CHAPTER XVIII
MYRON GETS HIS CHANCE
I should like to tell how Parkinson found herself in the last halfof the game and won the contest. But nothing of that sort happened.Coach Driscoll started the third period with all his regulars in theline, and, in consequence, Musket Hill found slower going. Gains inthe line were far less frequent, and only outside of tackles was theMaroon likely to win territory. But the home team clearly out-puntedthe visitors, although, in the final period, Garrison was pulled backfrom the line to swing his toe for Parkinson. Musket Hill made but onelong advance in the last twenty minutes, and, as before, a forward passwas the method chosen. Keene, who had taken Stearns' place at left end,was caught napping badly, and Meldrum, the left half, who should haveseen the signs and been on guard, found himself tied up with the enemy.The result was a fine thirty-seven yard gain that placed the pigskin onParkinson's nine yards.
From a Parkinson point of view, the most encouraging feature of the daydeveloped then when the Brown line, forced back to its six yards andthen to its four, and finally retired to its two for being off-side,stood firm and took the ball away a foot from her goal-line. It wasthen that the west stand shouted and cheered and that Myron, silent amoment for want of breath, heard his spectacled neighbour give vent tothe enthusiastic remark already recorded. But no team can win who can'tscore, and Parkinson couldn't score. On attack she was decidedly weak.The ability was there, but the team had not yet learned to make use ofit. Individually, nearly every fellow in the Brown line played reallyexcellent football, but teamwork was missing. For a brief four or fiveminutes at the beginning of the last quarter there came a semblance ofit, and Parkinson, securing the ball on a punt near her thirty yards,managed to work it down to the enemy's thirty. Guy Brown was the brightparticular star, and, aided by Meldrum, tore off gain after gain througha weakened left side of the enemy's ranks. But when Musket Hill broughtin two substitutes to bolster the point of attack the advance peteredout, and when Brown had twice failed to gain and Kearns had lost a yardon a wide end run, Parkinson was forced to punt. That punt marked theend of Parkinson's defiance. From then on she plugged away doggedly toavert a worse defeat and, aided by the over-zealousness of Musket Hill'sseveral substitutes and by the sharp-eyed officials, succeeded. Whenthe final whistle blew Parkinson was down on her twelve yards, her backagain to the wall, and only that whistle saved her.
Musket Hill appeared more than satisfied with her score of 7 to 0. Itwas only her second victory over Parkinson in many years of contest,although there had been ties and close scores, and Myron, standing inhis place with the other Parkinsonians and cheering bravely, witnesseda hilarious celebration as Musket Hill overflowed the field and began asinuous snake-dance from side to side and from goal to goal. Then came ahurried scramble for the four-forty-eight train and a tedious and, forhis part, dejected journey back to Warne. He hoped that Millard wouldshow up, although that engaging youth hadn't spoken of returning by thattrain. He didn't, however, and Myron had a dull time of it.
The next afternoon, being Sunday, he and Joe visited Andrew Merriman,and later they rescued Zephaniah from his box-stall and, accompaniedby that joyous companion, took a long walk into the country. Theafternoon was ideal, although too warm for brisk walking. Andrew spiedsome butternut trees up a lane and they prospected. But the nuts werestill green, for no hard frosts had visited them yet. The boys found asunny spot nearby and stretched themselves out on a bank of ferns andZephaniah had a monstrous adventure with a cricket and got tangled in ablackberry vine and fell off a stone wall and, in short, spent the mostglorious hour of his young life.
Andrew and Joe did most of the talking that afternoon. Myron was ina rather gloomy frame of mind, although he couldn't have found anyexplanation for the fact. Andrew rallied him once on the score of hissilence, and Myron said he was tired. After that he really thoughthe was. Joe was in high spirits. He had been pitted against a worthyadversary yesterday and, during the time he had faced him, had had aglorious time. Every one said that he had outplayed his opponent, andJoe knew it. He regretted that Mr. Driscoll had seen fit to put Garrisonin his place in the last half, however, earnestly assuring Andrew andMyron that if he had stayed in he would have had "that guy Fraser eatingout of my hand in the last quarter!" But a good tussle always cheeredJoe up wonderfully, and the effects of that strenuous twenty minuteslasted him for several days: just as a fine big vari-coloured lumpunder his left eye did!
When Myron returned to Sohmer at dusk he found a scrawled note from ChasCummins. "No one home!" he read. "Looked for you on the train comingback, but couldn't find you. What do you know about us? Looks likeFortune favours the brave and all that sort of thing, doesn't it? Watchfor developments tomorrow! Yours, C.C."
Myron found the note somewhat cryptic. For a minute he thought of goingaround to see Chas in the evening, but then he decided that if Chas hadwanted to see him he would have said so. As a result, he stayed at homeand did some much-needed studying.
