Part 22 (1/2)

”Y--yes,” answered Sydney, ”I suppose it is. But I rather like it.”

”Like it? Great Scott! Why?”

”Well, the mist feels good on your face, don't you think so? And the trees down there along the railroad look so gray and soft. I don't know, but there's something about this sort of a day that makes me feel good.”

”Well, every one to his taste,” Mills replied. ”By the way, here's something I cut out of the Robinson Argus; thought you'd like to see it.” He drew a clipping from a pocketbook and gave it to Sydney, who, s.h.i.+elding it from the wet, read as follows:

Erskine, we hear, is crowing over a wonderful new play which she thinks she has invented, and with which she expects to get even for what happened last year. We have not seen the new marvel, of course, but we understand that it is called a ”close formation.” It is safe to say that it is an old play revamped by Erskine's head coach, Mills. Last year Mills discovered a form of guards-back which was heralded to the four corners of the earth as the greatest play ever seen.

What happened to it is still within memory. Consequently we are not greatly alarmed over the latest production of his fertile brain. Robinson can, we think, find a means of solving any puzzle that Erskine can put together.

”They're rather hard on you,” laughed Sydney as he returned the clipping.

”I can stand it. I'm glad they haven't discovered that we are busy with a defense for their tackle-tandem. If we can keep that a secret for a few days longer I shall be satisfied.”

”I do hope it will come up to expectations,” said Sydney doubtfully.

”Now that the final test is drawing near I'm beginning to fear that maybe we--maybe we're too hopeful.”

”I know,” answered Mills. ”It's always that way. When I first began coaching I used to get into a regular blue funk every year just before the big game; used to think that everything was going wrong, and was firmly convinced until the whistle sounded that we were going to be torn to pieces and scattered to the winds. It's just nerves; you get used to it after a while. As for the new defense for tackle-tandem, it's all right. Maybe it won't stop Robinson altogether, but it's the best thing that a light team can put up against a heavy one playing Robinson's game; and I think that it's going to surprise her and worry her quite a lot. Whether it will keep her from scoring on the tackle play remains to be seen. That's a good deal to hope for. If we'd been able to try the play in a game with another college we would know more about what we can do with it. As it is, we only know that it will stop the second and that theoretically it is all right. We'll be wiser on the 23d.

”Frankly, though, Burr,” he continued, ”as a play I don't like it. That is, I consider it too hard on the men; there's too much brute force and not enough science and skill about it; in fact, it isn't football. But as long as guards-back and tackle-back formations are allowed it's got to be played. It was a mistake in ever allowing more than four men behind the line. The natural formation of a football team consists of seven players in the line, and when you begin to take one or two of those players back you're increasing the element of physical force and lessening the element of science. More than that, you're playing into the hands of the anti-football people, and giving them further grounds for their charge of brutality.

”Football's the n.o.blest game that's played, but it's got to be played right. We did away with the old ma.s.s-play evil and then promptly invented the guards-back and the tackle-back. Before long we'll see our mistake and do away with those too; revise the rules so that the rush-line players can not be drawn back. Then we'll have football as it was meant to be played; and we'll have a more skilful game and one of more interest both to the players and spectators.” Mills paused and then asked:

”By the way, do you see much of Fletcher?”

”Yes, quite a bit,” answered Sydney. ”We were together for two or three hours yesterday afternoon.”

”Indeed? And did you notice whether he appeared in good spirits? See any signs of worry?”

”No, not that I recall. I thought he appeared to be feeling very cheerful. I know we laughed a good deal over--over something.”

”That's all right, then,” answered the coach as they turned in through the gate and approached the locker-house. ”I had begun to think that perhaps he had something on his mind that troubled him. He seemed a bit listless yesterday at practise. How about his studies? All right there, is he?”

”Oh, yes. Fletcher gets on finely. He was saying only a day or two ago that he was surprised to find them going so easily.”

”Well, don't mention our talk to him, please; he might start to worrying, and that's what we don't want, you know. Perhaps he'll be in better shape to-day. We'll try him in the 'antidote.'”

But contrary to the hopes of the head coach, Neil showed no improvement.

His playing was slow, and he seemed to go at things in a half-hearted way far removed from his usual dash and vim. Even the signals appeared to puzzle him at times, and more than once Foster turned upon him in surprise.

”Say, what the d.i.c.kens is the matter with you, Neil?” he whispered once.

Neil showed surprise.

”Why, nothing; I'm all right.”

”Well, I'm glad you told me,” grumbled the quarter-back, ”for I'd never have guessed it, my boy.”

Before the end of the ten minutes of open practise was over Neil had managed to make so many blunders that even the fellows on the seats noticed and remarked upon it. Later, when the singing and cheering were over and the gates were closed behind the last marching freshman, Neil found himself in hot water. The coaches descended upon him in a small army, and he stood bewildered while they accused him of every sin in the football decalogue. Devoe took a hand, too, and threatened to put him off if he didn't wake up.

”Play or get off the field,” he said. ”And, hang it all, man, look intelligent, as though you liked the game!”