CHAPTER XVI
MR. BATES PROTESTS
That party in Captain Peters' room has no bearing on the story savethat it seemed to Dick to mark the beginning of a closer intimacy withthe football crowd. He heard himself alluded to as Dick Bates, insteadof Bates, and from that to Dick was a matter of only a few days. Andthere were other signs, too; as when, during practice on Wednesday,Kirkendall, relieved by Trask in the scrimmage, sank into the benchat Dick's side, gave his knee a mighty and somewhat painful thump,grinned and relapsed into silence. Had "K" spoken Dick wouldn't havethought so much of it. The fact that the big full-back considered wordsunnecessary meant so much more.
There were some mighty sessions of work that week, for Coach Driscollwas smoothing out the First Team attack, adding a new play now andthen, shifting his players experimentally and drilling, drilling,drilling until Dick sometimes awoke at night with the cry of"_Signals!_" in his ears. He had his full share of quarter-back workwith B Squad and worked as hard and intelligently as he knew how.Such work was different at Parkinson than at Leonardville High. At thelatter place playing quarter meant developing individual ability firstand letting team-work look after itself in a measure. Here at Parkinsonone was ground and filed and fitted into the eleven much as a machinepart is fitted into the assembled whole, and one was a unit of the teamfirst and an individual last. At first Dick had been disappointed overa reality so different from his secret expectations. Although he hadopenly professed humility and had told the fellows at Leonardville thathe might not count for much in a football way at a school as large asParkinson, yet he had never greatly doubted that his advent would be amatter of importance to the school, nor that he would find the path toglory broad and easy. He had outlived the surprise and disappointment,however, and was ready to defend the Parkinson system with his lastbreath, a system that played no favourites and judged only by results.
Parkinson played the local high school the following Saturday. Warnewas a hard-fighting but light team and the game was one-sided from thestart. Dick, rather to his surprise, was trotted on in the middle ofthe second quarter, when Stone was slightly hurt in a flying tackle,and stayed in until the last period began. He ran the team well andhandled several difficult punts in a clever manner, but he had noopportunity to distinguish himself, nor did he seek one. Overanxietyon one occasion led him into a wretched fumble under Warne's goal andonce he got his signals so badly jumbled that Bob Peters had to cometo his rescue. But the fumble led to no disaster and the mixed signalssignified little.
Parkinson rolled up a total of thirty-three points in forty-eightminutes of playing time and managed to keep High School at bay until,in the final few moments, with a substitute line in, High School,having worked down to Parkinson's thirty-four on a forward-pass,dropped a really remarkable goal from about the forty yards. To besure, there was a strong wind blowing almost straight with the ball,but even so the kick was as neat a one as had been seen on ParkinsonField that season and none begrudged the frantic delight that thevisitors obtained from those three points. In fact, Parkinson applaudedquite as heartily as did the High School rooters.
On Monday occurred a momentous event in Dick's estimation. He wastaken to the training table.
Being taken to the training table perhaps did not signify so much initself, for the table was in reality two tables, each holding fromtwelve to fourteen, and one might spend a football season at oneof them without winning his letter in either of the two games thatcounted, Chancellor and Kenwood. But when one was snatched, so to say,from obscurity to the training table in the middle of the season onehad a right to be a little elated and to cherish expectations. So, atleast, Dick thought, and so Stanley declared.
"You're certain of playing part of the time in the Kenwood game, Dick,"said Stanley. "Stone is the only fellow you've got to be scared of,and he isn't going to last the game through. Cardin is no better thanyou are now and I miss my guess if you don't come faster the rest ofthe season than he does. And Pryne's only so-so. As I figure it out,you and Cardin are just about tied for second choice quarter, and allyou've got to do is work like the dickens to beat him."
"Sounds easy the way you tell it," laughed Dick. "For that matter, allI've got to do is to work like the dickens to cop a scholarship!"
"Not at all. 'Copping' a scholarship, as you so vulgarly phrase it,requires a certain amount of grey matter in the garret. Winning aposition on a football team is merely a matter of physical effort. Nobrains are necessary, my son. Therefore, I back you against the fieldto get the quarter-back job!"
"Thank you for nothing! At least, it requires more brains to playfootball well then it does to jump over a lot of silly hurdles!"
"There speaks ignorance," retorted Stanley in a superior and pityingtone. "There are just three fairly decent hurdlers in this school,Dickie, and there are at least half a hundred fairly decent footballplayers. Q.E.D."
"Q.E. rot!" said Dick. "Anyone with skinny legs and a pair of spikedshoes can jump fences, you old swell-head! Besides, you don't jump 'emhalf the time: you just knock 'em over and get tangled up in 'em. Youtrack boys are a lot of nuts, anyway."
"Before you say something that I'll have to resent, Dick, I will changethe subject for your sake."
"Ha!" grunted Dick derisively. "That's what everyone does when theargument goes against them. Say, what's Sandy Halden doing with youfellows, Stan?"
