The Mark of the Knife

by Clayton H. Ernst

According to its immemorial custom the Ridgley team, whether or not it was victorious in the struggle with its ancient rival, met in Lincoln Hall for a banquet a few hours after the close of the game. On this night while the rest of the school was busily engaged in heaping up piles of wood, rubbish, barrels and every imaginable kind of inflammable material, the members of the team gathered to discuss the victory and to hear the speeches that Coach Murray, as toastmaster, called for with the voice of authority. Any member of the eleven whom Mr. Murray singled out knew that it was his duty to get up on his feet and attempt to make a speech, although it probably was a much more difficult thing for him to do than to break through the Jefferson line.

Neil Durant had his say and thanked the members of the eleven for their loyalty and courage in a way that made them feel more than ever that he was the best captain in all the history of Ridgley football. Ned Stillson tried to keep out of sight by slumping down in his seat and getting behind big Tom Curwood, but Coach Murray singled him out and ordered him to stand up and make a speech. Every one laughed at Ned, and big Tom Curwood thought that the right half-back's attempt at oratory was so funny that he laughed louder than any one else until he heard Coach Murray's fatal words: "All right, Tom, you're next!" whereupon his features "froze" in a look of embarrassment. The roar that went up when Tom's face became suffused with red nearly caused the big center to claw his way out of the room and escape to the outer air. He cleared his throat two or three times and then, much to the surprise of every one, went through the ordeal as if he had prepared his speech hours in advance.

"I want to tell you fellows," said big Tom, "that I was scared pink, blue and green when that game started—those Jefferson linesmen and those husky back-field runners of theirs looked so fierce. I really wasn't afraid of them but I was afraid of the thought that we were going to get licked. What really woke me up and made me feel that those fellows couldn't do a thing to us was to see the way Neil Durant and young Teeny-bits got going. I want to tell you that when I saw the captain go larruping into that bunch and when I heard the thump that Norris made when Teeny-bits brought him down I said to myself that I ought to be in a nursery for infants if I couldn't do a little rampaging on my own account. I know I didn't do a thing except let 'em walk over me, but I wasn't scared after that first minute and I knew that we couldn't lose if Neil and Teeny-bits didn't get laid out."

To Teeny-bits it was a surprise to hear his name linked in this way with that of his captain. In his own opinion he had, aside from the one fortunate play in which he had crossed the Jefferson goal line, contributed very little to the Ridgley victory, but as the evening went on and one player after another joined his name with that of Neil Durant, he saw that these big fellows with whom he had been so closely associated during the past few weeks felt, for some miraculous reason, that he had helped them to maintain their spirit and to carry the fight to Jefferson.

When it came Teeny-bits' turn, Coach Murray said: "We'll now hear from the chap who nearly gave us nervous prostration by forgetting that Ridgley was going to play a little game of football to-day."

As Teeny-bits stood up he thought of telling the members of the team why he had been late to the game, but he instantly decided that it was better to make his explanation alone to Neil Durant or the coach. He merely said:

"I had a pretty good reason for not getting to the field before I did,—I am going to tell Mr. Murray and Neil about it later. I haven't much to say regarding the game except that I knew we could win because we had the spirit to do it and because Neil was showing us the way all the time. To play on the eleven which beat a team that fought as hard and as clean as the Jefferson crowd is an honor that makes me dizzy. I began to dream about it a few weeks ago; now that it's come true I can hardly believe it."

Teeny-bits sat down and a few moments later the balloting began to elect a new captain for the Ridgley team. It was Neil Durant's last year and the big leader of the red eleven, before starting the procedure that would result in the choosing of his successor, said to his team-mates:

"It is our custom, as you all know, to choose a football captain at the dinner following the Jefferson game. It has always been done without nominations—simply by balloting. I'll pass around these slips of paper and I want you to write on them the name of the man who in your opinion, regardless of friendship, will make the leader who will best carry on Ridgley football tradition."

All of the members of the team knew that this was coming, of course, and they took it solemnly and in silence. There were no suggestions passed from one to another; each received a paper from the captain, wrote down a name and returned the folded slip to Neil, who made a second round of the big table. The captain turned the ballots over to the coach who quickly unfolded and counted them. When he was through, of the fifteen ballots—one for each member of the team who had played in the big game—fourteen were piled in front of his right hand and one remained in front of his left hand. He whispered a word to Neil Durant who immediately got to his feet and said: