CHAPTER XXVI
BEHIND THE STAND
"You mean to tell me," said Coach Driscoll incredulously, "that youtalked about the team to a perfect stranger, Foster, to a fellow met ona station platform?"
"Not so much the first time, sir," answered Myron miserably. "It waswhen he came here. He didn't seem like a stranger then, and I thought hewas what he said he was."
"You did, eh? Why, he has prep school written all over him! I simplycan't understand it, Foster!" The coach looked helplessly to JudMellen and from Jud to Farnsworth and Chas and Katie. Myron had runMr. Driscoll to earth at last in the gymnasium, in consultation withthe trainer, and now they were in the little office of Mr. Tasser, thephysical director. The others had been summoned from the locker roomdownstairs, being the only players then in the building. Having producedthem, Billy Goode had discreetly closed the door behind them and retiredto the entrance, where Myron could see him now through the glasspartition, his purple and white sweater radiant in the sunlight thatflooded through the doorway. Myron rather preferred looking at Billy tomeeting the accusing gaze of the coach. He was not having a very happytime of it.
"Cooke's crafty," offered Katie. "I guess he could easily make youbelieve he was a travelling salesman if he wanted to try, and you didn'tknow him."
Chas nodded, scowling, but the coach said impatiently: "What of it? Evenif Foster thought he was that, he shouldn't have talked. A travellingman is the last person on earth to tell secrets to! Didn't it even occurto you, Foster, that the fellow might repeat what you said?"
"No, sir, it didn't. He seemed such a--a decent sort, Mr. Driscoll!"
"Let's get this right," said Jud impatiently. "Tell us again just whatyou told him, as near as you can remember."
Myron did so. His recollection of the two conversations was none tooclear, however, and he faltered several times.
"And then he brought in the subject of signals?" prompted the coach."Can you remember what you told him then?"
"I don't think I told him anything of--of consequence," answered Myron."He said he thought that simple signals were best and told a lot ofstories about games where the players had got the signals wrong becausethey were too complicated. And he told about some team a long while agowhere they used to use words instead of numbers. I said our signals weresimple enough, and he said he supposed we numbered the openings and theplayers from right to left; or maybe he said left to right. And I toldhim we didn't; that we began at the ends and numbered in; and then EddieMoses stopped the cab quick and threw us off the seat."
"Eddie appears to deserve a medal and resolutions of thanks," observedthe coach drily. "You're quite certain that was all you told him,Foster? It was at the point you speak of that the jolt came?"
"Yes, sir. I think I had started to say something else, but I didn'thave time."
There was a moment of thoughtful silence. Myron looked about the circleof troubled faces and wished himself at the bottom of the ocean. At lastChas spoke. "Well, say, folks, I don't see that there's been much harmdone. Foster didn't tell that fox anything Kenwood didn't know already,I guess, except about the signals. They've seen us play all fall andknow just about as much about our players and the way they play as wedo."
"That's so," murmured Farnsworth. "They had three scouts at theChancellor game."
"What about the signals, though?" asked Mr. Driscoll, frowning. "Howmuch could Cooke make of what Foster so kindly informed him?"
"Mighty little, I'd say," answered Katie. "There are just as many waysof numbering from the ends to the middle as there are from one end tothe other, or from the middle out. Seems to me this Eddie boy put thebrakes on at about the right minute!"
"Eddie ought to get a season ticket," said Chas.
"Well, the fat's in the fire and there's no use trying to pull it outnow," said the coach resignedly. "If we find they're on to our signalswe'll have to switch. I guess we'd better arrange a new code before thegame, Cater."
"That's easy, Coach. Just change about and number from the centre out."
"Wouldn't do, Cater. The fellows would get balled up unless they had agood hour's drill first. We'll have to think up some simpler method."
"Double the odd numbers," suggested Chas. "Call 1, 11, 2, 22; and so on.They did that last year on the second and we couldn't get it at alltill they told us after the season."
"That might do," agreed the coach, and the rest nodded. "That would makeoutside left end 99," he reflected. "Sound all right to you, Cater?"
"Sure! That's easy enough, but what about 11, 13 and 15? Call them 111,113 and 115?"
"I think so. We'll have to change the sequence call, though. We'll makeit any even number over 100."
"Your friend Cooke wouldn't approve, though, Foster," said Farnsworth."He'd say they were too complicated."
Myron flushed, but made no answer.
"Get the team together as soon as you can, Cap," said the coach, "andlet Cater go over the new signals with them a couple of times. Mind,though, we don't change unless it's evident that Kenwood is solving theplays. That's all, you fellows. Just a minute, Foster, please."
The rest hurried out and down the stairs. Myron leaned back again in thechair with a sigh. Mr. Driscoll viewed him coldly.
"I suppose you realise that you've made rather a mess of things," saidthe coach. Myron assented in silence. "The things you let out to thisKenwood spy may mean just the difference to us between winning andlosing. I hope they won't, but they may. I don't believe in hitting aman when he's down, Foster, and so I won't say any more about it. Isuppose you're feeling rather rotten yourself." The boy's glance wasanswer enough. "I was going to have you start the game at full." Hepaused and Myron's heart sank. "I've changed my mind. There may be achance for you before the game's over, but don't count on it. If youshould by any possibility get in, Foster, I shall expect you to tryvery hard to make up for any mischief you've caused with that tongueof yours. That's all. You'd better hustle down and go through thosesignals."
When Myron had gone Mr. Driscoll frowned. "I wonder," he muttered, "ifthat was the right thing. Sort of tough on him, too. And if he shouldget sore--Well, we'll see." Lifting the telephone beside him, he calledthe locker room. "Hello! Who is this? Oh, Mistley? Well, ask Farnsworthto come up here a minute, please."
