Left Guard Gilbert

by Ralph Henry Barbour

There was another mass-meeting that evening, an intensely fervid one, followed by a parade about the campus and a good deal of noise that was finally quelled by Mr. Fernald when, in response to demands, he appeared on the porch of the Cottage and made a five-minute speech which ended with the excellent advice to return to hall and go to bed.

The players didn't attend the meeting that night, nor were they on hand at the one that took place the night following. Instead, they trotted and slithered around the gymnasium floor in rubber-soled shoes and went through their entire repertoire of plays under the sharp eyes of Coaches Robey and Boutelle. There was a blackboard lecture, too, on each evening, and when, at nine-thirty on Friday, they were dismissed, with practice all over for the year, most of them were very glad to slide into bed as quickly as possible. If any of them had "the jumps" that night it was after they were asleep, for the coach had tired them out sufficiently to make them forget that such things as nerves were a part of their system!

But the next morning was a different matter. Those who had never gone through a Claflin contest were inclined to be finicky of appetite and to go off into trances with a piece of toast or a fork-full of potato poised between plate and mouth. Even the more experienced fellows showed some indication of strain. Thursby, for instance, who had been three years on the first team as substitute or first-choice centre, who had already taken some part in two Claflin games, and who was apparently far too big and calm to be affected by nerves, showed a disposition to talk more than was natural.

Don never really remembered at all clearly how that Saturday morning passed. Afterward he had vague recollections of sitting in Clint Thayer's room and hearing Amy Byrd rattle off a great deal of nonsensical advice to him and Clint and Tim as to how to conduct themselves before the sacrifice (Amy had insisted that they should line up and face the grand-stand before the game commenced, salute and recite the immortal line of Claudius's gladiators: "Morituri te salutant!"); of seeing Manager Jim Morton dashing about hither and thither, scowling blackly under the weight of his duties; of wandering across to the woods beyond the baseball field with Tim Otis and Larry Jones and some others and sitting on the stone wall there and watching Larry take acorns out of Tim's ears and nose; and, finally, of going through a perfectly farcical early dinner in a dining hall empty save for the members of the training-table. After that events stood out more clearly in his memory.

Claflin's hosts began to appear at about half-past one. They wore blue neckties and arm-bands or carried blue pennants which they had the good taste to keep furled while they wandered around the campus and poked inquisitive heads into the buildings. Then the Claflin team, twenty-six strong, rolled up in two barges just before two, having taken their dinner at the village inn, disembarked in front of Wendell and meandered around to the gymnasium laden with suit-cases and things looking insultingly care-free and happy, and, as it couldn't be denied, particularly husky!

Don, observing from the steps of Torrence, wondered how they managed to appear so easy and careless. No one, as he confided to Tom Hall and Tim, would ever suspect that they were about to do battle for the Brimfield-Claflin championship!

"Huh," said Tom, "that's nothing. That's the way we all do when we go away to play. It's this sticking at home and having nothing to do but think that takes the starch out of you. When you go off you feel as if you were on a lark. Things take your mind off your troubles. But, just the same, a lot of those grinning dubs are doing a heap of worrying about now. They aren't nearly as happy as they look!"

"They're a lot happier than they're going to be about three hours from now," said Tim darkly. That struck the right note, and Tom and Don laughed, and Tim laughed with them, and they all three put their shoulders back and perked up a lot!

And then it was two o'clock and they were pulling on their togs in the locker-room; and Danny Moore was circulating about in very high spirits, cracking jokes and making them laugh, and Coach Robey was dispatching Jim Morton and Jim's assistant on mysterious errands and referring every little while to his red-covered memorandum book and looking very untroubled and serene. And then there was a clamping of feet on the stairs above and past the windows some two dozen pairs of blue-stockinged legs moved briskly as the visitors went across to the field for practice. And suddenly the noise was stilled and Coach Robey was telling them that it was up to them now, and that they hadn't a thing in the world to do for the next two hours but knock the tar out of those blue-clad fellows, and that they had a fine day for it! And then, laughing hard and cheering a little, they piled out and across the warm, sunlit grass, past the line of fellow-students and home-folks and towners, with here and there a pretty girl to glance shyly and admiringly at them as they trotted by, and so to the bench. Nerves were gone now. They were only eager and impatient. "Squads out!" sang Mr. Robey. Off came sweaters and faded blankets and they were out on the gridiron, with Carmine and McPhee cheerily piping the signals, with their canvas legs rasping together as they trotted about, and with the Brimfield cheer sounding in their ears, making them feel a little chokey, perhaps, but wonderfully strong and determined and proud!

And presently they were back in front of the bench, laughing at and pummelling one another, and the rival captains and the referee were watching a silver coin turn over and over in the sunlight out there by the tee in midfield. Behind them the stand was packed and colourful. Beyond, Brimfield was cheering lustily again. Across the faded green, at the end of the newly-brushed white lines, nearly a hundred Claflin youths were waving their banners and cheering back confidently.