Forward Pass: A Story of the "New Football"

by Ralph Henry Barbour

[CHAPTER VII]
PAYSON, COACH

Those first six days were busy ones, yet Dan found plenty of time in which to be homesick. I don’t mean that he wept or went around with a long face; he was pretty nearly sixteen years of age, and, of course, a chap when he gets to be that old has altogether too much pride to act like a baby no matter how much he may feel like one. But on his first and second days at Yardley he went for long walks along the shore or struck inland along the river bank and thought a good deal about Graystone and the folks there and wished heartily that he could see them. The East and Yardley Hall in particular seemed to him then a very lonely, unfriendly place, and the three months which stretched ahead between the present and the Christmas recess looked interminable. Once—it was a dull, cold afternoon with an unfamiliar salt tang in the damp air—he even considered giving it up and going home. He had only to get his bag from his room, walk to the station and take a train. He had plenty of money for all expenses and he felt certain that his father would forgive him even though he would be disappointed in him. The knowledge that it was possible to cut and run at any moment was comforting and reconciled him to remaining for awhile longer. Perhaps he might manage to hang on until the recess. Then, once home, trust him to stay there!

But on the third day, when as usual he started out in the afternoon for a tramp, he suddenly discovered what he had not noticed on the preceding days; that the Sound, aglitter in the afternoon sunlight, dotted here and there with white sails and feathered with the trailing blue smoke of distant steamers, was very beautiful; that the curving shore, clothed in green turf and mellowing trees, edged with gray boulders or warm white sand, was vastly pleasant; that the blue sky, tranquil and summer-like, flecked here and there with streamers of cottony clouds, looked kindly after all; that, in short, this eastern world wasn’t so different from Ohio. He swung along that day with a lighter heart, whistling as he went. He cut a stick from an old willow that grew back from the shore and flourished it merrily. His walk was a series of surprises. The shore curved and capered along the edge of the Sound, revealing all sorts of interesting little coves and nooks and promontories. Once a stone wall came straggling down a hill across a meadow and wandered right out into the water like a bad little boy insisting on getting his feet wet. Dan followed it out, balancing himself on the big stones, and, at the end, jumping from one to another until he stood precariously on the last one of all with the blue sunlit water before him and around him. At a little distance a sloop lay moored. The tide was well out and Dan believed that he could reach it by wading. So he sat down and pulled off shoes and stockings and rolled his trousers as high as they would go and started out. The water was surprisingly warm and save that he once stepped into some sort of a hole and went down until his trousers were wet, he reached his goal without misadventure. The sloop was an old one, broad of beam and snub of nose, and it wasn’t very clean. But Dan pulled himself up onto the deck and dropped from there into the cockpit, where, the tiller under his arm, he sat a long while and watched the sea and the distant boats and made believe—for even at nearly sixteen one may still make-believe—that he was asail.

After awhile he noticed that whereas he had begun by looking eastward he was now looking in quite the opposite direction. That was strange! But the mystery was soon solved. The tide was coming in again and the sloop had swung around until her blunt nose was pointing straight toward the open. Dan glanced toward the shore and the end of the stone wall in dismay. Even as he looked a little wave crept up the side of the last boulder and playfully lapped the toe of one of his stockings. It was time for action. So he slipped over the side and found the water almost to his hips. When he reached the stone and rescued his shoes and stockings he was pretty wet. He went back up the wall and picked out a nice warm spot to dry off in and there with his back to a comfortable rock he spent another half hour, rousing himself at length to finish dressing and go home. There was a good four miles between him and the school, but he felt as though he could walk forty, and so, his willow cane swinging, he stepped out briskly. For the first time since he had reached school he was thoroughly glad just to be alive, to feel the springy turf underfoot, the sun on his face and the little salty breeze about him.

When he reached the turn of the path at the corner of Whitson he remembered that down on the football field practice was going on. Until now he had thought little about football. Before he had reached Yardley he had entertained notions of trying for the team, but what Tubby and Jake had told him had rather discouraged him; and besides that he had seen some of the players and they were so much older and larger than he that it seemed silly to offer his services; doubtless he would be only laughed at. And then, too, he had been so low-spirited that sport, even football, which of all sports held first place in his affections, had failed to appeal to him. But to-day there was a change in his spirits and he decided that he would go down to the field and look on awhile. So he went, and as he passed along the front of Merle Hall a nice-looking boy with a blue cap tucked rakishly on the back of his head smiled and nodded to him, and Dan’s heart lightened still more. He didn’t know who the boy was, couldn’t even recollect his face, but it was nice to be noticed. Dan never became well acquainted with the youth with the blue cap, but he always felt grateful to him for just that little smiling nod which meant little to the giver but so much to Dan.

The tennis courts were all in use and the players, for the most part white-clad, darted back and forth, to and fro, in a merry scene. Up towards Flat Island two canoes, each manned by a pair of white-shirted boys, were racing down with the tide, the paddles catching the sun as they rose from the water. But the busiest scene was on the gridiron. Dan sought a place along the side-line near the middle of the field and looked on. There were fully sixty candidates in sight, and Dan noticed hopefully that several of them were no older than he and no whit larger nor stronger. Perhaps, after all, he reflected, he might stand a show. If he could make a place with the scrubs it would be better than having no football at all. He realized that when the frost came into the air he would feel strangely lost of an afternoon were he not chasing a pigskin over the yellowing grass.

At the farther end of the field a dozen candidates were punting and catching. These were fellows trying for the backfield positions. An awkward squad of a dozen or so more were falling on the ball. Then there were four squads trotting about the gridiron learning the simpler plays, each squad commanded by a hard-working quarter-back. No signals were used. As one of the squads came abreast of Dan he heard the quarter shout his directions:

“Left half between guard and tackle on his own side!”

Then the ball was passed, left half sprang forward, clutched the ball and went stumbling through the line.

“What’s the matter?” cried an impatient voice. “Who is that man, Watkins? Well, you’ll have to learn to keep your feet under you, whoever you are. Try that again and let me see you hit the line as though you meant it!”