Part 12 (2/2)

”I fancied that was the reason,” answered Neil gravely. Then their eyes met and they laughed together.

”Your friend Gale didn't play so well to-day,” said Sydney presently.

Neil shook his head with a troubled air.

”No, he played rotten ball, and that's a fact. I don't know what's got into him of late. He doesn't seem to care whether he pleases Mills or not. I think it's that chap Cowan. He tells Paul that Mills and Devoe are imposing on him and that he isn't getting a fair show and all that sort of stuff. Know Cowan?”

”Only by sight. I don't think I'd care to know him; he looks a good deal like--like--”

”Just so,” laughed Neil. ”That's the way he strikes me.”

After dinner that evening Paul bewailed what he called his ill luck.

Neil listened patiently for a while; then--

”Look here, Paul,” he said, ”don't talk such rot. Luck had nothing to do with it, and you know it. The trouble was that you weren't in shape; you've been s.h.i.+lly-shallying around of late and just doing good enough work to keep Mills from dropping you to the scrub. It's that miserable idiot Tom Cowan that's to blame; he's been filling your head with nonsense; telling you that you are so good that you don't have to practise, and that Mills doesn't dare drop you, and lots of poppyc.o.c.k of that kind. Now, I'll tell you, chum, that the best thing to do is to go honestly to work and do your best.”

Paul was deeply insulted by this plain speaking, and very promptly took himself off up-stairs to Cowan's room. Of late he spent a good deal of his time there and Neil was getting worried. For Cowan was notably an idler, and the wonder was how he managed to keep himself in college even though he was taking but a partial course. To be sure, Cowan's fate didn't bother Neil a bit, but he was greatly afraid that his example would be followed by his roommate, who, at the best, was none too fond of study. Neil sat long that evening over an unopened book, striving to think of some method of weakening Cowan's hold on Paul--a hold that was daily growing stronger and which threatened to work ill to the latter.

In the end Neil sighed, tossed down the volume, and made ready for bed without having found a solution of the problem.

The following Monday Neil was rewarded for his good showing in the Woodby game by being taken on to the varsity. Paul remained on the second team, and Cowan, greatly to that gentleman's bewilderment and wrath, joined him there. The two teams, with their subst.i.tutes, went to training-table that day in Pearson's boarding-house on Elm Street, and preparation for the game with Harvard, now but nine days distant, began in earnest.

CHAPTER XI

THE RESULT OF A FUMBLE

Sydney Burr had trundled himself out to the field and had drawn his tricycle close up to the low wooden fence that divides the gridiron from the grand stand and against which the players on the benches lean their blanketed backs. From there he had an uninterrupted view. It was a perfect afternoon. Overhead a few white clouds drifted lazily about against a warm blue sky. The sun shone brightly and mocked at light overcoats. But for all that there was an October sparkle in the air, and once in a while a tiny breeze from the north came across the yellowing field and whispered that winter was not far behind.

Sydney had a rug thrown over his lower limbs and wore a warm white woolen sweater. There was quite a dash of color in his usually pale cheeks, and his blue eyes flashed with interest as he watched the men at practise. Near at hand a panting group of fellows were going through the signals, the quarter crying his numbers with gasps for breath, then pa.s.sing the ball to half-or full-back and quickly throwing himself into the interference. Sydney recognized him as Bailey, the varsity subst.i.tute. Sydney knew almost all the players by sight now and the names of many.

Near the east goal two lines of heaving, charging men were being coached by Mills in breaking through. Stowell, the big, good-natured subst.i.tute center, was bending over the ball. Sydney could hear Mills's sharp voice:

”Now draw back, defense, and lunge into them! Get the start on them!”

Then the ball was snapped and the two ranks heaved and pitched a moment before the offense broke through and scattered the turf with little clumps of writhing players.

”That was good, Tucker, good!” cried Mills. ”You did just as I told you.

Now give the ball to the other side. Weight forward, defense, every one of you on his toes. _Browning, watch that ball!_ Now get into them, every one! Block them!”

At the other end of the field six fellows were kicking goal and six others, stretched upon the turf, were holding the b.a.l.l.s for them. Devoe was coaching. Sydney could see Neil, the farthest away of any, lifting the leather toward the posts from a difficult angle on the twenty-yard line. Even as he watched, the ball sailed away from Neil's toe and went fair over the cross-bar, and Sydney silently applauded. He set himself to recognizing the other kickers. There was Gale, the tall and rather heavy fellow in the crimson sleeves; and Mason, equally tall but all corners and angles; and Smith, and Gillam, and Foster. Devoe seemed to be laying down the law forcibly to Gale; he was gesticulating with his hands and nodding his head like a Chinese mandarin. Sydney could not hear what he was saying, nor could he see Gale's face; but in the att.i.tude of the captain there was exasperation, and in that of Gale sullen impatience.

Another group at signal practise drew nigh, and Sydney gave his attention to it. Reardon, the second eleven quarter, sang his signals in a queer, shrill voice that was irresistibly funny. In front of Sydney he raised himself, wiped his palms on his stained trousers, grimaced at one of the halves, and took a deep breath. Then--

”_Signal_!” he cried. ”_7--8--4--6!_”

Eight half bounded by him, full-back fell in behind and took the ball, left half dashed after, and the group trotted away to line up again ten yards down the field. But presently the lines at the east goal broke up and trotted toward the benches, and Mills called the players in from all parts of the field. The water-pail was surrounded and the thirsty players rinsed out their mouths, well knowing the reprimand that awaited should they be rash enough to take even one swallow. Sweaters were hurriedly donned, Simson dealing them out from the pile on the ground, and the fellows sank on to the benches. Neil saw Sydney, and talked to him over the fence until he heard his name called from the line-up.

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