Barry Locke, half-back
knocks, all the planning and strategies of the past two months had won
or failed. Only now did Barry realize how intensely he had been hoping
for success, was still hoping, and would continue to hope until, in the
first shadows of twilight, the last whistle should blow. The thought of
defeat was accompanied by a sudden nausea, a painful cold sinking of
the heart. He had never known before how much a victory could mean!
The whistle brought the first quarter to an end and the teams repaired
to the side-lines, for water. Broadmoor began, “Don’t Be Rough,”
while across the field the blue-and-orange decked stand broke into
the famous Doctor Song. “Doctor! Hurry, Doctor! The patient’s very
low!” floated across, and Barry scowled ferociously until the strains
behind him gathered volume and the rival’s wailing plea was drowned.
The game started again, Broadmoor now with her back to the north
goal and favored by the light, chill breeze. The day had begun with
clear sunshine and little wind, but by two o’clock clouds had begun to
gather, and now, for minutes at a time, the sun was hidden. The breeze
seemed to be increasing as the afternoon wore on, and already coat
collars were being turned up and at times the tramp-tramp of chilled
feet kept time to the cheering.
There had been but little kicking in the first period, both teams
clinging to the ball until obliged to punt. Now, holding the slight
advantage afforded by the breeze, Broadmoor used Tip Cartright
repeatedly, sometimes as early as a second down, hoping, doubtless, for
a break in the shape of a fumble to bring her to scoring distance. But
Hoskins played safe, making fair catches once or twice, once or twice
letting the ball hit the ground. Broadmoor started an advance that
swept as far as the enemy’s forty-one yards, where Demille was thrown
for a loss and two subsequent attempts outside tackles left the home
team well short of her distance. Cartright punted from his forty-eight
to Hoskins’s seven and a swift-footed back ran the ball to the
sixteen before Larry Smythe dropped him. Hoskins gained nine yards on
Ellingham, using a tricky delayed pass, and got more than her distance
off Captain Buckley on the next play. Another smash at the line and a
wide run put the ball on the twenty-five. There, however, Broadmoor
stiffened and three attempts yielded Hoskins but seven yards and she
punted out on the opponent’s forty-eight.
“Locke!” called the Major. “Go in for Cartright. And keep your mouth
shut.”
Barry shed his blanket and ran across, hand upraised. With a sour grin
Tip yielded his head-guard. Broadmoor took up the journey again. There
was still all of five minutes left of the half. Zinn stole around right
tackle for a bare two yards and Haviland got three through center. On
the next play Harris was off-side and the ball went back to the enemy’s
forty-seven.
“Locke back!” called Zinn.
The next few minutes proved the value of advertising. Hoskins had read
the newspapers and thought she knew all about Locke: that he had done
sixty yards frequently in practice; that Broadmoor had been trying to
keep him under cover; that he was dangerous. Oh, you couldn’t catch Old
Hoskins napping! Had he thought of it, Barry might have felt flattered
at seeing how far back the safety men played! But the Blue-and-Orange
wasn’t any too certain that Broadmoor meant to punt on third down, and
it didn’t open its defense more than it had to. But still, Demille,
to whom the ball went, managed to get back that five yards that the
penalty had cost and a foot or so more.
Fourth down now, and again Barry was called back. He knew the ball
wasn’t to reach him, but he didn’t let any one else know it. He set his
feet solidly, cast an appraising eye down the field, and held out his
arms. Then Pete Zosker sped the ball back to Haviland, Haviland passed
it swiftly to Larry Smythe, and Larry, dodging this way and that,
eluded the enemy craftily, crossed the forty-two yards at full-tilt and
kept right on to the thirty-one. And Broadmoor arose in the east stand
and went quite crazy!
Locke back again! And this time the ball was his. But he didn’t
kick it. He put it under his arm and sped to the left, a wall of
interference between him and the foe, turned in at last and crashed
straight into the arms of the Hoskins right tackle; and as the latter
was about forty pounds heavier than Barry, the play stopped right
there! But Barry had added another yard and a half and once more took
up kicking position. Hoskins perhaps began to wonder whether or not
this Locke fellow really could kick! Barry began to wonder, too, for
on the next play it was Johnny Zinn who knifed through center, after
nursing the pigskin a moment, and was downed on the twenty-six; very
much downed, indeed, since a third of the Hoskins tribe managed to
assemble on top of him before the whistle blew!
It took all the permitted time to bring Johnny back to normalcy, during
which a steady uproar arose from the Broadmoor side of the field. Along
the side-line over there Ike Boardman was sprinting up and down. But
presently Ike resumed his blanket, for Johnny wasn’t at all dead. Third
down now and still almost five to go; and Hoskins, pushed back to her
twenty-five-yard line, desperately resolved to take no more fooling!
Once again Johnny’s hoarse voice called, “Locke back!” and Barry took
up his position close to the thirty-five. Hoskins, puzzled, doubting,
watched sharply. The ball went to Barry and he swung his leg. But not
until he had made a lateral pass to Larry Smythe. Barry didn’t see much
of the ensuing events, for he was on his back for several instants.
When he found his feet again, Larry was just rolling across the
goal-line in the farther corner of the field. A Hoskins player rolled
with him, while several more seemed extremely disturbed because they
had arrived just too late to take part in the frolic!
