It’s not my fault, you see.
My parents fond they were the ones
Who tacked it onto me!”
Once, a few minutes later, Alvin thought he heard a chuckle from across the table, but concluded he must have been mistaken.
CHAPTER XIX
“BULL RUN”
The next day was Wednesday by the calendar, and “Bull Run” according to the football crowd. Whether it was intentional or not, true it was that Coach Bonner invariably made Wednesday practice something to remember for at least forty-eight hours. That was his day for driving, and every player went down to the field fully convinced that, whether he lived to eat his supper or not, he was not due to die of ennui. On Wednesdays the scrimmage with the second went the full sixty minutes, with no let-up save such as the rules exacted, and no pauses for instructions. It was fight all the way, from first whistle to last. On the whole, “Bull Run” was by no means a misnomer.
On this particular Wednesday afternoon Monty doffed his street clothes, and pulled his togs on with misgivings. He wasn’t physically frightened, but he was very doubtful of his ability to hold his own in the real contest that was due. He walked from the field house over to the gridiron with Blake and Ordway, and he envied those experienced youths their gay and careless spirits. Personally, he was rather silent and preoccupied. He wanted to ask, yet scarcely liked to, whether Manson was likely to play, reasoning that if the regular fullback showed up, he, Monty, was not likely to be called on. And, when, a minute later, he descried Manson on the bench he didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.
There was no tackling of the dummy today. The three squads went right to signal work, and Monty found himself on the second, with Weston, Brunswick and Hanser in the backfield with him. When, in the course of plunging up and down the field, he presently passed the first squad, he saw that Manson was not playing, after all. Still later, on returning to the side line, the fact was explained. Manson leaned on a good stout cane when he walked and limped perceptibly. The second team poured on the field like a lot of colts, evidently fully primed for their task, and, with a grim disregard of everything save the business of the day, Coach Bonner summoned the still breathless players from the benches.
“All right, First Team! Derry, Spalding, Kinley, Musgrave, Gowen, Gordon, Tray, Blake, Winslow, Ordway and Caner. Take the east goal and kick off to the second. Burgess, you all ready? Boynton, you find another fellow and hold the chain on this side. Hurry them, Burgess. Get to work!”