The manager appeared promptly and behind the closed glass door the twospoke briefly with heads close together. Then Farnsworth arose and spedout, an expression of unholy glee on his countenance, and the coach,tapping the ashes from his pipe, dropped it into his pocket and wentdownstairs.
Across the campus a clock struck two.
* * * * *
The teams that faced each other that afternoon were fairly matched inweight and, as events proved, closely matched in skill. Neither theBrown nor the Blue found herself until the first fifteen-minute periodwas nearly over. Each seemed to lack confidence, and those who hopedto see one team or the other take the lead at the start were doomedto disappointment. There was much punting in that first quarter, somehalf-hearted rushing that soon slowed down, several fumbles and not alittle bad judgment. Each team appeared more intent on watching heropponent than on playing the game, and it was not until the very endthat Parkinson awoke from her lethargy and got into her stride.
A fortunate forward-pass started her up, and from her own forty-twoyards to the enemy's thirty-four she took the ball on line attacksvaried by one wide, swinging run by Meldrum. But the Blue was also awakenow and her line steadied and Parkinson was forced to punt. Kenwoodplunged twice and returned the punt and Cater caught and was downed inhis tracks. Kearns made a scant yard at guard on the right of the lineand time was called.
Starting again from near Parkinson's forty-yard line, the ball wentacross the centre and back again. Cater was nailed when he attempted aquarter-back run to the left and Brown made four yards in two tries.Keith fell back and punted out of bounds at the twenty-five. Noadvantage accrued to either team for the next five minutes. Pa
rkinsonwas set back for holding and Kenwood was twice penalised for off-side.The spectators' hearts went into their throats when a Kenwood backmisjudged a punt, and it looked for an instant as if the Brown was toscore. But Norris missed the ball and the Kenwood quarter fell on iteight yards from the goal-line. The Blue promptly punted out of danger.Parkinson failed to gain at the Blue line and made a forward whichgrounded. She then punted to the enemy's thirty yards. The half endedwith the pigskin in Parkinson territory near the middle of the field andin Kenwood's possession.
Neither team had shown ability to gain consistently at her opponent'sline. Parkinson had made two first downs and Kenwood one. At puntingKenwood had outdistanced the Brown by some five yards on each kick,but had not gained any advantage by it, since Stearns and Norris wereplaying the game of their lives. In short, it was still anybody'sgame. During half-time the rivals contended with cheers and songs, thecontest going to Parkinson by reason of a slight advantage in numbersand the possession of a brass band. It was about the middle of thatfifteen-minute intermission that a small youth in the attire of amessenger boy came wandering along the edge of the Kenwood stand. "Mr.Cooke!" he droned. "Message for Mr. Cooke!"
In response a youth in a fuzzy brown overcoat arose from the group onthe nearly deserted players' bench. "All right, kid!" he called. "Here Iam! Let's have it!"
"You Mr. Cooke?" asked the boy suspiciously.
"Yes, A. M. Cooke. Is it for me?"
"Yeah, that's right: A. M. Cooke. Well, you're wanted at the telephone."
"Where is it?" asked Cooke, vaulting the rope into the passage. The boywaved a thumb over his shoulder.
"Out there," he said vaguely. "I'll show you."
Cooke followed, winding his way through the crowd about the entrance.At the gate he spoke to one of the ticket takers. "Let me have a check,will you?" he asked. "I'm coming back."
The boy presiding at the box smiled mysteriously. "That'll be allright," he said. "You won't need any check."
Afterwards, Cooke concluded that it was at that moment that suspicionbegan to creep in. But the messenger led on and he followed aroundthe back of the stand and into the presence of four grim-looking andextremely athletic first class fellows. Cooke saw no telephone, and afrown gathered on his classic brow. The messenger was speaking. "Here heis," he said. "I got him. Where's me half?"
A coin changed hands. Cooke looked on curiously, a question tremblingon his lips. But he didn't need to ask that question. Suddenly thefour youths encompassed him closely and he felt no further interest intelephones.
"Is your name Cooke?" asked the spokesman.
Cooke wanted very much to deny it, but knew that denial would be futile.So he said yes, and the other went on as follows:
"Well, Cooke, we don't like your sort. There's a train that will takeyou to Kenwood leaving our station in fifteen minutes. If I were you I'dtry mighty hard to get it. It won't be healthy for you around here afterit's gone."
Cooke moistened his lips. "Why should I?" he demanded in a weak attemptat bluster. "I paid to see this game----"
"That's all right. You'll get your money back. We've bought your trainticket, and there's eighteen cents change coming to you. You can walk tothe station comfortably in twelve minutes." The speaker looked at hiswatch. "You've just got twelve if you start now. These chaps are goingwith you to show the way and see that you don't change your mind."
Cooke looked at the faces surrounding him, bit his lip, laughed weaklyand shrugged. "I suppose you think you're frightfully clever," he said,"but you're not worrying me any. I don't care to see the game, anyhow.We'll beat you, so what's it matter?"
"Eleven minutes," was the reply. "You'll have to run if you don't startquick."
"Suppose I don't choose to go?" asked Cooke defiantly.
"Why, that would be very unhealthy for you," answered the other, a smilethreatening his gravity. Cooke looked up at the stand. There were plentyof friends there, but there seemed to be no way of reaching them. Atthe top a few occupants of the last row were looking down curiously,but they appeared quite unsuspicious of the indignity being visited ontheir schoolmate. Cooke yielded.
"All right," he muttered.
"And, one thing more, Cooke," said the spokesman of the littlecommittee, "it will be better if you don't come over here with thebaseball team next spring. In fact, if I were you, I'd take good care tostay away from here. We don't like spies."