CHAPTER VIII
THE SECOND TEAM COACH
“Want to try a good ball, Mart?” asked Jimmy that afternoon while thecandidates were assembling for practice.
Mart Proctor accepted the pigskin and looked it over critically.“Where’d you get it, Jimmy?” he inquired. Jimmy explained and CaptainProctor dropped the ball to the ground, caught it on the rise, balancedit in his right hand, tried it in his left and then fell to a carefulinspection of the seams.
“Looks good,” he commented.
“It is good,” responded Jimmy earnestly. “Try a kick, Mart.”
So Mart, nothing loth, swung a sturdy leg, dropped the ball and watchedwith satisfaction its forty-five-yard flight down the field. “Kickswell,” he acknowledged while a willing youth chased the pigskin andhurled it back. “Let’s see it again, Jimmy.”
But while Jimmy was handling it a third person joined them. “What makeof ball is that, Cap?” asked Mr. Cade.
“I don’t know. Jimmy here is booming it. Something he got in thevillage at the new store a couple of the fellows have started.”
“Proctor and Farnham,” commented the coach as he read the label. “Oh,yes, I’ve heard of it. Used out West a lot, I believe. Very sturdylooking trick, isn’t it? Feels nice, too. A good wet weather ball, I’dsay. Grain’s very heavy, if you notice. Gives you a good hold.”
“It’s the best ball I ever put a foot to,” declared Jimmy impressively.“I can get a lot better distance with it than I can with the ball we’reusing.”
The coach smiled. “They must be giving you a commission, Austen,” helaughed. “I’m glad, though, you like it. Only, don’t get so used to itthat you won’t be able to kick one of our sort. How you getting on, bythe way?”
“Oh, pretty fair,” replied Jimmy modestly. “I guess I’m sort of gettingthe hang of it. Neirsinger and I put in a couple of hours this morning.”
“That’s fine,” said the coach. “Well, let’s get started, CaptainProctor.”
So Jimmy deposited his ball with Jake the trainer, with instructionsto guard it with his life, and departed to the field where for thesucceeding thirty minutes he trotted about behind Appel in signaldrill. The second team proved far less formidable that afternoon andthe first walked through its line three times for touchdowns and ranrings around it meanwhile. Rumor had it that Steve Gaston, second teamcoach, expressed dissatisfaction very strongly to his charges afterthe day’s work was over. Certain it is that on Wednesday there wereseveral changes in the scrubs’ line-up, changes which resulted in asmaller total of points for the first team, but which did not entirelysatisfy the big coach. Gaston had spent two seasons as a second teamplayer, for some not quite explicable reason never reaching the first.Perhaps this was because he knew football just a little better than hecould play it. Last season an injury to his leg had laid him off a fewdays before the end, an injury which seemed at the time inconsequentialenough but which had afterwards proved so serious as to bar him fromfootball for two years at least. Had it not been for that injury Gastonwould have been this year’s second team captain. As it was, a wiseAthletic Committee proffered him the position of coach, and Steve,bitterly resenting the fate which had deprived him of the fierce joysof the game, could have wept with delight. Of course he did nothing ofthe kind. All he did do was accept with a contained air and earnestlypromise to show the committee and the School the best scrub eleven ofrecent years.
It is frequently easier to promise than to perform, however, and now,in the second week of the term, Steve Gaston was learning as much. Hehad started, a week since, with a promising lot, many of them veteransfrom last year, a few old campaigners with two years of service behindthem. He had gathered a scanty handful of likely youngsters from lastseason’s freshman and dormitory teams, youngsters, of course, whofor one reason or another were not yet varsity caliber. Falls, anexperienced guard, had been made captain, and the second had startedoff with fair prospects. The difficulty in building up a second team,however, lies in the fact that just as sure as a player shows anythingresembling remarkable ability a hawk-eyed first team coach snatcheshim away. This is likely to happen, too, toward the end of the season,when there is scant time left in which to break in a substitute. Butit may happen at any period, and Steve prayed for a team that would becomposed of hard, steady workers and that would contain not a single“phenom.”
The start was like most starts. The first team, playing togetherbetter, made Steve’s aggregation look very weak and very futile. Butthat was to be expected. It took time--yes, and patience, too--to weldseasoned, plugging veterans and inexperienced, high-tensioned newcomersinto a smoothly-working whole. After a few days the scrubs began tolose some of their rough edges and Steve relaxed a bit.
Thursday brought new frowns of perplexity to his rather rugged and veryearnest countenance. The ends were not what they should be, nor didthey look to Steve like fellows who could be taught. Then, too, on theother side of center from Captain Falls, the guard position worriedhim. On Friday he switched a full-back candidate to the guard positionand tried young Williams, who had played quarter rather brilliantly ona dormitory eleven last fall, at left end. But the results were notsatisfactory. The backfield man lacked the steadiness required of alineman, and Williams’ performance showed Steve that he was sacrificinga good quarter-back in the securing of a doubtful end. Steve cudgeledhis brains and, after supper that Friday night, metaphorically seizedhis club and set forth on his man-hunt. At a little after nine hearrived at Number 27 Upton.
His prey, attired in a stained and faded old blue flannel dressinggown, his stockinged but slipperless feet supported on his bed, hischair tipped precariously back so that the light from the green-shadedlamp fell over his shoulder, was deep in study. On the other side ofthe table Stick Patterson sat with head in hands and nose close tohis own book. Stick was down to trousers and shirt, for the night waswarm. Visitors were infrequent at Number 27, and so when the somewhatimperative knock sounded both occupants looked up startledly. It wasStick who called “Come in!” in a decidedly ungracious tone of voice.Then Steve Gaston entered, big and broad-shouldered and, somehow,momentous looking, and Russell’s chair came down with a crash of itsfront legs and his dressing-gown was ineffectually drawn together.