"He was trying to be a half-miler last I knew, but I saw him over withthe jumpers Friday. You and he made up yet?"
"I haven't even seen him, except to pass him in Parkinson. I guess, bythe way, Billy didn't report that little mix-up last week."
"I knew he wouldn't. Billy's all right: even if he did tell me thisafternoon that I took-off like a steam-roller!"
"He's very discerning," murmured Dick.
Stanley shied a whisk-broom at him, and in the subsequent fracasconversation languished.
Dick started at training table that evening and found himself assignedto a seat at the substitute's board between Pryne and Bartlett, asecond-string guard. At the other table Coach Driscoll presided, withCaptain Bob facing him at the farther end. At Dick's table StearnsWhipple, the manager, occupied the head. No one paid any specialattention to the newcomer as he took his seat, although several smiledin a friendly way and Pryne seemed glad to see him. Fellows had away of appearing suddenly at that table and disappearing suddenlyas well, and so a new face occasioned little interest. Stanley hadcheerfully, almost gleefully, predicted that Dick would starve to deathat training table, and consequently Dick was somewhat relieved to findthe danger apparently very remote. There was less to choose from, andcertain things that Dick was fond of, such as pie and frosted cake,were noticeably absent, but there was plenty of food nevertheless.To make up for the pastry, there was ice-cream three times a weekinstead of once, with a single rather dry lady-finger tucked under thesaucer. Steak and chops and underdone beef and lamb formed the basisof the meals, and with those viands went a rather limited variety ofvegetables. Eggs were served at breakfast in lightly cooked conditionand milk was the regular three-times-a-day beverage to the exclusion ofcoffee and tea.
It was on Thursday that Dick returned from a hard practice to find aletter from his father awaiting him. Mr. Bates wrote regularly eachweek, usually on Sunday, so that his letter arrived at school Mondayafternoon or Tuesday morning. The present epistle was an extra one andDick opened it with some curiosity. When he had read it through he wasalternately smiling and frowning. It wasn't long, but it was emphatic.
"Dear Dick:
"Every time I take up the _Sentinel_ these days I find a piece about you in it. How you did something or other in a football game and how proud the town is of you. What I want to know is, do you do anything at that school but play football. I'm getting right-down tired of reading about you. I sent you there to study and learn things and get a good education and not to play football and get your name in the papers all the time like a prize-fighter. You
buckle down and attend to your work for a spell, that's my advice to you. If I keep on seeing where you've made a home run or whatever it is I'm going to yank you out of there plaguey quick. Folks keep asking me have I seen where you did so and so and ain't I proud of you, and I tell them No, I ain't a blame bit proud, because I didn't send you to school to play games, but to make a man of yourself. I hope you are well, as I am at the present writing.
"Your aff. father,
"Henry L. Bates."
Dick read that letter to Stanley and Stanley chuckled a good deal overit. "Of course he is proud of you, just the same, Dick," he said. "ButI dare say there's something to be said for his point of view. You'llhave to convince him that you're doing a bit of studying now and thenon the side, eh?"
"I suppose so. But he ought to know that if I wasn't keeping my end upin class I'd be hiking home mighty quick! Maybe I ought to work harder,Stan, and let football alone, but, gee, a fellow's got to do somethingbesides study!"
"Can't you persuade the editor of that home paper of yours to let up onyou for awhile? How do you do it, anyway? Nobody in my home ever seesmy doings in print. Got a drag with the editor, or what?"
"It's the High School _Argus_," responded Dick a trifle sheepishly."The fellows that run it got _The Leader_ here to exchange with themand they print everything about me they see in _The Leader_. Of coursethat isn't much: just the accounts of the games: but the _Argus_fellows work it up and then the _Sentinel_ copies it. I--I wish theywouldn't."
"Do you?" Stanley grinned wickedly. "Yes, you do! You're tickled todeath! So would I be, Dickie. Tell you what: you sit down and write anice letter to your dad and tell him the facts and make him understandthat playing football doesn't incapacitate you for occasional attentionto studies. Or you might write a little piece about how you stoodhighest in your class last month, and how teacher gave you a big redapple for it, and send it to the town paper. That would please yourdad, wouldn't it? And how about mentioning that you've made the Banjoand Mandolin Club? Think that would help any?"
"You go to the dickens," grumbled Dick. "The trouble is, dad'seasy-going as you like until he gets his back up. Then you can't arguewith him at all. He will do just as he says he will unless I make himunderstand that I'm working as well as playing. If," he added ruefully,"he learned about the Banjo and Mandolin Club he'd probably send me aticket home!"
"But you played football when you were in high school, didn't you? Anddid track work? And was on the Glee Club, or whatever the fearful thingwas called?"
"Yes, but I suppose I was sort of under dad's eye and he knew that Iwas getting along all right in school. Being away off here, he sort ofthinks I'm being purely ornamental!"
"I don't see how he could think you ornamental," said Stanleysoothingly. "Hasn't he ever seen you?"
"It's all well enough for you to joke," replied Dick, grinninghalf-heartedly, "but you don't know my dad."
