CHAPTER XVII
TASKER GOES OVER
Why, when he had already gone through one Pearsall game, Stuart should have awakened on the morning of November twentieth with his heart in his mouth was beyond him. But he did, and all the time he was dressing and all through breakfast he felt jumpy and scared. He managed to eat a normal amount of food, although he didn’t want anything but a cup of coffee, for fear that his table companions might surmise the degrading fact that he was as nervous as any tyro. It was a relief to get out of doors afterwards and sit in the sunlight in front of Manning with some of the fellows and wait for ten o’clock to arrive. At ten he and Steve Le Gette were to have a final session on the field. He wished now they had decided to meet earlier.
The weather was well-nigh ideal for football; bright, with scarcely a suggestion of breeze and the thermometer around fifty. Perhaps by midday the sun might shine a bit too ardently, but just now it was very welcome. There were almost no classes this morning; none at all for the football players; and the holiday feeling was apparent from the first. Le Gette showed up a quarter of an hour before the appointed time, to Stuart’s relief, and they went over to the gymnasium and donned togs very leisurely. There was no hurry now that the tedium of inactive waiting was past. All either of the boys desired was an occupation to take their minds from what was scheduled to take place at two o’clock. They talked freely to-day, and Steve Le Gette found that there was quite a different side to Stuart Harven from what he had known. Stuart explained Lantwood’s grievance against Neil and from that subject the talk slipped to Neil’s appointment as one of the day’s cheer leaders, Le Gette wondering how he would manage in view of his dependence on crutches. Stuart was confident that Neil would have no trouble, though. “He can do about everything any one else can except walk,” he said. Then, as was fated, the conversation reached the game and they talked of it all the way over to the field and felt better for it.
Practice wasn’t very hard this morning. Stuart tried to make Le Gette more perfect in placement kicking, but it was fairly evident that no amount of practice would ever bring Le Gette’s place kicks to a par with his drops. Of the latter he performed several difficult ones, Stuart placing him at angles such as would probably never occur in contests. They were not alone this morning, for two or three dozen fellows wandered over to the field and looked on. Wallace Towne was one. Towne plainly showed his recent illness, although he told Stuart that he felt perfectly all right and hoped that Haynes would let him into the game for a while.
“Wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t my last game,” he said. “You’ve got another year. But I haven’t. Not here.”
“Still you’ve got your letter, old man,” consoled Stuart.
“I know. That isn’t it. I want to smash a couple of ‘Percies.’ Suppose you’ll get in, eh?”
“I don’t know, Wally. I’m hoping Haynes will let me in for a period. Guess that’s the best I can expect. I’m playing rotten.”
“Don’t believe it! You couldn’t. You’ll make it. Wish I was half as certain!”