One. "Depends on who has thatball. It's the First's--no, it isn't," as the coach began to dig downamong the tangle of arms and legs and heads. "No, it's the Second's,it is, by gravy." For when Horton had finally succeeded in getting tothe bottom of the heap, there lay Jimmy just ac
ross the goal line,and underneath him, tucked up securely between his arms and his chin,was the ball.

  How Jimmy had recovered the ball, no one knew, but there it was; andJimmy himself wasn't able to tell if he had been asked, for when thepile was untangled Jimmy lay still. Horton slapped him on the back."There, that's enough, let go of it now; great work, Freshman----"but there was no response, and then Horton turned him over on hisback.

  "Get the water bottle, quick," he cried. "This youngster's knockedout." In a moment they stretched Jimmy on the ground, opened hisjacket and bathed his face with the water which had been hurriedlybrought from the sidelines. A thin trickle of blood ran down from hismatted hair, just above his forehead.

  "Send for Patsy, the trainer, quick," commanded Horton, and somelively sprinting followed to the other end of the field where thatindividual was working over the twisted ankle of Harper.

  Patsy Duffy came in hot haste, with his handbag of bandages, but bythe time he had arrived on the scene, Jimmy opened his eyes.

  "He's coming to all right. By Jove, Freshman, it was a fine pieceof work," said Horton, as he gently nursed the head of the injuredboy. "You'll be all right in a minute. If I had ten more like youwe'd have a football team. There, can you walk?" he asked, as Jimmystruggled to his feet and started dizzily.

  When he saw that Jimmy had been hurt, Frank sprang from the stand andcame down the field, and now, eager to help, he slipped his arm underthat of Jimmy, and with one of the players helped to steady him as hewalked around. Duffy had already put a bandage around Jimmy's head tostop the flow of blood.

  "I'm all right," said Jimmy. "Don't bother yourself about me. Someonebumped me over the eye with his knee, I think."

  "That's all for to-day," said the coach. "I've got a word to say toyou at the gymnasium," and he led the way in that direction, theplayers trooping after him in silence.

  "Sorry he didn't break his blooming neck," muttered Chip toHarding as they trailed along. "I see he is a friend of that youngArmstrong's."

  "This probably means," said Harding, "that Horton will want to haveTurner play one of the backs of the First team."

  "I'll fix that all right. I'll make Turner look like the father ofall the fumblers if Horton puts him behind the line with me."

  "How's that?"

  "Never you mind, but just watch out. Hillard and Dutton are both inour crowd, and we don't want any Freshman muts on the team. But don'tyou worry, there won't be any. I have my own plan, and the less youknow about it, the better, for you're the captain, and you don't wantto be accused more than you can help of playing favorites. Let metake care of it, and I'll show you how to put this young Turner inthe shade."

  By this time the gymnasium had been reached. Horton stood just insidethe door to the main dressing room, and when the last straggler hadentered, he shut the door and turned around to face his pupils of thegridiron.

  "I want to tell you, young gentlemen," he said in a very quietvoice, "that if you continue to play football as you are playing itnow, I might as well quit the job. You haven't improved since thatdisgraceful defeat by the Milton High School three weeks ago. Thematerial is here but you haven't as much spirit as a sick cat. You donot get together. Once in a while you show what you could do if youwould get together. No team can get together and do anything unlessit is a team, every one helping every one else, doing his own workand giving the other fellow a hand when he needs it. If you don't getthis spirit, Warwick will show you up worse than they did a year ago.You know very well what the trouble is," (he referred to the Societydomination of football interests), "and you know the remedy. CaptainHarding, you've got to play the best men on your squad. I'm going tohave a long practice to-morrow, and I want you all to report at 4o'clock sharp. That's all, good day," and Horton turned on his heeland left the gymnasium.