"Tell you what! Let me write and tell him what a whale you are inclass room. After he'd read what I'd written he'd send you a letter ofapology, Dickie! I can see it now. 'My dear son, can you forgive mefor my unjust and unworthy doubts? Your--er--your estimable companion,Mr. Gard, has written me the truth and I see now how terribly Imisjudged you. It makes me extremely happy to know--to know that youhave Mr. Gard as a friend. He is, as I discern, a young gentleman ofgreat--er--mental attainment and----"
"Oh, shut up!" laughed Dick. "You'd joke at a funeral!"
"Not at my own, anyway! Well, cheer up, old top, and hope for theworst. Then you'll get the best. If your father refuses to finance youI'll take up a collection and your loving friends will see you through;at least, to the end of the football season!" And Stanley chuckledenjoyably.
Of course Dick answered that letter immediately and spent the betterpart of an hour and much ink trying to convince his father that inspite of the evidence he was doing his full duty. Perhaps he had secretqualms even as he wrote, though, for it is a fact that from that dayforth he managed another hour of study, by hook or by crook, andperceptibly improved his standing in various classes. And finding timefor more study was less easy than it sounds, for the day following hisappearance at training table found him accepted by coach and playersas the second-choice quarter-back, and if he had thought he knew whathard work in practice meant he now saw his mistake. For he was added tothe select coterie who remained on the field three or four afternoonsa week after the others had been dismissed and who were drilled inpunting and catching until their legs ached and they saw a dozenfootballs where there was but one.
Guy Stone's attitude toward Dick was peculiar, or so Dick thought. Heappeared to miss no opportunity to chat with him and was very friendly,but afterwards, thinking Stone's conversation over, Dick invariablyfound that the first-string quarter had seemingly sought to instillself-doubting and discouragement in his possible substitute. One shortconversation will do as an illustration.
"I see you take the snap-back almost facing centre," said Stone whenthey were on their way to the gymnasium after a hard practice. "Thinkyou can work faster that way?"
"No, but I feel surer of the pass," answered Dick. "Do you think Iought to stand more sidewise?"
Stone looked doubtful. "I don't know. Of course, Dick, if you face yourbacks more you don't have to turn so far when you continue the pass.It's well to have the ball travel from centre to runner on as straighta line as possible, you know. If you take it so, and then have to turnlike this before you shoot it at the runner, you're losing time, aren'tyou?"
"Why, yes, but only a fraction of a second, I'd say. I do it that waybecause I can see the ball better from the time centre starts the passuntil it's in my hands. When I turn I just slip my right foot around afew inches and swing on my left. But if it's better to stand sidewiseto the line----"
"Oh, I'm not suggesting that you change now," protested Stone. "It'salways dangerous to change your style of doing a thing as late in theseason as this. If you'd started earlier--but then you may be rightabout it. You're the doctor, Dick. If you can do it better the way youare doing it, I say keep on. Of course, in a real game you'll probablyfind sometime that your back isn't where you expect him and there'llbe a mix-up, because when you're excited you do funny things. TakeGaines, now. He has a great way of trying to beat the ball and goesloping away from position before you're ready to toss to him. Thatmeans he has to slow up or lose the pass. If you stand so you can seeyour backs as the ball comes to you you know how to act. Of course,when the pass is to the back direct, mistakes like that can't happenoften, but Driscoll doesn't fancy the direct pass much."
"Then you don't think my way is correct and you don't think I ought tochange it," said Dick, puzzled. "Mr. Driscoll has never said anythingabout it being wrong."
"My dear fellow, I'm not saying it's wrong, either, am I? I thinkthere's a natural way for everyone to do a thing, and that's yournatural way. And I guess it wouldn't be wise to try to change now. AllI do say is that you're likely to wish you had changed it some old day.But I wouldn't worry about it. I dare say you'll muddle through allright."
When Dick mentioned the talk to Stanley the latter laughed.
"Forget it, Dick," he said. "Stone's worried for fear you may beat himout for the place. Haven't you any gumption!"
"Beat him!" Dick exclaimed. "That's likely, I don't think!"
"Well, convince him that it isn't likely, and you'll find that he willstop talking that way. Can't you understand that if he can get youworried enough you'll fall off in your playing? He isn't afraid ofCardin, evidently, but he is of you."
"Do you think so?" asked Dick thoughtfully. "Maybe that's it, then.Just the same, there isn't a chance that I'll beat him. I do think I'mdoing better work than Cardin, but Stone has it all over me."
"Now, yes, but maybe he thinks you'll keep on coming. How does Cardintake it, by the way?"
"Cardin? Oh, he doesn't seem to mind. He's an awfully ni
ce chap,Cardin."
"Yes, he is. But don't fool yourself into thinking he doesn't care,Dick. It's just he's too decent to let you see it. He's a good loser;and there aren't many of that sort. I hope, whatever happens, he'll gethis letter."
"Oh, so do I!" agreed Dick earnestly. "I do like Cardin!"