Pandemonium broke loose and Broadmoor cheers filled the air. Eleven
gray-jerseyed youths cavorted about the trampled turf, one of them
indulging in a series of startling handsprings,――it was Leary, who
was talented that way,――and a referee with carefully expressionless
countenance deposited the ball in front of the goal on the three-yard
line. Perhaps Johnny should have chosen to add the point by a drop-kick
or placement; or even by a forward-pass; but Johnny felt pretty cocky
just then, pretty confident, and he handed the ball to Ira Haviland
and Ira took a plunge at the Hoskins line. When the dust of battle had
somewhat settled it became apparent that Ira had fallen just two inches
short of his goal!
The big full-back acted then as if he had foully murdered his aged
grandmother, or indulged in some equally reprehensible crime, and would
not be comforted. All the way back up the field he kept muttering:
“Two inches! Two inches!” And sometimes: “Wouldn’t that make you
sick?” The fact that the score-board displayed a big 6 opposite the
word Broadmoor, while the corresponding space below was still empty,
brought him no joy now. “Two inches!”
Hoskins kicked off, Ellingham caught the weak attempt, and a whistle
blew. The half was over. Walking across the turf to the gymnasium,
Barry was a prey to conflicting emotions. Broadmoor had scored, and
for that he was glad indeed. But, although he had played a full five
minutes and had five times stood in kicking position, only a measly
yard or so was to his credit! He was a punter, and they hadn’t let him
touch a foot to the ball! There was something wrong there. Joy was
heavily tinctured with regret!
CHAPTER XXV
ZO PLAYS
Mr. Banks kept Zo at his violin lesson later than the latter had feared
he would, and it was nearly three o’clock when the boy reached the
field and, not without difficulty, found a seat in the very last tier.
Grudging occupants, resentful of disturbance, drew together to allow
him something less than the sixteen inches to which he was supposed to
be entitled. As he was wearing a thick mackinaw and must find space for
his violin-case, he felt somewhat crowded. Still, being wedged in had
one advantage: it made for warmth; and the top row of the stand was a
chilly place that afternoon. He wished that he had had sense enough to
leave his violin at Mr. Banks’s. Being accustomed to taking it with him
after his lessons, he had given it no thought. Putting it between his
legs was a comfortable solution, but if, in the excitement of the game,
he should jump up, the case and contents would doubtless slip between
the planking and fall to the ground. He finally laid it obliquely
across his knees, to the evident annoyance of his right-hand neighbor,
and fixed eager eyes on the contest.
He witnessed Barry’s rather dramatic entrance on the scene and took
whole-souled part in the two short cheers: “Rah, rah! Cartright!
Rah, rah! Locke!” After that, until the half ended, he forgot
everything but the game, and thrilled as only an ardent lover of
football and a zealous patriot can. He almost lost his violin when the
Purple-and-Gray’s left end went over for the touchdown, springing to
his feet in unison with those below and beside him and shouting shrilly
until his throat ached. Between halves he tried putting his hands in
his pockets, but as surely as he did so some restless youth decided to
pass him and so they must be taken out again to clutch the violin-case.
He was glad when, having listened with impatient politeness while
Hoskins sang rousingly about how “Hoskins heroes never yield,” Billy
Bassett, cheer captain, lifted his purple megaphone to his mouth again
and demanded: “‘Hey Diddle Diddle,’ fellows! Every one into it! Make a
noise. _Come on!_”
Clasping his burden to his chest, Zo stood and sang at the top of his
lungs, stamping chilled feet in time to the merry strains. “Hey Diddle
Diddle” was a warming song, for you clapped your hands together at the
end of every second line of the rollicking chorus. A long “Broadmoor”
followed, and then, quite unexpectedly, the teams were back and the
real cheering started!
Broadmoor began the second half with the same line-up she had started
with. Tip Cartright was back at right half, and Barry was once more on
the bench. As though persuaded by recent events that she had only to
take what she wanted, the home team wrested the ball from the opponent
soon after the kick-off and started a sturdy march up the field. Nearly
every play in the repertoire of the Purple-and-Gray was used during
that advance; and Broadmoor reached the foe’s thirty-two yards before
Demille, skirting the Hoskins end, was brought down by a husky enemy
back with such a crash that the ball got away from him and was captured
by the defender.
One plunge that netted two yards or so, and Hoskins sent off a long
forward-pass that went beautifully and brought the warriors to
mid-field. Very promptly Broadmoor became not the attacker but the
defender. Hoskins launched an offensive operation that brought alarm
to the audience in the east stand and caused Zo to squirm and writhe
in impotent dismay. The Blue-and-Orange seemed at last to get her
attack working right and, with a much-touted left half-back bearing the
brunt of the burden, crashed and plowed her way by short but sufficient
gains to the Broadmoor twenty-two yards before the Purple-and-Gray
recovered from her surprise sufficiently to stem the invasion. At the
last Broadmoor stiffened and two surges at her line were repulsed for
virtually no gain.
By this time there had been three changes in the Broadmoor line-up.
Zinn, rather groggy, had given place to Ike Boardman, Follen was at
right end instead of Harris, and Kirkland occupied the post beside