Part 13 (2/2)
The ex-Yale football star, delighted at his son's ambition to serve old Bannister and joyous at discovering that Hicks actually possessed the peculiar knack of drop-kicking, coached the splinter-youth all summer at their country place near Pittsburgh. Under the instruction of Hicks, Sr., the youth developed rapidly, and when he returned to the campus for his final year, he was a sure, dependable drop-kicker, inside the thirty-yard line. As Theophilus stated, beyond that he lacked the power, but in that zone he could boot 'em over the cross-bar from any angle.
”He's been practicing all this season, in secret!” quavered the little Senior, ”and he's a--a , Butch, at drop-kicking. And yet, here it is time for the last game of his college years, and--he lacks confidence to tell you, or Coach Corridan. Oh, I'm afraid he will be angry with me for betraying him, and yet--I justlet him miss his splendid chance, now that Thor is out and old Bannistera drop-kicker!”
Big Butch was silent for a time. The football leader was deeply impressed and thrilled by Theophilus Opperd.y.k.e's story of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s ambition. As he roosted on the Senior Fence, the behemoth gridiron star visioned the mosquito-like youth, whom nature had endowed with a splinter-structure, sneaking out on Bannister Field, at every chance, to practice clandestinely his drop-kicking. He could see the faithful Human Encyclopedia, vastly excited at his blithesome colleague's improvement, retrieving the pigskin for Hicks. He thrilled again as he thought of the bean-pole Hicks, who could never gain weight and strength enough to make the eleven, loyally training and perfecting himself in the drop-kick, trying to develop into a sure kicker, within a certain zone, hoping sometime, before he left college forever, to serve old Bannister. With Thor in the line-up at fullback, he would not have been needed, but now, with the Prodigious Prodigy out, it was T. Haviland Hicks, Jr.'s big chance!
And Butch Brewster understood why the usually confident Hicks, even with the knowledge of his drop-kicking power, hesitated to announce it to old Bannister. Until Butch had told the Gold and Green football team of Hicks'
being in earnest in his ridiculous athletic attempts of the past three years, no one but himself and Hicks had dreamed that the sunny youth meant them, that he really strove to win his B and please his dad. The appearance of T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., on Bannister Field was always the cause of a small-sized riot among the squad and spectators. Hicks was jeered good-naturedly, and ”butchered to make a Bannister holiday,” as he blithely phrased it. Hence, the splinter-Senior was reluctant to announce that he could drop-kick. He knew that when tested he would be so in earnest, that so much would hang in the balance and the youths, unknowing how important it was, would jeer. Then, too, knowing his long list of athletic fiascos, ridiculous and otherwise, Hicks trembled at the thought of being sent into the biggest game to kick a goal. He feared he might fail!
”You are a , Theophilus!” said Butch, with deep feeling. ”I can realize how hard it was for Hicks to tell us. He would have kept silent forever, even after his training in secret! And how you must have suffered, knowing he could drop-kick, and yet not desiring to betray him! But your love for old Bannister and for Hicks himself conquered. I'll take him out on the gridiron, before the fellows come from cla.s.s, and see what he can do. Aha! There is the villain now. Hicks, ahoy! Come hither, you Kellar-Herman-Thurston. Your dark secret is out at last!”
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., peering cautiously from the Gym. bas.e.m.e.nt doorway, in quest of the tardy Theophilus, who was to have accompanied him on a clandestine journey to Bannister Field, obeyed the summons. Bewildered, and gradually guessing the explanation from the s.h.i.+vering little b.o.n.e.r's alarmed expression, the gladsome youth approached the stern Butch Brewster, who was about to condemn him for his silence. ”Don't be angry with me, Hicks, !” pled Theophilus, pathetically fearful that he had offended his comrade, ”I--I justto tell, for it was positively your last chance, and--and old Bannister needs your sure drop-kicking! I never promised not to tell. You never made me give my word, so--”
”It was Theophilus' duty to tell!” spoke Butch, hiding a grin, for the grind was so frightened, ”and yours, Hicks, knowing as you do how we need you, with Thor hurt! You graceless wretch, you aren't usually so like ye modest violet! Why didn't you inform us, then swagger and say, 'Oh, just leave it to Hicks, he'll win the game with a drop-kick?' Now, you come with me, and I'll look over your samples. If you've got the goods, it's highly probable you'll get your chance, in the Ballard game; and I'm , old man, for your sake. I know what it would mean, if you win it! But--now that the '' is solved, what's that about your being a 'Cla.s.s Kid,' of Yale, '96?”
