by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER X KENTUCKY'S DOWNFALL
The change from the shadows of the Blue Moon and the weird whispers ofPanther Eye to the low roar of Dave's boiler room and Dave's own lowrumbling voice was almost startling. Dave was real, and quite human, theheating plant, made up as it was of bricks and pipes, pumps and boilers,was about the most substantial thing in the world. No spooks here.
In this place for six hours every day Dave reigned as king. He had cometo love that room as some people love their homes. The mild, clean air,made pure by the constant breathing in of those twin boilers, broughtunconscious joy to his heart. The low hiss of steam, the faint roar ofthe fires on the grates, the quish-quash of the pumps, were music to hisears.
To his nicely tuned ears, every sound had a meaning. If the hiss of steamincreased, if a pump bumped ever so softly, if the fire's low roar sankto a whisper, he was on his feet. His hands grasped a shovel, a valve, ora wrench and in a trice all was right again.
More than this, the old heating plant stood for a very definite change inhis life. The moment he stepped through those doors and good old JohnMacQueen said, "Your work will be this. You will do it this way and thatway," he had become important both to himself and to others. He was aworker.
He loved to sit there, with the green shaded light gleaming low, with theshadows leaping among the pumps and the pipes, and picture the rooms inthose other buildings. In the gym, all aglow with light, a practice gameof basketball was in progress. Soon the players would go bounding downthe stairs to the showers. In the old brown stone building across theway, Prexy, in his office, dictated letters, in another room thetreasurer thumbed his ledgers. Far up beneath the rafters were bat-roostswhere a score or more of boys bent over tables reading intently, orfiguring feverishly. In the red brick "dorm," at the far corner of thecampus, more than a hundred girls garbed in lounging pajamas, kimonos, ormore formal garb, were studying.
"All these," he would think with a smile, and a glad tug at his heart,"are warm and comfortable on a damp and chilly night, because I am herewatching these old furnaces and listening to that hiss of steam. I ampart of a big thing. I am a worker."
Ah, yes, what more could any boy ask, a chance to study, to listen to thetalk of men older and wiser than himself and then to do his part inmaking all this possible for many others.
Did Dave think of this often? Probably not. His head was full of forwardpasses, lateral passes, touchdowns, college algebra, chemical formulae,and all the rest that made up his life. For all that it was good at timesjust to sit there listening and thinking, just thinking andlistening--nothing more.
A sturdy, cheerful, independent lot were these Hillcrest boys who workedtheir way. And there were scores of them. On the football team there wasStagger Weed, who tended a string of furnaces; Rabbit Jones, who swept adozen floors every day; Punch Dickman, who was a hash slinger at theGolden Gate, and many others, happy warriors all.
"Howdy, Johnny! How's things?" Dave greeted as Johnny came in blinkingfrom the light.
"Fine, Dave."
"And the Blue Moon?"
"Wonderful, Dave." Johnny dropped into a chair beside Dave's small desk."Dave, how's football?"
"You saw how it was Saturday," Dave laughed.
"Yes, but--" Johnny's brow wrinkled, "you didn't use my good pal,Kentucky, very much."
"No-o," Dave spoke slowly, "we didn't. He's trying too hard. Have to lethim slow down a bit. But he's a fine kid, Johnny, a mighty fine kid. Ilike to see him run. Wait until next Friday. You know we play on Fridaythis week, Naperville's request. You'll see a thing or two. Just youwait!"
Johnny was willing enough to wait if Dave felt that way about it. He didwait. He did see things, wonderful things for a while--andthen--well--yes, and then.
* * * * * * * *
"Look!" Dave's tone was low, tense with emotion. "We gotta' beat thatNaperville gang. We just got to. And we can do it, Old Kentucky." Heplaced a hand affectionately on the mountain boy's shoulder.
The great day had come. The Naperville game was about to start. Neverbefore had there been such crowds, so much color, enthusiasm, andcheering.
"We can do it," Dave went on, "just you and I. No one can dodge the wayyou can. And I--I'm a battering ram. I'm good! I even admit it," hechuckled. "I'll go through 'em. You follow on and make the gains. We'regoing to have a touchdown two minutes after the first whistle. I'll tellyou how," his voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Artie will give you theball. I'll hit their tackle, hit him hard and ram their line into a heap.That makes a hole. You go through, far as ever you can." He drew a longbreath.
