Full-Back Foster

  CHAPTER XXIV

  EDDIE APPLIES THE BRAKE

  I think the experiences of the past week had cleared the air in Myron'scase. Perhaps Andrew's curtain lecture at the hotel that Sunday morninghad its effect. Perhaps, too, the knowledge that Joe and Andy had caredenough to go to all that scheming and effort to bring him back andsave him from his own folly bucked him up. At all events, he went towork hammer-and-tongs and by Wednesday night had Steve Kearns lookingworried. Chas, viewing events interestedly, chuckled to himself. Thingswere working his way. Not only was he secretly aiding and abettingthe career of Myron, but there were three others among the first andsecond choice fellows who were under his care and who, willingly orunwillingly, followed his instructions. Had Chas cared to he could havetaken a pencil and paper and written down the line-up for next season'sfirst important contest. Needless to say, against the position of leftguard would have been the name of Cummins.

  Chas was not without his qualms of uneasiness, though, for Brodhead wasnow pushing him hard for his place. Attending to the duties of nextyear's captain in anticipation somewhat detracted from his playingqualities, and when, on Thursday, he found himself left on the benchwhile Brodhead was sent into the game against the second at left guard,he realised dismayedly that he would have to let next season look afteritself for the present and reinstate himself in the coach's good graces.Chas' plans revolved on his election to the captaincy, and it wasn'tusual to elect to that position a fellow who had not played in the biggame. Chas studied his scarred knuckles thoughtfully and wondered tojust what extent Mr. Driscoll would let his personal feelings rule whenit came to a choice between him and Brodhead for the Kenwood game. Chasknew perfectly well that the coach, without disliking him, held it infor him on one or two scores, and one must allow for a certain amount ofhuman nature, he reflected, in even a football coach! Mentally he shookhis head and acknowledged that he would have to mend his ways. He wasn'tcertain, for that matter, that it was not already too late, that, to usehis own expression, he had not already "spilled the beans"!

  That Thursday Myron got himself talked about. He went in at full-backin the second half, vice Kearns, and showed himself a remarkablyproficient player at that position. Coach Driscoll watched him ingenuine surprise, although, as usual, he hid his feelings. "He's justabout four times as good as he was before he was laid off," he saidto himself, "and at least twice as good as I ever thought he wouldbe. Why, the chap's a born full-back! Give him a few more pounds forline-bucking and he will size up with any of them. Next year he oughtto be All-American material, by Jupiter! But I mustn't spoil him. He'stoo good. And if he gets to knowing how good he is, he's likely to getfond of himself and fizzle out. I think he's the sort to do that. No,I guess we'll keep your spurs trimmed down pretty close, Foster, mylad!" And in furtherance of that plan the coach strode across to thefirst team backfield and metaphorically ripped Myron up the back, tothe bewilderment of Myron and the puzzlement of Jud and Joe and Katieand some others! Myron ended the game in a chastened mood, conscious ofhaving made two touchdowns, one by a wide run behind good interferenceand one by downright grit from the four yards when the advance hadseemed at an end, but equally conscious that he had not done as well ashe should have. He had Coach Driscoll's word for the latter, althoughthe coach had somehow failed to specify very exactly wherein Myron hadfailed. There had been talk about "getting low" and "using your legs,"but Myron didn't really see how he could have struck the line much lowerwithout going into it on his head or how he could have got anotherounce of push out of those wearied legs of his. In the end, havingbeen refreshed with food and having listened to hearty praise from hisfriends, he decided that coaches were strange persons not always tobe taken seriously. But he didn't get a swelled head over the day'sperformance, which was what the coach had guarded against.

  There was no practice on Friday for the first team players, and so whenMyron found a note in the mail that morning signed Maurice Millardsaying that the writer would be in Warne that noon and asking Myron tomeet him at the hotel at two o'clock, the latter was able to promisehimself an enjoyable afternoon. Unfortunately, he had a recitationat two, but he left a note for Millard at the hotel in the forenoonpostponing the meeting until a quarter to three. He recalled Millardvery pleasantly and was glad he was to meet him again. He liked thatname, too, Maurice Millard: it had a swing to it, he thought, even ifit did sound rather like the name of a moving-picture artist! He wishedthat Millard had chosen to look him up at his room, for he would haveliked to introduce him to Joe. Joe had seemed somehow rather scepticalas to Millard's charms. But he could bring the visitor to Sohmer lateron, for of course he would want to see the school and visit the footballfield and so on.

  But, rather strangely--or so Myron thought,--Millard declared in favourof taking a drive into the country. "We can look around the school whenwe get back," he explained. "It's a wonderful day for a drive and I'mmuch fonder of the country than I am of towns. And we can have a jollychat, too, and you won't have to interrupt yourself every ten seconds tosay 'That's Smith Hall, built in 1876 and used by General Washington asheadquarters during the football game between Parkinson and Kenwood,' orsome other such dope."