”That's easy!” grinned T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his arm across Theophilus'
shoulders, ”I was the first boy born to any member of Yale, '96; it is the custom of cla.s.ses graduating at Yale to call such a baby the cla.s.s kid!
Naturally, the members of old Eli, Cla.s.s of 1896, are vastly interested in me. Hence, my Dad wrote they'd be tickled if I won a big game for Bannister with a field-goal!”
A moment of silence, Theophilus Opperd.y.k.e, gathering from Hicks' arm, across his shoulders, that the cheery youth was not so awfully wrathful at his base betrayal, adjusted his big-rimmed spectacles, and stared owlishly at Hicks.
”Hicks, you--you are not angry?” he quavered. ”You are not sorry. I--I told--”
”Sorry?” quoth T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., ”Cla.s.s Kid,” of Yale, '96, with a Ches.h.i.+re cat grin, ”? I should say --I wanted it to be known to Butch, and Coach Corridan, but I got all s.h.i.+very when I tried to confess, and I--couldn't! Nay, Theophilus, you faithful friend, I'm so , old man, that beside yours truly, the celebrated Pollyanna resembles Niobe, weeping for her lost children.”
CHAPTER XIII
HICKS--CLa.s.s KID--YALE '96
”Brekka-kek-kek--Co-Ax--Co-Ax!
Brekka-kek-kek--Co-Ax--Co-Ax!
Whoop-up! Parabaloo! Yale! Yale! Yale!
Hicks! Hicks! Hicks!”
T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., swathed in a c.u.mbersome Gold and Green football blanket, and crouching on the side-line, like some historic Indian, felt a thrill shake his splinter-structure, as the yell of ”old Eli” rolled from the stand, across Bannister Field. In the midst of the Gold and Green flags and pennants, fluttering in the section a.s.signed the Bannister cohorts, he gazed at a big banner of Blue, with white lettering:
YALE UNIVERSITY--CLa.s.s OF 1896
”Oh, Butch,” gasped Hicks, torn between fear and hope, ”just listen to that. Think of all those Yale men in the stand with my Dad! Oh, suppose I do get sent in to try for a drop-kick!”
It was almost time far the biggest game to start, the contest with Ballard, the supreme test of the Gold and Green, the final struggle for The State Intercollegiate Football Champions.h.i.+p! In a few minutes the referee's shrill whistle blast would sound, the vast crowd in the stands, on the side-lines, and in the parked automobiles, would suddenly still their clamor and breathlessly await the kick-off--then, seventy minutes of grim battling on the turf, and victory, or defeat, would perch on the banners of old Bannister.
It was a thrilling scene, a sight to stir the blood. Bannister Field, the arena where these gridiron gladiators would fly at each other's throats--or knees, spread out--barred with white chalk-marks, with the skeleton-like goal posts guarding at each end. On the turf the moleskin clad warriors, under the crisp commands of their Coaches, swiftly lined down, s.h.i.+fted to the formation called, and ran off plays. Nervous subs. stood in circles, pa.s.sing the pigskin. Drop-kickers and punters, tuning up, sent spirals, or end-over-end drop-kicks, through the air. The referee, field-judge, and linesmen conferred. Team-attendants, equipped with buckets of water, sponges, and ominous black medicine-chests, with Red Cross bandages, ran hither and thither. On the subst.i.tutes' bench, or on the ground, crouched nervous second-string players; Ballard's on one side of the gridiron, and Bannister's directly across.
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