"And then?" Kentucky asked in a low, quiet drawl.
"Same thing. Four times running," was Dave's reply. "Every time we'llgain a little less ground. Shouldn't wonder if you'd be thrown for a losson the fourth. There's a bright sophomore on that Naperville team--toobright. Plays right guard. He'll break through and smear you. Let him!"Dave chuckled. "And then," another long breath, "then Artie will send youthrough the spot where that same right guard belongs. He'll be feeling sohappy about smearing you, he won't be watching, or if he is, he'll expectthat same play. You should get through, all the way through, kid! Make ita touchdown, boy. Make it a touchdown." He wrung the younger boy's hand."There's the horn."
Who can say what went on inside the Kentucky boy's mind as he crouchedbehind the line waiting for the snapping of the ball? As yet all wasquite new and strange to him. They expected so much of him. They wantedhim to beat this Naperville team. Naperville meant nothing to him. But tohis team mates and all the old grads, the letter men of other years, itmeant a great deal.
But here was the ball. He felt its hard smoothness in his hand, saw Daveplunge forward to send a player crashing to one side, saw the opening andwent through for a gain of a yard, two, three, four, eight yards. Then abolt of lightning appeared to hit him and he went to earth.
The instant the whistle blew, he felt Dave's hands on his shoulder,helping him to his feet.
"Grand, Old Kentucky! Better'n I expected. Now make it a first down."
A first down it was. The crowd on the bleachers screamed its approval.The boy could hear them shouting: "Na--per--ville! Na--per--ville! Beat'em! Beat 'em! Smear 'em! Smash 'em! Kill 'em!" The shout, coming in slowmotion at first, picked up speed until it sounded like an on-rushingtrain.
"Steady, boy!" Dave warned. "Don't expect too much. Remember!"
"I--I'll remember," Kentucky's breath came short and quick.
There was need to remember, for on the second down he failed to gain andon the third he was thrown for a loss of two yards. It was at this momentthat the mountain boy became conscious of that Naperville guard. He wasnot only a smart boy, he had a mean turn to his nature. He leered as ifto say, "Ha! Ha! Big joke! Smeared you, didn't I?"
Ballard's face was a mask as he took his place for the next play. Then,as he received the ball, he faked that same line plunge, saw that leeringguard leave his place, then, like a flash of fire, shot to the right,through that opening and away.
Then a strange thing happened to his mind. As a player flashed past him,he was to him no longer a player, but old Nicodemus, the Colonel's ram.And now here was another off to his right. Oh, well! offer him a hip,then fade. He faded down the field. To the left a third Nicodemusappeared. He too was dodged. But here he was now straight ahead of him,not Nicodemus, of course, but the Naperville's safety man, all thatremained between him and a touchdown.
With a friendly grin, holding the ball straight out before him, theKentucky boy sprang straight at the waiting giant.
Thrown off his guard, the giant reached for the ball. But, of a sudden,the ball was not there. Stopping dead in his tracks, Kentucky had pivotedsharply to the right and was away for that touchdown.
Then how the bleachers roared.
"See! I told you," Dave grinned as he came up with the Kentucky boy. "Twominutes to a touchdown, exactly by the watch!"
Kentucky did not laugh. He did not even smile. Strangely enough, at thatmoment he was seeing a face, an unfriendly, leering face, the face ofNaperville's right guard. A chill shook his slender frame. He wanted toplead with the coach. Strange as it may seem, he wanted to be taken outof the game. "But how foolish!" he muttered. "What reason could I give?"
He did not quit the game. He played on, but ever and again, as there wastime-out and he lay flat upon the ground relaxed, with eyes closed, heseemed to see that leering face and always it caused him to shudder.
After their brilliant start, the team slowed down a bit. The quarterended without another touchdown.
In the second quarter, Naperville took the ball and, for the most part,kept it. With the dogged determination of a slow, heavy team, they atlast pounded their way across the field to a touchdown. Since both teamshad made good on kicks, the score was now tied.
