T. Haviland Hicks, Senior

by James Raymond Elderdice

"—And to serve old Bannister, to bring glory and honor to our dear Alma
Mater, is our greater goal! Go back into the game, throw yourselves into
the scrimmage, with no thought of personal glory, of the plaudits of the
crowd—it is a fine thing, a splendid goal, to play the game and be a hero;
it is a far more noble act to strive for the greater goal, one's Alma
Mater!"

"Now listen carefully," Coach Corridan rushed on, "Biff is knocked out.
They'll start again soon, we are going to take a desperate chance; your Dad
advises it! A tie score means the Championship stays with Ballard. To win
it, we must win this game—and on you everything depends."

"But—how—" stammered Hicks, dazed—the only way to tie the score was by
a drop-kick; the only way to win, by a touchdown—did the Coach mean he was
not to realize his great ambition to save old Bannister by a goal, the
reward of his long training?

"You jog out," whispered Coach Corridan, hurriedly, for a stretcher was
being rushed to Biff Pemberton, "report to the Referee, and whisper to
Butch to try Formation Z; 23-45-6-A! Now, here is the dope: our only chance
is to fool Ballard completely. When you go out, the Bannister rooters, and
your Yale friends, will believe it is to try a drop-kick and tie the score.
I am sure that the Ballard team will think this, too, because of your
slender build. You act as though you intend to try for a goal, and have
Captain Butch make our fellows act that way. Then—it is a fake-kick; the
backfield lines up in the kick formation, but the ball is passed to Butch,
at your right. He either tries for a forward pass to the right end, or
if the end Is blocked, rushes it himself! Hurry-the referee's whistle is
blowing; remember, Hicks, my boy, it's the greater goal, it's for your Alma
Mater."

In a trance, T. Haviland Hicks, Jr., flung off the gold and green blanket,
and dashed out on Bannister Field. How often, in the past year, had he
visioned this scene, only—he pictured himself saving the game by a
drop-kick, and now Coach Corridan ordered him to sacrifice this glory! From
the stands came the thunderous cheer of the excited Bannister cohorts,
firmly believing that the slender youth, so ludicrously fragile, among
those young Colossi, was to try for a goal.

"Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Hicks! Kick the goal—Hicks!"

And from the Yale grads., among them his Dad, came a shout, as he jogged
across the turf:

"Breka-kek-kek—co-ax—Yale! Hicks-Hicks-Hicks!"

But the Bannister Senior did not thrill. Now, instead, a feeling of growing
resentment filled his soul; even this intensely loyal youth, with all his
love for old Bannister, was vastly human, and he felt cheated of his just
rights. How the students were cheering him, how those Yale men called his
name, and he was not to have his big chance! That for which he had trained
and practiced; the opportunity to serve his Alma Mater, by kicking a goal
at the crucial moment, and saving Bannister from defeat, was never to be
his. Now, in his last game at college, he was to act as a decoy, as a foil.
Like a dummy he must stand, while the other Gold and Green athletes ran off
the play! Instead of everything, a tie game, or a defeat, depending on his
kicking, defeat or victory hung on that fake play, on Butch Brewster
and Monty Merriweather! So—the ear-splitting plaudits of the crowd for
"Hicks!" meant nothing to him; they were dead sea fruit, tasteless as
ashes—as the ashes of ambition. And then—

"—And to serve old Bannister, to bring glory and honor to our dear Alma
Mater, is our greater goal—no thought of personal glory—a splendid goal,
to play the game and be a hero; It is a far more noble act to strive for
the greater goal—one's Alma Mater—"