“Well, keep the old shirt on,” counseled Gus. “You’re doing fine. I wouldn’t wonder if we managed to use you a whole lot against Munson. They say she’s got only a fair line this year, and a slow backfield, and you ought to be able to get going once at least; and when you do get started, Joseph, you’re hard to stop.”
“A slow backfield!” jeered Joe. “Where do you get that stuff? Munson’s still got Taylor, and he’s fast enough for half a dozen backs!”
“Yeah, but the rest are big chaps and don’t handle themselves very quick. Anyway, that’s the dope we get. Rusty’s aiming to put a fast team against ’em, and that’s why I guess you’ll get a good share of work the day we meet ’em. You keep right on the way you’re headed, old son, and no one’ll do any kicking. And keep your eye on the ball just like you’re doing. You sure do make a hit with me in that way, Joe!”
“Well, it’s nice to know there’s one thing I do decently,” answered Joe, still deeply pessimistic. “Too bad there isn’t a twelfth position on a football team, Gus. I might get on the All-American as ball-follower!”
Gus grinned and muttered something as he lounged through the door. It sounded like “moron.”
The Mills game marked the end of the preliminary season. The four games that remained, excepting, perhaps, that with Wagnalls, a week before the final test, were serious affairs; and only the most optimistic Holman’s supporters could figure wins for the Light Green in more than two of them; and sometimes those two didn’t include the Munson contest! Rusty had stopped experimenting now and, barring accidents, the line-up for the Louisburg game would be the line-up that faced Munson. One thing that worried all who dared hope for a victory over the Blue and Gold was the fact that in all the seventeen years that Holman’s and Munson had met on the gridiron never had the former won two successive contests. Munson had beaten her rival two years running twice, but such glory had yet to fall to Holman’s. Holman’s had won last fall, and while there was, of course, absolutely nothing in this superstition stuff—well, there it was! Even Captain Gus, who had as little imagination as any one could have, was secretly oppressed, although publicly, if any one referred to the subject, he laughed scornfully and declared that fellows who put any faith in that sort of dope were morons!
What Rusty thought no one knew. Rusty kept right on working hard with such material as Fate had willed to him, a dogged, determined, generally cheerful Rusty who was well liked by all hands and who, knowing what his charges didn’t know, was working for more than a victory over the ancient rival. What he knew and the fellows didn’t—or, if they did know, had forgotten—was that his four-year term as coach expired this fall, and that, since like any general, he was judged by results, whether his contract was renewed would depend a very great deal on whether Holman’s or Munson emerged from the fast approaching battle with the long end of the score. During Rusty’s regime the Light Green had lost two Munson games and won one, and, although Rusty might well have cited extenuating circumstances to account for the first defeat, he realized fully that another reversal would probably send him looking for a new position. So the little coach worked hard, perhaps harder than he ever had worked, and with material that, to say the best of it, was only average. If he had had last year’s team Rusty wouldn’t have worried much, but he hadn’t. What he had was only little more than half as good as last year’s, and so, not infrequently, Rusty did worry. But few ever knew it.
The Louisburg game proved a tragedy both to the team and to Joe; but especially to Joe. Johnny Sawyer, playing right half, got a twisted ankle early in the first period and, for some reason known only to Rusty, Joe, instead of Leary, was sent in to replace him. Joe had never been able to do as well at right half as at left; nor did he play as well under Clinker’s leadership as under Sanford’s. To-day it was the substitute quarter who had started, Sanford being reserved for the last half. Things broke wrong for Joe on the very first play, which was a fullback buck through right of center. Instead of going into the line outside his right tackle as he should have, Joe dashed straight for the center-guard hole. He beat Brill, the fullback, to it, but Joe was too light for the job of cleaning the hole out, and when Brill slammed in behind him the enemy defense had flocked to the point of attack and the result was a three-yard loss for Holman’s. Joe emerged rather the worse for wear and as yet unconscious of his error. Clinker, ably assisted by Brill, informed him of it. There wasn’t much time for explanations, but the two did wonders, and Joe, very sick and miserable, would have crawled out of sight if that had been possible.
He partly redeemed himself a few minutes later by a lucky catch of the ball when it bounced from Barrow’s hands after a forward pass. But he laid that to luck and nothing else, and found no comfort. Twice he was stopped on plays around his right, once for a four-yard loss. It wasn’t his day, and he was convinced of it, and he played as one who was convinced. On defense he was not so bad, but Rusty wisely took him out at the end of the quarter. Joe went over to the gymnasium certain that he was disgraced. He didn’t return for the rest of the game, and what happened he learned from Gus later. After holding Holman’s scoreless during the first two periods, Louisburg opened up a whole bag of tricks and, taking the offensive, slammed the opponents around cruelly, putting two touchdowns across and adding a field goal for good measure. The score was 16 to 0. Gus was still dazed when he told the story.