In the Line

by Albertus T. Dudley

“It’s too good to last,” said Durand, mournfully, after a game in which the second had made an unusually good resistance. “They’ll soon be taking Milliken away from me, and swapping Butler for you. That’s the trouble with a second eleven: as soon as you develop a good man, they steal him.”

“Well, they won’t steal me,” returned Wolcott, laughing. “I’m more useful to them where I am.”

On the next day there was a “shake-up” on the second. Milliken was put on the first, and Lindsay was transferred to left guard, opposite Laughlin.

“You see I was right,” he said to Durand, as the players shifted positions. “I’m the animated tackling dummy for the first to practise on. When one man’s got enough of me, they turn me over to another. Well, here goes! My work’s cut out for me this time all right.” And he went to his place with the spirit of battle burning like a fire within him.

There was fierce struggling that day between right guard on the first and left guard on the second. Wolcott early found that the methods used with success against Butler would not all serve against Laughlin. Sometimes the captain lifted him up and threw him over; sometimes he simply swept him back by his immense strength and weight. Only by extreme rapidity of attack could Wolcott scramble by his enemy on the defensive; only by playing on his knees and charging low could he keep the heavier man from the play. The fight took all his strength and all his attention. It was lift and smash, and smash and lift, regardless of time or distance. He did not know whether one touchdown had been made or four; whether he was doing well or ill: he merely played his man to the limit of his powers. And when the whistle finally sounded, and he gave a last look into Laughlin’s face before turning to hunt up Ware and his sweater, he noticed for the first time how the perspiration was pouring down the captain’s face and the big body shook with panting.

Wolcott went to bed that night at eight o’clock, completely tired out, but supremely content. He had given Laughlin the hardest tussle that the doughty veteran had faced in many a long day.

On Saturday came a match, and Wolcott played in Butler’s place during the second half. The crowd at the side-lines made various comments on the merits of the two players. But a guard occupies an inconspicuous place. With the centre he forms the backbone, the anchor of the line; but his best work is hidden by the scrimmage. It may have been merely because they were in better training than their antagonists that Seaton played a so much stronger game during the second half; it may have been due entirely to his freshness that Lindsay was so effective in holding up his men and dragging them along, after they were tackled, several times to a first down. The bleacher critics were uncertain, and the coachers, who knew best, would not commit themselves.

Again Wolcott took his practice opposite Laughlin. The head coach was most of the time behind the second; and though he kept close watch on the general game, he always had one eye on Laughlin and Lindsay. Wolcott had lost something of his fear of his redoubtable antagonist. As the game advanced, he discovered that though he could not stand before the captain in a contest of strength, Laughlin was inclined to be slow, and when once started in a given direction could not quickly change his course. With this new light to guide him, he succeeded in giving the dread guard a most lively and absorbing ten-minutes bout. At the end of that time Lauder took him out and put him in Butler’s place on the first. In the signal practice that followed the general game, Lindsay found himself still occupying Butler’s position.

“He must play with the first from this time on,” said the coach that evening, as he discussed Lindsay’s case with Laughlin. “We’ve only ten days more of good practice left, and that allows us little enough time to work him well into the attack. He’s good enough on the defence now.”

“I suppose you’re right,” responded Laughlin; “but I’d like to have one or two more tries at him. He’s the toughest proposition I’ve struck this year. The second’s been the making of that fellow. If we had put him on the first as soon as he began to show what was in him, he wouldn’t be half so good.”