But not for long. Hillcrest went into the air. The grilling practice ofthat week did not go for nothing. Three times their forward passes werecomplete. It was a short lateral caught by Kentucky and hurled high andwide to Dave that at last scored their second touchdown of the game. Thekick was good.
Then again came tough going. The Hillcrest team was tiring. Like shocktroops, a half dozen husky subs were pushed into the Naperville team andagain they battered their way across the field and over the goal. Thekick was good. Once again the score was tied.
Then came the five last tense moments of the game. Even faces in thegrandstand were drawn into hard fixed lines. Men were there, stout, grayhaired men, who, in their day, had gone romping over their ancient enemyto victory. Now they wanted that victory once again, wanted it terribly.True, there was one more game scheduled with this team, but every gamecounted, every game! There was no time like the golden now.
"Smash that line!" they chanted. "Smash that line! Smash that line!"
As they went into a huddle, Dave muttered to his team: "Remember what wedid in the beginning? They've forgotten by now. Same play, all the waythrough, except just three plunges through left tackle, then one throughright guard."
Hillcrest's ball on the enemy's thirty-yard line. Four minutes to play.First down, ten to go.
Snap! The ball fairly cracked as it reached Kentucky's hands. Dave brokea wide opening. Kentucky went through to a first down.
"Break that line! Break that line! Smash 'em! Smash 'em! Smash 'em!" thebleachers chanted.
Kentucky passed his hand before his eyes--that leering sophomore wasthere again.
Now he was off once again for a gain of six yards.
"Make it a first down!" Dave muttered grimly.
From the enemy's bleachers there came a mighty roar: "Stop that man! Stopthat man! Kill him! Kill him!" Dave knew they meant him. He grinnedbroadly. A moment more and he was laughing, for the bruised and batteredtackle of the opposing team straightened up to shout back to the nowsilent bleachers:
"Stop him yourself! He ain't no man! He's a stick of flaming reddynamite!"
"Red dynamite!" The Hillcrest bleachers caught the words and hurled itback. "Red dynamite! Red dynamite! 'Ray for Red Dynamite!" And so, in aflash, Dave was named for life.
They did not make it a first down, not that time, for, as if he hadrehearsed the act, that grinning, leering guard broke through once moreand threw Ballard for a loss. As he did so, he hissed some words in themountain boy's ears. Kentucky heard it but indistinctly. Even so, hisblood raced. His fingers itched for action. As he rose, he stood therelike a marble statue, white and cold.
The next play came with the speed of thought and, like a radio flash, wasexecuted. Kentucky went straight through the place left by the leeringguard. It looked like a touchdown. But no, he was thrown hard, just oneyard from the goal line.
"What a break!" Dave exulted. "First down and a yard to a touchdown!"
The crowd saw it all and went into hysterics. Hats soared high. Girlsscreamed. An old grad fell backward off the bleachers, barely escaping abroken neck. The bleachers were a riot.
But what was this? Players on both teams leaped into action. They beganpiling up, pulling and hauling. When it was all over, Ballard, whitefaced and panting, was dragged from the bottom of the heap.
There had been a fight going on beneath that pile. Kentucky and thatleering Naperville guard had been at it tooth and nail.
"He was cho--choking me!" the Naperville guard gasped. "He--he nearlykilled me."
"What happened, Ballard?" the coach asked, crowding in.
The Kentucky boy made no reply. He was white as marble and shaking like aleaf. He turned, pushed his way through his own team and walkedunsteadily to the bench to drop upon it like a sack of sand.
A hush fell over the throng. The referees conferred. There was nothingfor it, whatever the cause, the Kentucky boy had started a fight. Fifteenyards penalty for Hillcrest.
Less than two minutes to play and sixteen yards to a touchdown. Hillcrestlost heart. Four downs and only four yards gained. Naperville took theball. They booted it down the field. The whistle blew. The game was over.
"Only a tie," came a murmur from the bleachers. "Only a tie and we mighthave won."
"Only a tie and we might have won," the words were taken up by more thanone player. But Ballard, Old Kentucky as they had lovingly called him,such a short time before, did not hear. He was not there. He was faraway, how far no one seemed to know.