  As to its being a wonderful day for driving, Myron had his doubts,for summer had returned and the weather was decidedly hot in spite ofthe fact that November was two weeks old. Still, driving might bepleasanter than walking, and the guest had the right to choose hisentertainment, and Myron capitulated. To find a conveyance, however,was not so easy, for no Jehus slept along the curb in front of thelittle hotel when they went in search of one. Myron suggested walkingto the station, only a block or so distant, and Millard consented. Thedifficulty was solved before they got that far, however, for a new,highly varnished taxi-cab darted toward them from a side street and adimly remembered youth on the driver's seat hailed Myron by name. Heproved to be the fellow who had conveyed Myron to Sohmer that firstday of school, and by the time the latter had ended negotiations forthe hiring of the cab by the hour he remembered that the sandy-hairedyoung man was named Eddie Moses. The cab appeared to be brand-new andwas certainly a vast improvement over the former one. They went brisklyout of the town toward Sturgis, and, with all windows open, the drivepromised to be as enjoyable as Millard had predicted.

  The visitor was as smartly, if quietly, dressed as when Myron had seenhim last, and Myron was secretly glad that he had gone to extra pains inthe matter of his own attire. Myron asked about business and Millardreported everything fine, and said that he had managed to get a smallorder from the local dealer in athletic supplies that morning. "Notmuch, you know, but enough to let us show him that we have the goodshe wants and can sell to him cheaper than that New York house. It's awedge, Foster."

  In spite of Millard's expressed love of the country, he didn't seem topay much attention to its beauties. Before they had gone a mile he hadswitched the conversation from athletic goods to football, of which heappeared to know a great deal. Myron wondered if he had played whenat school, and what that school had been, but somehow he never gotaround to asking. He was glad enough to talk about football, and hemanaged before long to let Millard know that he was now a member of theParkinson first team. Millard was clearly delighted with his friend'sgood fortune, and congratulated him warmly.

  "I'll bet anything you'll make good, too, Foster, when you fellows meetKenwood. I hear they've got only a fair team over there this year. I wastalking to a fellow from there only a couple of days ago. 'We aren'ttelling it around, Art'--my name's Maurice Arthur, you know, and somefellows call me Art," he explained parenthetically. "'We aren't tellingit around, but between you and me we've got a pretty punk outfit thisyear. We're trying to keep Parkinson guessing, but if they play the sortof game they played against Chancellor they'll have us on the run fromthe beginning.' Maybe I oughtn't to tell this to a Parkinson fellow, buthe didn't tell me not to, and you and I are friends, so I guess there'sno harm. Besides, I'd like mighty well to see you fellows lick thatKenwood bunc
h. They're too stuck-up for me."

  "I won't say anything about it to any one," said Myron virtuously."Probably your friend wouldn't want it to get to our team."

  "Oh, never mind what he wants. If telling your fellows'll do them anygood, you go ahead and tell them. I'll stand for it. How is the teamgetting along, by the way? That was certainly a peach of a licking yougave Chancellor. I was reading about it in the paper last Sunday."

  Myron replied that the team was getting on famously, and went intorather intimate details to prove it. Millard was flatteringly interestedand encouraged Myron to talk, which Myron was nothing loath to do sincehe was on a subject that appealed to him vastly. Millard had manyquestions to ask, questions which showed conclusively that he had aclose understanding of football and a wide acquaintance among players.With such a listener Myron found it easy to pursue his subject. Millardintroduced debate by throwing doubt on the ability of the Parkinsonends. He said he thought Cousins and Leeds, the Kenwood ends, would havethe better of the argument, and was only convinced to the contrary afterMyron had very thoroughly explained Stearns' and Norris' methods, bothon offence and defence. There was simply no end to Millard's interestin football, and once--they were running through the town of Sturgis atthe moment--when Myron feared that he was boring the other, in spite ofapparent willingness to listen, and sought to change the subject, it wasMillard who soon brought it back again.

  How the matter of signals came up, Myron didn't afterward recall, butit did, and it was exhaustively dealt with. Millard spoke of a case heknew of where the intricacy of the signals had lost an important gamefor a certain high school team. "I always think that the more simplethe signal system is the better it is. You take the big colleges, now,Foster. They don't ball the men all up with double numberings and'repeats' and all those silly tricks. They select a simple system,one that's easy to learn and remember. Why, I've seen quarter-backsstutter and fumble around for whole minutes trying to get their signalsstraightened out. And as for the number of times that backs have spoileda play because they didn't get the signals right----" Millard whistledeloquently.