Monday afternoon found a number of the regulars absent from practice.The game on Saturday had been a strenuous one and several of the playershad earned a rest. Chas was on hand, however, although not in togs,and the same was true of Jud Mellen. Cantrell and Garrison and Caterwere absent, and one or two others, and the first squad had a sort ofshot-to-pieces look. Dummy practice started the proceedings, and, sincemuch poor tackling had been shown in the Musket Hill contest, the drillwas a long one. It seemed to Myron that every one had nerves today,from Coach Driscoll down to the last and least important substitute.Manager Farnsworth, pulling the rope that shot the canvas dummy acrossthe trolley, was short of speech and jerky of manner, Jud Mellen,watching grimly from beside the freshly-spaded pit, frowned and twistedhis hands about in his uprolled sweater and made biting comments, andeven Billy Goode, normally sweet-tempered as a cherub, looked and spokeas if some one had been casting aspersions on Ireland! Only Chas,grinning like a catfish, appeared unaffected by the general epidemic.Chas joked and jollied and got himself thoroughly hated by all.
Back on the gridiron, Coach Driscoll called Myron from the bench andfixed him with a calculating eye. Myron had visions of clearing out hislocker and retiring from football affairs. But what the coach said was:"Cummins tells me he had you at full-back the other day. Ever playedthere?"
"No, sir, not until Friday."
"You're a half, aren't you? Well, we've got plenty of those, such asthey are. Think you could learn full-back? Ever done any punting?"
"Some, yes, sir."
"Get a ball and show me."
Over on the second gridiron, with a substitute back to catch or chase,Myron swung his foot and dropped the ball and saw it go off at atangent, and heard the coach say: "Take your time, Foster; you've gotall day." When the back had relayed the pigskin from the first teamgridiron and Myron had it again in his hands he decided to try to forgetthat the coach was watching. The result was much better, for the ballwent straight toward the other goal and into the waiting arms of theback. The punt wasn't long, but it had been true, and Mr. Driscollnodded hopefully.
"Try it again," he ordered, "and hold your leg straighter. Lock yourknee and keep it so."
After the next attempt he called down the field. "Where did you catchthat, Morton?" he asked. The back turned and counted the lines.
"About the forty, sir," he shouted.
"Not bad," commented the coach. "We're on the twenty-five here. Try alow one now. And follow through with your foot. Don't stop when youstrike the ball: keep your foot going right on up: there's plenty ofroom for it!"
Four more punts, varying in distance from a wretched twenty yards to aglorious forty-five, followed, Myron seeking to profit by the coach'sinstructions. Then: "I guess that's enough, Foster," said Mr. Driscoll."You'll stand a lot of practice, but you've got a good swing and Iwouldn't be surprised if you could make a pretty fair punter. I'll giveyou a chance to show what you can do at full-back. If you buckle downand try hard you'll stand a chance of a place, f
or we need another manthere. Wish you had about ten more pounds on you, though. Go around withWarren's squad over there for a while and watch how Houghton does it.I'll see you again."
Blanket-wrapped, for Billy Goode had sharp eyes for his charges andthe weather had turned colder overnight, Myron followed the first teamsubstitutes in their signal practice for a good twenty minutes. Nowand then he caught Chas Cummins' eye as the squad trotted by, but thatyouth's expression was blank and innocent. Finally the benches filledagain, coach and captain and manager compared notes like three gentlemanburglars meditating a midnight sortie, the trainer busied himself withblankets and the sparse audience on the stand kicked their feet againstthe boards to put warmth into them. Then Mr. Driscoll faced the benches.
"First and second squads," he called. "First will kick off. Second,take this goal. Who's playing right half for the second? You, Robbins?Well, we want you on the first. Morton, you go to the second. All rightnow? What's that, Grove? Left tackle? Oh, all right. Simkins! Go in onthe first: left tackle. All right, Hersey! Start it up!"
Myron wondered if the coach had forgotten his promise, for Williams wasplaying full-back on the first squad and Houghton on the second and he,Myron, was adorning the bench with some twenty-odd other subs. PerhapsMr. Driscoll had changed his mind, thought Myron. At that moment Chascalled to him and led him down the side-line a ways. "Drop your blanket,old chap," he said. "Coach says I'm to pass you a few, though I'mblessed if I know how he expects me to work in a pair of trousers thatare two inches too small for me! Get over there by the end of the stand.If you miss them you won't have to chase them so far. Now then, perhapsyou know that in the modern game of football, the full-back is called onto take the snap-back straight from the centre on numerous occasions.Well, I'm the gentlemanly centre for the nonce. That's a bully word,'nonce.' Now we will suppose"--Chas' voice diminished to a murmur as heturned his back and placed the ball he had brought on the sod beforehim. Myron spread his hands as he had seen Houghton do, Chas cast abackward glance at him and swept the ball toward him. By leaping twofeet off the earth Myron was just able to tip it with his fingers. Chaslaughed delightedly.
"Gee, that's just like Cantrell does it!" he exulted. "In fact, Ibelieve I got it two or three inches higher than he ever did. Guess I'llget Driscoll to let me play centre!"
