Forward Pass: A Story of the "New Football"

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Probation!

He stopped suddenly and looked about him. Why, he had no business here, off of the school grounds! He had forgotten; he must get back at once. He turned and hurriedly retraced his steps, praying that none of the Faculty would see him before he was once more within bounds. He didn’t feel especially guilty about it, since he had disobeyed quite unintentionally, but it might not be easy to convince the Doctor of his innocence. He breathed freer when he was once more across the bridge. The grounds and buildings looked strangely empty and were uncommonly quiet. He looked at his watch and found that it was five minutes of two. And at that moment, borne on the breeze, came, faint but distinct, the long-drawn cheers of Yardley. Dan clenched his hands and hurried toward Clarke Hall. Once past the entrance the disturbing sounds no longer reached him. He closed the door of his room and turned the key in the lock, as though the better to shut out sound, tossed his cap aside and picked up a book desperately.

Suddenly, as his gaze roamed from the book, it occurred to him that Tubby’s side of the room looked strangely bare; most of his photographs had disappeared and the top of his dresser was denuded of toilet articles. He wondered a moment. But the solution didn’t come to him and his thoughts returned to the game. Ten minutes passed. He had read only a page of the book and had not the slightest idea what it had meant. Footsteps sounded down the corridor and came rapidly nearer. There was a knock at the door. Gerald’s voice cried “Dan! Dan! Are you in here?” A hand tried the door. Dan made no answer. He didn’t want to talk to Gerald just then. There was another challenge, a pause and then the footsteps hurried off again. Downstairs the front door slammed subduedly. Dan took up his book again. But it was no use, and presently he donned his cap and hurried as fast as Gerald had done down the stairs and out of the building. He had to know how the game was going!

He turned into the Yard at the corner and crossed it rapidly. He might not leave the ground but there was nothing to keep him from seeing the game from the edge of the hill or—He gave a grunt of satisfaction. The gymnasium! That was it! There was a window on the running track looking directly down upon the field which lay only a few hundred yards distant. The gymnasium was silent. The afternoon sunlight streamed in at the big westerly windows, high up under the peak of the roof, and motes of dust swam in the golden paths it made. He climbed the stairs to the track and hurried to the window on the north. Two big blue and green flies were buzzing fretfully against the panes. Before him was the meadow, the path, the tennis courts and the field, the latter fringed with figures. The two stands, one on each side of the gridiron, were packed with spectators and the blue banners of Yardley and the green of Broadwood were everywhere. On the field, a golden-yellow expanse of sun-bathed autumn turf, two thin lines were facing each other. A white-sweatered referee skipped nimbly out of the way, the lines surged together in a sudden confused jumble of struggling canvas-clothed forms, there was a moment of indecision, the confusion melted away, order grew out of chaos and once more the lines faced, now five yards nearer the south goal. Yardley had made first down; Dan saw the linesmen trot along with the poles and chain. He looked at his watch. The time was twenty minutes after two; only fifteen minutes remained of the first half. If only he knew whether any scoring had been done! He believed that if he could get to the top of the window he could look over the corner of the nearest stand and see the score-board. But there was nothing to hold on by. He thought a moment and then raced across to the trophy room, returning presently with a chair. By standing on the back of it he could see. The score-board was blank of figures!

He descended until his feet were on the chair-seat, and so, with the two flies buzzing about him, and a little ray of sunlight on his head, he stood and watched the battle. Twice messengers hurried up the path below him and hurried back again. Once he heard the door open downstairs, heard footsteps on the floor below, but he was too intent on the struggle to heed. He tried to open the window that he might hear the sound of the referee’s whistle or the grunting of the umpire’s horn, but the casement stuck fast and all his strength could not budge it.

Yardley was down on Broadwood’s fifteen yards now and Loring was smashing the backs against the green line. But the gains were small. Only a yard that time through tackle. Dan knew intuitively that it was the third down and held his breath as the lines formed again and Loring’s back bent and his head turned as he shouted his signals. Then the backs took up the punt formation, the ball arched slowly back into Capes’ outstretched hands, the field sped to the right. It was a forward pass, but—ah, there was Williams getting through at the left! He was stopped! No, he was by! Good old Williams! Now Capes had turned and was running to the left, the ball at arms length for throwing. And there went the pass, too high, maybe, but straight as an arrow toward the waiting left end. If Williams would only get it! He would! He had it! No, Broadwood’s right half had thrust him aside at the last instant and a green-stockinged youth was snuggling the ball to earth! Dan groaned. A roar of delight and relief arose from the farther stand and green flags waved in the sunlight.

Down the field sped the ball from the powerful toe of Broadwood’s punter and for awhile the play was hidden from Dan by the stand. He climbed to the back of the chair again, but still he could see nothing. There was five minutes of play left. At the lower end of the gridiron the crowds were pushing onto the field. That meant that the ball was near the side-line well up at the other end. But still the players were hidden. Then, suddenly, like a dart from a cross-bow, a green-shirted form swept into sight, the ball clutched in the crook of his arm. It was all over in the instant. Broadwood had scored! The farther stand was crazy with delight and the cheers rolled up against the closed window in a cloud of sound. Dan groaned. That was his contribution to the noise. Broadwood kicked the goal. The score-board was no longer barren of figures, for a big 6 stood after the word “Opponents.” There was little more done before the whistle blew, and the stands partly emptied as the spectators stretched their cramped limbs.

Dan got down from his chair and stretched his own, finding comfort in the thought that there still remained another thirty-five minutes of play. Lots of scoring could be done in that time. Many a game had been won in a handful of seconds! Yardley had almost scored once; the next time she would do it! He wondered how that Broadwood man had got away. Let’s see, it had been—by Jove, yes, it had been around left end! Dan was but human, and for an instant he derived a spice of satisfaction from the thought that perhaps the fellows and Payson were wishing that they had him at the left of the line. But that was only momentary. He was sorry for Williams. Williams was a good sort, and it was no fault of his that he had Dan’s place.

The ten minutes of intermission went slowly to the solitary watcher up there on the running track, but at last the teams trotted out again and at last the battle was renewed. It was Yardley’s kick-off and once more the play passed from sight behind the nearest grand-stand. Minutes went by. Now and then the ball arched into sight against the sky, but of the players nothing was to be seen by Dan save, occasionally, Loring as he trotted back for a punt. Ten minutes had already passed. Time had been called for some reason. Dan knew that by the way the spectators along the line turned their attention from the field. Dan’s attention wandered too, wandered to a figure hurrying up the path. It was Ridge of the Second. At the moment Dan recognized him, Ridge, as though conscious of the other’s regard, raised his eyes to the window. Dan heard a shout, saw Ridge wave a hand and break into a run. The next moment the door banged downstairs and Ridge was shouting up to him.

“Vinton! Dan Vinton! Come on, you fool! Get your things on! Payson wants you! You’re to go in! We’ve been looking for you for hours! Hurry, man, hurry! Williams is all in, and—”