CHAPTER XXV
FALSE COLOURS
The preliminary season came to an end the next day with the St. Luke'sAcademy game. Football affairs had become fairly hectic now and theschool marched to the field behind a strident brass band, cheering andsinging. Mass-meetings had been held twice weekly ever since the WarneHigh School contest, and songs had been practised and cheers rehearsed,and today Parkinson was in fine voice and filled with enthusiasm. St.Luke's was not a formidable opponent, and for that reason had beenchosen to fill in the last date before the Kenwood game. A wise coachselects the semi-final adversary with care and deliberation, and a wrongselection may work much harm to his charges. St. Luke's was warranted bypast experience to give Parkinson a good battle without requiring anyextraordinary exertions on the latter's part. Usually the score was oneor two touchdowns to none, although not so long ago the generally docileSt. Luke's had kicked over the traces in the annual event and thrown ahealthy scare into Parkinson. On that historic occasion the final scorehad been 17 to 10 in the home team's favour.
The Brown line-up was exactly as at the start of the Chancellor game,with a single exception. The name of Foster appeared as full-backinstead of Kearns. Whether he had been put in to save Kearns for theKenwood game or whether he was there on his merits, Myron couldn'tdecide. But he played a good game while he remained in the line-up.The cheering was fine and put heart into them all, and Myron felt thatafternoon as though he could "lick his weight in wild-cats," as Joemight have put it. He wasn't called on for many punts, which was perhapsfortunate, for his punting still lacked control. If he got distance hewas likely to send the pigskin to the wrong place, while if he obtaineddirection he was liable to kick short. But in the other departments heshowed up strongly. He was a big addition to the backfield on defence,using his weight very knowingly, and more than one St. Luke's gain wasnipped in the bud by him. Speed aided him at line plunges, and his runs,of which he got off three during the time he played, together nettednineteen yards against clever ends. Altogether, he was a success, andcoach and school recognised the fact, and when, five minutes after thebeginning of the second half, he got rather the worst of a mix-up withthe St. Luke's left half and was taken out in favour of Kearns, he got ahearty cheer as he walked none too steadily to the bench.
Myron was not the only player who deserved praise that afternoon, forevery fellow on the team was good. If the perfection exhibited in theChancellor game was not quite duplicated it was possibly because theincentive was lacking. St. Luke's was outweighed by several pounds andwas slower than she should have been. And she seemed, too, to lack playsadapted to her style of football. Parkinson failed to score in thefirst quarter, ran up eleven points in the second, seven more in thethird and, in the last period, with a line consisting almost entirelyof substitutes, and with second-string backs behind it, added a fieldgoal by way of good measure. Every one, even Coach Driscoll, appearedperfectly satisfied with the afternoon's performance, and Parkinson'sstock soared high that evening. It looked very much as if the season wasto glide smoothly and uneventfully to a satisfactory close. But a weekstill intervened, and in a week much may happen.
On Monday, Norris, right end, started the programme of events bybreaking a bone in his right ankle. He did it by falling over a pail onthe stairs in Williams Hall. It wasn't a serious disaster, but it mighteasily impair his playing ability five days later. Tuesday, Grafton,first-choice substitute for Captain Mellen, came down with laryngitis,and Snow, who was due to take Cantrell's place at centre in the event ofthat player's retirement, was called home to Illinois because of seriousillness in the family. Coach Driscoll smiled grimly and wondered whatfurther misfortunes could happen in the remaining three days. CoachDriscoll, it may be said, was never designed for the peaceful life. Hewas more contented when he was facing difficulties. Jud Mellen, himselfworried by the ill-luck, remarked almost resentfully Tuesday evening:"Gee, Coach, any one would think you'd got news that the whole Kenwoodteam was down with the sleeping sickness, you look so bright and merry.I'm sick!"
"No use pulling a long face, Cap," replied Mr. Driscoll. "After all,we've come through the season remarkably. Something was bound to gowrong, and I felt it. I guess I'm rather relieved to find out what itis. And it might have been worse."
"Yes, we might have lost the whole team," responded Jud sarcastically."Oh, I suppose we can pull through if nothing worse happens, but I'mexpecting Katie to fall off a roof or Brown to get kicked by a muletomorrow. This has got me going for fair!"