  "Guess we won't have any trouble that way," answered Myron complacently."Our system's as simple as simple."

  "That so? Holes and players numbered from left to right, eh?"

  "No, we begin at the ends."

  "Yes, that's a better scheme. Left end is 1, left tackle, 3, and so on,I suppose."

  "No, we don't number the players that way. The openings----"

  The taxi-cab stopped so suddenly that Myron bit his tongue over thelast word as he pitched forward. Of course Millard described much thesame gymnastic feat, but it is doubtful if Millard heard, or thoughthe heard, what Myron did in the brief instant that his head protrudedthrough a front window, for Eddie Moses' neck stayed Myron's forwardflight and Eddie's mouth was but a few inches from Myron's ear. Andin the part of a second that it remained there it got the impressionthat some one, presumably Eddie, had distinctly said: "_Shut up!_" Thatimpression did not register on his brain, however, until he was back inhis seat and Eddie had released his emergency brake. Then, while Eddie,in reply to Millard's somewhat incensed question, was apologeticallyexplaining something about a dog that had run almost under the wheels,he stared startledly at the back of Eddie's head. That told himnothing, though, and he harked back to the interrupted conversationto discover what could have brought such a fiercely voiced admonitionfrom the driver, if, indeed, that admonition had not been imagined. Theshaking-up, however, had jostled memory as well as body, and it wasMillard who supplied the information he sought.

  "I didn't see any dog," he said huffily to Eddie. "Guess you imaginedit. Now, then, Foster, you were explaining about that numbering."

  "What numbering?" asked Myron blankly.

  "Forgotten?" laughed Millard. "Why, we were talking about signals, don'tyou remember?"

  "Oh, yes," answered Myron thoughtfully. "So we were. How would it do totake the Princeville Road back, Eddie? That'll give us more of a drive."

  As a matter of fact, it would do nothing of the sort, and Myron knewit, and Eddie Moses knew it when he added cheerfully, "All right, boss!"Only Millard didn't know it, although it is likely that he suspected itlater when, in far less time than it had taken them to reach Sturgis,they were back again in Warne. During that journey back, made at agreater speed than the trip away, Millard tried vainly to swing theconversation back to the topic of football, and football signals inparticular, but Myron seemed to have suddenly wearied of the subject andwouldn't stay put a minute. He pointed out features of the landscapefor Millard's admiring observation and invented quite a few interestinglegends about passing houses or farms. After a while Millard managed todisplay some enthusiasm for nature and for the legends and was quitethe entertaining and charming youth he had been before that shaking-up.But Myron thought that there had been a quarter of an hour subsequentto it when the visitor had sounded out of patience and even a trifleshort-tempered. He might have simply imagined it, though. They wereback in town long before five, and Millard's train didn't leave untilafter six, and there was plenty of time to visit the school, but Millardrecalled a forgotten appointment at the hotel and was set down thereaccordingly. He was most apologetic and thanked Myron for a good timeand begged to be allowed to go halves on the cab bill. This privilegeMyron indignantly denied. Millard promised to look Myron up againshortly.

  "I want to see the school and all that, you know, Foster," he declared."Wish I could run up there now, but I'll be tied up until train time.The next time I come you must come down and have dinner with me."

  They shook hands and parted, Myron returning to the cab and biddingEddie drive him to Sohmer. But out of sight of the hotel Myron leanedover and addressed the back of Eddie's freckled neck. "Did you sayanything to me the time I went through the window?" he asked.

  "Yeah, I said 'Shut up!' You was doing a lot of fancy talking to thatguy, seemed to me. 'Course, he might be a friend of yours and all, butyou was telling him things about the football team that you hadn't oughtto, see? That's why I jammed on the 'mergency. There wasn't no dog atall!"

  "Oh," murmured Myron, "I see. Maybe you're right. Anyway, I'm muchobliged. Of course, Millard is perfectly square, but he might talk."

  "Yeah, he might," agreed Eddie. "Or he might let some one else do thetalking. Here you are, sir! Sohmer Hall, home of the rude rich! Thankyou, sir." Eddie winked knowingly. "I'm not talking any. Don't you worryabout me, sir. So long!"

  Myron made his way up the steps of the dormitory, under the enviousregard of three third class youths, and climbed the stairs somewhatthoughtfully. Certainly, Maurice Millard was all right, but he wasawfully glad that Eddie had imagined that dog. Millard had repeatedwhat the Kenwood chap had told him about the Kenwood team, informationplainly not intended for publicity, which showed that he was not exactlyclose-mouthed. On the whole, decided Myron, he had come horribly near tomaking an utter fool of himself. He decided to say nothing about it toJoe. Joe must already have a good enough opinion of his common sense!