“Oh, well, you got taken up by Pennimore and that crowd,” replied Cotton with something like a sneer.
“Not exactly that,” said Kendall quietly. “I did make a few friends, though, of course, but the reason I got on at football was because I could do a little something and they found it out. You buckle down and learn the game, Cotton, and then, if you can play fairly well, you’ll get your chance. There isn’t a squarer man alive than Coach Payson, and Captain Merriwell is a mighty good sort, too. Just the same, it won’t do you any harm to meet fellows, and I tell you what you do, Cotton; you come down some evening and make a call. Fellows are always drifting in and out of our room. Lots of them I don’t know very well myself, but Gerald will introduce you.”
“Thanks,” replied Cotton almost gratefully. “I will. Wellington doesn’t like me very well, I guess, and I don’t think much of him, either. He’s a sort of a Smart Aleck, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know him very well,” answered Kendall noncommittally. “Here comes the scrimmage. Don’t forget, Cotton. Come and see us some evening.”
“First and second squads!” called Mr. Payson. “Line up as you did yesterday.”
Blankets were tossed aside, head-guards caught up and twenty-two eager aspirants thronged on to the field. Kendall trotted out to his place on the second squad. Across the field, at the other end of the fifteen-yard line, was Greene. Under the goal stood Holmes, who was fighting hard against Simms for the quarter-back position. Up the field the first squad were lined up for the kick-off, on their toes, awaiting the whistle. Then Fales, left-guard, swung his long leg and the brown oval came flying over the white lines, turning lazily in its flight. Down rushed the enemy. The second squad defenders moved to the left to meet the onslaught as the ball dipped into Greene’s arms. The interference formed quickly. Bodies thudded together, players went down. Greene, clutching the ball, shot forward, three players cutting a path for him. A feint to the left, a quick turn to the right and the opening was found. One, two, three white lines passed under his pounding feet. Then a lithe body sprang upon him. Greene struggled forward. Another foeman charged and the three went down. The whistle piped.
“First down! Ten to go!” called the referee.
There was a quick lining-up, Holmes rattled off the signal, Kendall trotted back to punting position, Best, at center, passed the ball, Kendall caught it breast-high, stepped forward, swung his leg and away hurtled the pigskin, arching high against the blue afternoon sky, and away sped the players to line up again on the first squad’s thirty yards. The punt had been a good one, forty-five yards in distance and high enough to let the ends down under it and upset the runner before he could more than get started.
There was no scoring in the first ten-minute period. Andy Ryan kept a close watch on the water pail, for the day was warm and the temptation to drink a dipperful was great. “Easy with the water, boys,” he counseled time and again. And, “Get your blankets on! Don’t stand around there getting cold! Have you no sense at all?” There were many changes for the last period, but Kendall was retained, and, since the first squad seemed to have gained more by the influx of fresh material than the second and forced the playing from the start, he was needed. Five times he was called on to punt out of danger from under his own goal and as many times, coolly and exactly as though he were practicing on an empty gridiron, he responded successfully. Then, in the last minute of play, the tragedy occurred. First swept down to the twenty yards. Two tries netted but four yards more. A forward pass, unexpected and well executed, went to Cousins, but Kendall downed him in his fourth stride and the ball went to the second on her fifteen-yard line. Folsom, who had taken Holmes’ place at quarter, called on Kendall and Kendall dropped back just under the cross-bar. For once Best passed badly. The ball struck the ground a yard in front of the punter and although Kendall got it on the bound and swung and even started the kick away, the first squad forwards crashed through, the ball struck an upraised hand and Captain Merriwell fell on it behind the goal-line. Simms missed a try-at-goal. Score, first squad, 6; second squad, 0.
A moment later, panting, tired, aching, the players trotted up the hill to the gymnasium, blankets trailing and flapping, to feel the grateful splash of the warm water over their bodies, to writhe and gasp as the icy-cold deluge followed, and to talk it all over, accusing, defending, explaining, regretting, exulting! Then to dress leisurely, weariedly and withal happily in an atmosphere of steam and witch hazel and arnica, in a babel of talk and laughter, silently resolving better things for next practice, wondering how they could live through the whole long hour that must elapse before they could have supper!