Part 15 (1/2)

But Cupid Colfax, Ballard's famous sprinter, playing quarterback, was off on Monty's trail almost instantly, and his phenomenal speed cut down the Ballard end's advantage; still, by dint of exerting every ounce of energy, it was on Ballard's forty-yard line that Monty Merriweather, hugging the pigskin grimly, finally crashed to earth.

”Come on, Bannister!” shouted Captain Butch Brewster, as the two teams lined down. ”Right across the goal-line, then kick the goal, and we win!

Play the game----Oh, we can win the Champions.h.i.+p right now.”

Then ensued a session of football spectacular in the extreme, replete with thrilling plays, with sensational tackles, and blood-stirring scrimmage.

The Bannister players, nerved by Captain Brewster's exhortation, by sheer will-power drove their battered bodies into the scrimmage. End runs, line-smas.h.i.+ng tandem plays, forward pa.s.ses, followed in bewildering succession, until the ball rested on Ballard's twenty-yard line, and a touchdown meant victory and the Champions.h.i.+p for old Bannister, Another rush, and five yards gained, then, Ballard, fighting at the last ditch, made a stand every bit as heroic and thrilling as that sensational march in the first half. The Gold and Green's tigerish rushes were hurled back--three times Captain Butch threw his backfield against the line, and three times not an inch was gained. On the third down, Monty Merriweather was forced back for a loss, so now, with two minutes to play and the ball in Bannister's possession, with eight yards to gain, the play was on Ballard's twenty-two-yard line!

And the biggest game had produced a new hero of the gridiron. Biff Pemberton, left half-back, imbued with savage energy, had borne the brunt of that spectacular advance; and now, he stretched on the turf, white and still.

”Hicks, old man,” T, Haviland Hicks, Jr. turned as a hand rested grippingly on his shoulder. Head Coach Patrick Henry Corridan, his face grim, had come to him, and in quick, terse sentences, he outlined his plan.

”It's Bannister's last chance--” he said, tensely. ”Wemake the first down, the way Ballard is fighting, unless we take desperate odds.

Now, Hicks, it's . Ondepend old Bannister's hopes.”

A great, chilling fear swept over T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., leaving him weak and shaken. It had come at last-the moment for which he had trained and practiced drop-kicking, for a year, in secret, that moment he had hoped would come, sometime, and yet had dreaded, as in a nightmare. Before that vast, howling crowd of ten thousand madly partisan spectators,must go out on Bannister Field, to try and boot a drop-kick from the twenty-eight-yard-line, to save the Gold and Green from defeat. And he thought of the great glory that would be his, if he succeeded-he would be a campus hero, the idol of old Bannister, the youth who saved his Alma Mater from defeat, in the biggest game! Then he remembered his Dad, inspiring the eleven, between the halves, by a ringing speech; he heard again his sentences:

”--And to serve old Bannister, to bring glory and honor to our dear Alma Mater, is our greater goal! Go back into the game, throw yourselves into the scrimmage, with no thought of personal glory, of the plaudits of the crowd--it is a fine thing, a splendid goal, to play the game and be a hero; it is a far more n.o.ble act to strive for the greater goal, one's Alma Mater!”

”Now listen carefully,” Coach Corridan rushed on, ”Biff is knocked out.

They'll start again soon, we are going to take a desperate chance; your Dad advises it! A tie score means the Champions.h.i.+p stays with Ballard. To win it, we mustthis game--and oneverything depends.”

”But--how--” stammered Hicks, dazed--the only way tothe score was by a drop-kick; the only way to win, by a touchdown--did the Coach mean he wasto realize his great ambition to save old Bannister by a goal, the reward of his long training?

”You jog out,” whispered Coach Corridan, hurriedly, for a stretcher was being rushed to Biff Pemberton, ”report to the Referee, and whisper to Butch to try Formation Z; 23-45-6-A! Now, here is the dope: our only chance is to fool Ballard completely. When you go out, the Bannister rooters, and your Yale friends, will believe it is to try a drop-kick and tie the score.

I am sure that the Ballard team will think this, too, because of your slender build. You act as though you intend to try for a goal, and have Captain Butch make our fellows act that way. Then--it is a fake-kick; the backfield lines up in the kick formation, but the ball is pa.s.sed to Butch, at your right. He either tries for a forward pa.s.s to the right end, or if the end Is blocked, rushes it himself! Hurry-the referee's whistle is blowing; remember, Hicks, my boy, it's the greater goal, it's for your Alma Mater.”

In a trance, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., flung off the gold and green blanket, and dashed out on Bannister Field. How often, in the past year, had he visioned this scene, only--he pictured himself saving the game by a drop-kick, and now Coach Corridan ordered him to sacrifice this glory! From the stands came the thunderous cheer of the excited Bannister cohorts, firmly believing that the slender youth, so ludicrously fragile, among those young Colossi, was to try for a goal.

”Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Hicks! Kick the goal--Hicks!”

And from the Yale grads., among them his Dad, came a shout, as he jogged across the turf:

”Breka-kek-kek--co-ax--Yale! Hicks-Hicks-Hicks!”

But the Bannister Senior did not thrill. Now, instead, a feeling of growing resentment filled his soul; even this intensely loyal youth, with all his love for old Bannister, was vastly human, and he felt cheated of his just rights. How the students were cheering him, how those Yale men called his name, and he was not to have his big chance! That for which he had trained and practiced; the opportunity to serve his Alma Mater, by kicking a goal at the crucial moment, and saving Bannister from defeat, was never to be his. Now, in his last game at college, he was to act as a decoy, as a foil.

Like a dummy he must stand, while the other Gold and Green athletes ran off the play! Instead of everything, a tie game, or a defeat, depending on his kicking, defeat or victory hung on that fake play, on Butch Brewster and Monty Merriweather! So--the ear-splitting plaudits of the crowd for ”Hicks!” meant nothing to him; they were dead sea fruit, tasteless as ashes--as the ashes of ambition. And then--

”--And to serve old Bannister, to bring glory and honor to our dear Alma Mater, is our greater goal--no thought of personal glory--a splendid goal, to play the game and be a hero; It is a far more n.o.ble act to strive for the greater goal--one's Alma Mater--”

”I was nearly a ” gasped T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., his Dad's words echoing In his memory, and a vision of that staunch, manly Bannister ex-athlete before him. ”Oh, I was betraying my Alma Mater. Instead of rejoicing to makesacrifice, however big, for Bannister, I thought only of myself, of my glory! I'll do it, Dad, I'll strive for the greater goal, and--we just can't fail.”

Reaching the scrimmage, Hicks, whose nervous dread had left him, when he fought down selfish ambition, and thirst for glory, reported to the Referee, and hurriedly transferred Coach Corridan's orders to Captain Butch Brewster; half a minute of precious time was spent in outlining the desperate play to the eleven, for ”time!” had been called, and then--

”Z-23-45-6-A!” shouted Quarterback Deacon Radford. ”Come on, line--hold!

Right over the cross-bar with it, Hicks--tie the score, and save Bannister from defeat--”