Myron recovered the ball and tossed it back. "Maybe I'd better get asoap-box or something to stand on," he suggested.
"None of your lip, my lad! Watch your step, now!"
This time the ball came straight and shoulder high, and Myron caught it,shifted it to the crook of his left arm and dived forward. "Splendidlydone, old chap!" applauded Chas. "Quite professional. Any one can playfull-back if he has a good centre like me to pass to him, though. Now,then, here we go again!"
Chas kept it up until he was red in the face from stooping and Myronwas tired of it, and only stopped, as he said, because he had heard asuspicious ripping sound in the neighbourhood of his waist. "It's allright," he explained a trifle breathlessly, "to die for your school,but no one wants to bust his trousers for it!"
On the way back to the bench Myron said: "What did you mean in your noteabout Fortune, Cummins? I didn't get that. Sorry I was out, by the way."
"I meant that things were coming our way, old chap. Didn't you observewhat a mess of things Steve Kearns made Saturday?"
"Not especially. I guess I wasn't watching Kearns much."
"And you grooming for his place! What do you know about you? Well, poorold Steve balled up everything he tried. Every time he got the ball helost a yard. If they'd turned him around he'd have won the game for us!Between you and me and the bucket there, Foster, you've got the chanceof a life-time to land on all four feet right square behind the firstteam. All you've got to do is show horse-sense, old chap, and be willingto learn. By the way, you got off a couple of nice punts over there."
"I don't see, though, why I couldn't have had a show at half," saidMyron dubiously. "I don't know enough about playing full-back, Cummins.I may make an awful mess of it."
"If you do," was the grim reply, "I'll knock the feathers off you. Butyou won't. You mustn't. Doggone it, son, this is your big chance! You'vejust got to make good! Remember there's another year coming!"
"I'll try, of course, Cummins, but----"
"But me no buts! You keep in mind--There's Driscoll calling you. Go toit, old chap!"
"Go in on the second there at full-back, Foster. You know the signals,don't you? All right. Now show something. Warren, give your full-backsome work. Come on, first! Get into it! Let's see some playing!"
The whistle piped before Myron had settled into position, however, andhe went back to the bench with the rest and listened to criticism andinstruction and moistened his throat with water and half wished thatChas Cummins had let him alone. But, back on the field presently, withthe ball arching away overhead, he forgot his stage-fright and grippedhis nose-guard with his teeth and piled into the play. Warren, actingon instructions, gave him plenty of work, and he didn't do it so badly,all things considered. At least, he made three good gains and he gotaway two punts, one of which surprised him. On defence he showed updecidedly well, and Warren, an earnest little shock-headed youth, gavehim praise more than once. He had some bad moments, as when, ball inhand for a toss to O'Curry across the line, he found himself besiegedby two rampant first team forwards who had somehow broken through, and,unable to heave, let himself be forced back many yards. Afterwards, hetold himself aggrievedly that Warren had no right to call on him for aforward-pass, that he had never had much of it to do and couldn't beexpected to be proficient. Besides, if your line let the whole opposingteam through on top of you, what _could_ you do, anyway?
How Coach Driscoll had been impressed, Myron had no means of knowing.The coach made no comments. Myron concluded that he had failed tomake good, and he dressed himself and went back to Sohmer in a ratherdepressed state of mind. But after supper Chas breezed in and relievedhim. "Rotten? Nothing of the sort!" declared Chas. "You were positivelygood, old chap! I'll bet Driscoll is scratching Houghton this minuteand writing 'Foster' in his little red book. If you don't find yourselfplaying full-back again tomorrow I'll--I'll eat my hat. And I needit, too, having none other. You didn't see our young friend, did you,Dobbins?"
"No," answered Joe. "I wasn't out."
"Well, he's the coming marvel. There's no doubt about it. All he's gotto do is learn the position."
Joe and Myron laughed, the former the more merrily. "That sounds sort oflike a real job," he commented.
"It isn't, really," answered Chas earnestly. "You see, Foster knows allthe moves but he doesn't know where to fit them in. After all, playingfootball is playing football, whether you're in the line or back of it,Dobbins. I'll bet that, if I had to, I could step into any position onthe team tomorrow and get by with it. I don't say I'd be a wonder, butI'd do the trick fairly well. That may sound like conceited guff, butit's a fact, fellows. Foster's played half, and a full-back's only ahalf with another name and a few different things to do. He'll learnin a week. I've got all my money on him to win. I'm tickled, too. WhenFoster came to me and asked if I thought he could play full-back----"
"When I _what_?" gasped Myron.
Chas winked and frowned. "When he sprung that on me, Dobbins, I had mydoubts. But I said the right thing. I said, 'Go to it, my boy, and goodluck to you!' I'm glad I did. We surely need more full-backs than we'vegot, and I believe Foster's going to be a good one. Well, I'm off. Bythe way, Dobbins, you played a pretty game Saturday. I'll have to watchmy step or you'll have me on the bench. Good night!"