The tumult in the locker room increased with each passing moment. Half a dozen young huskies had found themselves stripped at the same time and a wild rush for the showers resulted. There was pushing and shoving and shouting, which would have disturbed the nerves of someone less stout in that respect than the popular coach. But he merely smiled and looked on, wisely confining his talk to football subjects.
“Only one more team to play, coach,” shouted Quarterback Vench, of the third class. “We ought to be able to take them.”
“Don’t be too sure,” warned the coach.
“We’ll sure take one healthy crack at them,” put in Douglas, who ran in the backfield for Woodcrest.
“Is there any chance of playing Dimsdale this year, coach?” cried Hudson, from the back of the room.
A look of gravity spread over the genial face of the coach. As if by magic the uproar in the room ceased. Hudson had struck a sore point.
In the past Woodcrest had played an annual game with Dimsdale, a preparatory school close by. The contest had been the big event of the whole fall season and the rivalry had been keen. But in recent years there had been no games between the two schools, owing to an unfortunate affair that took place after one of the games on the Woodcrest home field. At that time Woodcrest had defeated Dimsdale for five years straight, and in the game that followed the preparatory school had won. The fact went to the heads of the students of the rival school, and besides painting the 12 to 0 score on the side of the school with white paint they had ruthlessly broken windows and wrecked some school furniture. The cadets’ battalion had formed and had given the rioters a severe beating, although they were supposed to merely chase them off the grounds. From that time forward there had been no games.
However, that had happened years ago and there was no thought that it would happen again. Each year the cadets clamored to play against Dimsdale and each year they were refused. As the years went on the situation became harder. Insolent Dimsdale scholars openly booed the cadets and the boast was common with Dimsdale students that the Woodcrest school was afraid to play them. In large bodies the Dimsdale rooters came to the cadet games and openly cheered for the rivals of the cadets, no matter who or what they were. It was as much as flesh and blood could stand, and to old veterans like Hudson and Barnes and Berry, the flashing backfield men, it was especially bitter to think that they must graduate without a chance to play their detested foes.
To Hudson’s question the coach looked troubled. “I don’t know, Hudson,” he said. “You know what the attitude of Melvin Gates is.”
Don stopped tying his shoe to look up. “What has Melvin Gates to do with it, coach?” he asked.