"You look after Number One," advised the coach. "The best way to kill atrouble is to laugh it to death!"
Jud expressed incredulous surprise when Wednesday passed without furthermisfortunes. There was a monster meeting that night and a march throughtown and a speech by the Principal from the porch of his residence andmuch enthusiasm and noise. Myron did not take part in the observances,for the players were now required to remain in their rooms evenings asfar as possible and to be in bed promptly at ten o'clock. So far, Myronhad felt no nervousness, nothing approaching stage-fright, but whenThursday arrived and the field was well surrounded with cheering youthsand townsfolk and the band that was to play on Saturday was adding tothe din and there was only light signal work, followed by punting andcatching for the backs, instead of the relief of a good, hard scrimmage,why, then he felt a trifle fluttery about the heart. It meant so muchto all those eager-eyed, laughing but secretly earnest boys about him,that hoped-for victory, and he was chosen to aid in the securing ofit! The realisation of responsibility sobered him and then left him atrifle panic-stricken. Suppose he failed them, the coach and CaptainMellen and the school! For the moment it seemed that in such an eventhe would not have the courage to stay on and face them all. He almostwished that Coach Driscoll would let Kearns play instead! But that wishdidn't last long, and the panic was short-lived, too. There was still avague uneasiness disturbing him, however, and that uneasiness was dueto remain with him during his waking hours until the whistle blew onSaturday.
The second team, its usefulness at an end, cheered and was cheered andperformed a dignified ceremony behind the east goal, to which, sincethe first team players had trotted back to the gymnasium, the audienceflocked. Gravely, reverently, torn jerseys, worn-out pants, shoes beyondaid and various other disreputable articles of football attire and usewere piled on the jumping pit. Then a football rules book was laid ontop of all, a gallon of kerosene applied and around the blazing pyre themembers of the second team slowly circled with joined hands, chanting astrange jumble of atrocious Latin and scarcely more acceptable English.Gradually the pace grew faster and the paean brisker until, presently,the scene was a ludicrous whirl of bodies amidst a wild shriek of songand a cloud of smoke. In such manner the second team disbanded, at theend, spent with laughter and breathless from their exertions, givingthree feeble groans for Kenwood and "nine long Parkinsons"!
Friday was a long and gloomy day. There was little use trying to doanything at recitations if you were on the team, and not much more ifyou weren't. You just bluffed, if you could, or threw yourself on themercy of the instructors, trusting that they would prove human enoughto be lenient. They usually were, for long experience had proved to theParkinson faculty that for a week before the big game and for severaldays after it normal members of the student body were incapable ofinterest in studies. To make matters more dismal on Friday, it rained.It didn't rain in a cheerful, whole-souled way, but drizzled and stoppedand sulked and drizzled again, and you wanted to be outdoors if youwere in and wanted to be back again as soon as you were out. There wasblackboard work for the players in the afternoon and signal drill inthe evening. Afterwards Myron and Joe and Andrew chatted in Number 17until bedtime, while from over in front of Parkinson Hall the cheers ofsome five hundred youths arose to the cloudy sky. Then came ten o'clock,and Andy went, and the room-mates got thoughtfully out of their clothesand crept beneath the covers, each a trifle more silent than usual. ToMyron's surprise, sleep came after a very short time, and
when he awokethe sun was bright in a crisp November world and there were roysteringsounds from the bath-rooms down the corridor.
The first Kenwood invaders appeared well before noon, and every hourafter that brought more until by two o'clock the streets of the town,already fairly impartially arrayed as to shop windows with the blueand the brown, wore a decidedly cerulean hue. For the team, dinner wasserved at twelve instead of one, and after that there remained a longhour and a half before they could find relief from inaction. They wereat liberty to do as they liked within reasonable limits, and Myronand Joe and Chas wandered across the campus and down School Street insearch of diversion. Chas was, in his own language, "too old a bird tohave nerves," and he didn't intend that either of the others shouldeither. He was bubbling over with good spirits and kept Myron and Joelaughing from the time the three of them left the campus. Perhaps hischeerfulness was largely due to the fact that, at the eleventh hour,Coach Driscoll had chosen him over Brodhead for left guard. And perhapsthe coach had never intended to do anything else. Chas never knew as tothat. But he did know that had things turned out differently for himhis plans for next season would have been of as much interest as a lastyear's bird's nest!
