Part 2 (2/2)
And heaven help the 'Varsity man that falls down on the job.”
The boys saw some real practice that day. The coach was merciless. They flung themselves against the dummy tackle until they were bruised and sore. They ran down the field under punts until their breath came in gasps. They practiced the forward pa.s.s until they were dizzy and seemed to see ten b.a.l.l.s flying over the field instead of one. But no one complained or s.h.i.+rked, although every separate bone and muscle seemed to have its own particular ache. A short respite, the 'Varsity and scrub faced each other as they had the day before.
But the hour had struck for the scrubs. They faced their doom. To be sure, they faced it gallantly, but it was doom none the less. From the beginning they never had a chance. All the pent up rage of the 'Varsity that had acc.u.mulated while they were being flayed by the coach was poured out on the devoted heads of their opponents. They wiped out the stigma of the day before and paid their debt with interest. It was a ”slaughter grim and great,” and before their furious attack the scrub line crumpled up like paper.
In vain Morley yelled to his little band to stand fast. They might as well have tried to stem Niagara. Warren and Hodge tackled like fiends.
d.i.c.k at center and Tom at quarter worked together with the precision of a machine. Bert's mighty kicks were sure to find Caldwell or Drake under them when they came down, and three times he lifted the pigskin over the bars. Then as the play was most of the time in the scrubs' territory, the kicking game gave place to line bucking. Bert was given the ball, and through the holes that Boyd and Ellis made for him in the enemy's line he plunged like a locomotive. There was no stopping them, and the game became a ma.s.sacre. They simply stood the scrubs ”on their heads.”
Their own goal line was not even threatened, let alone crossed.
Touchdown followed touchdown, until when the whistle blew, the 'Varsity had rolled up a score of 54 to 0 and their humiliation had been gloriously avenged.
”Well, Morley,” taunted Drake, as the panting warriors left the field, ”how about that 'false alarm' stuff?”
”Who's loony now?” crowed Tom.
”Only a spasm,” countered Morley, with a sickly grin. ”We'll get you yet.”
”Bull” Hendricks said never a word as the fellows filed past, but, as he turned to leave the field, his eyes encountered Reddy's, and he favored that grinning individual with a drawing down of the right eyelid that closely resembled a wink. And when he was alone in his own quarters, he indulged in a low chuckle.
”Pretty strong medicine,” he said to himself as he lighted his pipe, ”but it worked. I guess I'm some doctor.”
CHAPTER III
A THRILLING EXPLOIT
A PLEASANT surprise awaited the boys that evening as they went from the training table to their rooms. Under the elms in front of their dormitory, two men were pacing up and down. The close resemblance between them indicated that they were father and son. As they turned toward the boys there was an instant recognition, and they hurried forward in eager greeting.
”Mr. Quinby--Ralph,” they cried in chorus.
”We can't tell you how glad we are to see you,” said Bert. ”What lucky wind blew you so far from California?”
”Business, as usual,” responded Mr. Quinby, evidently pleased by the warmth of his welcome. ”I had to attend a meeting of directors in New York, and while I was so near, I thought I'd take a day off and run down here for a look around.”
”That's what he says,” laughed Ralph, ”but, as a matter of fact, Dad gets hungry to see the old college every once in so often, and I think he fakes up the 'business' talk just as an excuse.”
”Impudent young cub, isn't he?” said Mr. Quinby with mock severity. ”But I refuse to say anything in defense, on the ground that I might incriminate myself. Anyway, I'm here, and that's the main point. How are things going with you fellows?”
”Fine,” was the response. ”But come right on up to our rooms. We're not going to let you get away from us in a hurry, now that we've laid hands on you.”
”We'll surrender,” smiled Mr. Quinby. ”Lead on MacDuff.” And they mounted to the rooms that Bert and d.i.c.k occupied together, a floor higher up than Tom.
A flood of memories had swept over Bert at the unexpected meeting. Two years had pa.s.sed since they had been closely a.s.sociated and many things had happened since that time. Yet all the experiences of that memorable summer stood out in his mind as clearly as the events of yesterday.
Mr. Quinby had been the owner of a fleet of vessels plying between San Francisco and China. Needing a wireless operator on one of his s.h.i.+ps, he had applied to the Dean of the college and he had recommended Bert, who was pursuing a course in electricity and making a specialty of wireless telegraphy. Tom and d.i.c.k had made that trip with him, and it had been replete with adventure from start to finish. At the very outset, they had been attacked by a Malay running amuck, and only their quickness and presence of mind had saved them from sudden death. Soon after clearing the harbor, they had received the S.O.S. signal, and had been able thereby to save the pa.s.sengers of a burning s.h.i.+p. A typhoon had caught them in its grip and threatened to send them all to Davy Jones.
His flesh crept yet as he recalled the tiger creeping along the deck of the animal s.h.i.+p after breaking loose from his cage. And, traced on his memory more deeply perhaps than anything else, was that summer evening off the Chinese coast when they had been attacked by pirates. Sometimes even yet in his dreams he saw the yellow faces of that fiendish band and heard the blows of the iron bars on their shaven skulls, when old Mac and his husky stokers had jumped into the fray.
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