“Hello, Gaston,” said Russell, surprised. “What--I mean-- Do you knowPatterson?”
Steve didn’t and shook hands rather perfunctorily and took the chairthat Russell yielded. Russell perched himself on the bed and gatheredhis scantily covered knees within his arms. He thought now that he knewGaston’s mission, for he had suddenly recalled the forgotten fact thatGaston had become second team coach. Steve smiled, but it was plainlyonly a sop to etiquette, or whatever law it is that decrees that aguest must show pleasurable emotion on arrival. So, perhaps, did theCave Man smile ere he raised his club and smote, subsequent to draggingoff his victim. Although Steve didn’t smite, having got that briefsmile out of his system he approached his errand with as little delayas his distant progenitor.
“How does it happen you’re not with us this fall, Emerson?” he askedseverely.
Russell, who had determined to put on a bold front and be as adamantto all pleas and protestations, secretly quailed a little. There wasthat about this big, serious-faced youth that made him wish he had notbeen discovered in dressing-gown and “undies”; his attire, or lack ofit, put him at a disadvantage, for it is difficult to do battle, evenmoral battle, when your unclothed ankles stare up at you from underthe frayed hem of a dressing-gown and you are distressingly aware of alarge hole in your left sock! Russell had to blink once or twice beforehe answered, and blinking took time and looked like hesitation and soweakened his cause right at the outset.
“I haven’t time for football this year, Gaston,” he answered finally.“You see, Patterson and I have started a small store--”
“Yes, I know that,” interrupted Steve impatiently. “I hope you do well,Emerson. But that store won’t take all your time, I guess. We’re u
pagainst it for good men this fall and I’d take it as a real favor ifyou’d give us a hand, old man.”
That phrase “good men” didn’t unduly elate Russell. He knew that Gastonwould use it in like circumstances to any fellow he might be after.Still, there was a pleasant sound to it. Russell shook his head,though, and steeled himself.
“I’m afraid it can’t be done. I’d like to, Gaston, but I’m in thisstore business to make some money, and there’s only Patterson andme to look after it. Patterson tends the place most of the morning,generally, and so I have to be down there afternoons. If it wasn’t forthat--”
“You played end a good deal last year, didn’t you?” Steve asked.Russell felt helplessly that Gaston hadn’t been one bit impressed bywhat he had told him. Russell nodded dolefully.
“Quite a bit,” he conceded.
“Thought so. We need you, Emerson. Got a place ready and waiting foryou. Fact is, I want to make this year’s second something the Schoolwill remember and talk about for the next ten years. I want to turnout a rip-snorting bunch of fellows that’ll make the first team sit upand take notice. You’ve got to have a good scrub team if you’re goingto have a good first, Emerson. You can’t train a first team againsta lot of easy-marks and then beat Kenly. No, sir, you’ve got to havesomething hard to go up against, and the better your second team isthe better your first will be. Well, I mean to give the school a greatsecond, Emerson, and that’s why I’m after you; you, and a couple ofothers who have been playing possum. I want all the good stuff I canget hold of, and, believe me, I’m going to get it!”
“Yes, of course,” answered Russell uneasily, glancing toward hisroom-mate for assistance. Stick, however, was pretending to study, andRussell saw that he must expect no help from that quarter. He went onmore firmly. “I wish I could help you, Gaston--”
“Oh, not me, Emerson! Never mind about me! It’s the School you’re goingto help, you see. Keep that thought in your mind, son. You can’t turndown the School, can you?”
“Why, no, but--”
“When a fellow can play football, Emerson, he’s got a duty to theSchool, and you don’t need to be told that. Fellows like you don’thesitate at a sacrifice when the good of Alton is at stake. And you’vebeen here long enough to know that a fellow who goes out and does hisbest on the second is doing just as much for the success of the bigteam as he would be doing if he played on the first instead.” Gastonwas horribly earnest, and his brown eyes bored Russell’s implacably.Russell stirred uncomfortably.
“Well, but, you see how I’m fixed, Gaston,” he said pleadingly.“I--we’ve put quite a little money in this thing, and we can’t affordto lose it. Fact is, between you and me, we--the store hasn’t gotstarted very well yet, and it wouldn’t do at all to get careless aboutit. Now, if--”
“No, indeed,” agreed Steve quite heartily. “Naturally, you want tomake it go. I don’t blame you. I’d see what arrangement I could make,Emerson.” He glanced at Stick. “I dare say Patterson can fix it somehowto take charge in the afternoon long enough for you to get in somework. A couple of hours would do. Patterson would be doing his part,too, that way. Every fellow wants the team to win, of course, and iswilling enough to do what he can.”
Patterson looked over and scowled. “That’s all right, Gaston, but Ican’t tend that shop morning and afternoon both. I’ve got recitationsand things. Seems to me there must be plenty of chaps for your teamwithout Rus!”
“Got to have him, Patterson.” Steve arose smiling calmly butinexorably. “You fellows fix it up between you. You can do it betterwithout me, so I’ll be going along. I’m grateful to you, Emerson, fordoing what you’re going to do, even if, as I’ve said, it isn’t as afavor to me. And the School doesn’t miss these things either. Well,I’ll look for you Monday, old man, and I’ll give you a chance to bemighty useful. Good night. Good night, Patterson.”
“Night,” replied Stick morosely.
“Good night,” said Russell. “You--you mustn’t count on me, though,Gaston. I’ll think it over and if there’s any possible way--”
“Sure! I understand. That’s the way to talk.” Steve paused in the opendoor and smiled back appreciatively. “Monday at three-thirty, then!”
When the door had closed Russell stared blankly across at Stick andStick scowled darkly back at Russell.
“A nice mess you’ve made of it,” growled Stick disgustedly.