Their progress through the unusually thronged streets was frequentlyinterrupted while Chas greeted an acquaintance, generally one of theenemy. In front of the hotel quite a crowd had collected to peer throughdoors and windows at the Kenwood heroes, who, having eaten dinner, wereherded in the lobby about coach and trainer and rubbers. The threepushed into the throng until they could glimpse their adversaries,and Chas pointed out several of the notables to the others: Leeds,captain and right tackle; the much-respected McAfee, left half-back;Odell, full-back and goal kicker extraordinary; Garrity, the Blue'sclever quarter. "And the others I don't know the names of," said Chas,"although that whaling big, pop-eyed monster must be Todd, their centre.He's a new one this year. Wonder which of the bunch is Lampley, the chapI'm up against."
"And I wonder which is my man," said Joe. "I hope he's like his name!"
"Frost, isn't it?" asked Chas. "They say he's good, but you'll know moreabout him along toward four-thirty."
"Who are the fellows over there by the desk?" asked Myron.
"The tall one's their coach, and I guess the others are the Board ofStrategy, which is a fancy name for a bunch of fellows who travel aroundwith the team and get their expenses paid out of the travelling fund. Ithink the short fellow is Whitely, their manager, but I'm not certain.Come on, we'll see enough of them before the afternoon's over!"
In the act of turning, Myron's gaze encountered a rather tall youthin the lobby whose face became for the first time visible to him atthat moment. Surely it was Maurice Millard, he thought. And yet itcouldn't be, since Millard would never be hob-nobbing with the Kenwoodcoach. Resisting Chas' tug at his sleeve, he gazed at the object of hisspeculations while a vague uneasiness took possession of him. It wasMillard! He knew him now. It was Millard in a long fuzzy brown ulsterand a derby hat, Millard looking far less carefree and cordial than heremembered him. Myron seized the departing Chas and literally draggedhim back through the crowd.
"Who's the tall, good-looking fellow in the brown coat?" he demandedanxiously.
"Where is he? I don't see any good, tall-looking fellow in--Oh, yes!That's What's-his-name, the Kenwood third baseman. He's a pill. He'splayed with them two years. Know him?"
"I think so," answered Myron, "a--a little. His name's Millard, isn'tit?"
"Mill-ah? No, it isn't Mill-ah; it's Cooke, Arthur Cooke. Come alonghome and stop annoying the animals."
Myron looked again, but there was no chance for doubt. He turned andmade his way through the group of loiterers in the wake of Chas and Joe.When he had overtaken the former he asked earnestly: "Are you quitecertain his name is Cooke, Cummins?"
"Sure I am! Why not? He's the blow-hard that was going to do all sortsof things to Liddell last spring, if you believe the papers. He is apretty fair batter, and that's no joke, but Liddell had him swinginglike a gate and as mad as a hornet. He got a scratch single, and that'sall he did get, the big boob!"
"And--and he's--he's one of the Kenwood Board of Strategy, as you callit?" asked Myron faintly.
"Yes, sort of. He scouts for them, I guess. Anyway, I heard they caughthim snooping around the grounds of Chancellor last year and mighty neartore his shirt off. Kenwood has a fine old spy system, Foster, but itnever gets her anywhere except back home!"
Myron set the pace for the rest on the way back, his thoughts appearingto affect his feet. It was still only a little after a quarter pastone and they were not due at the gymnasium until two. In that scantthree-quarters of an hour, reflected Myron sickeningly, he must findCoach Driscoll and make his humiliating confession. Whether he had givenMillard, or Cooke, enough information to affect the game, Myron didn'tknow, but he did know that the manly and honest thing to do was totell the coach all about it and let him decide that question. That Mr.Driscoll would let him play on the team after his confession had beenmade was highly improbable, but there was no help for that. In front ofParkinson Hall he made some sort of confused excuse to the others andhurried away.