“Why, I don’t visit around much,” answered the other hesitantly, as he reached for the knob that unbolted the door. “I don’t have time, you see, and just now I’m most interested in mycology, Harmon. By the way, don’t forget about that mushroom supper we’re going to have!”
[CHAPTER XII]
“DO YOUR BEST”
Friday dawned fair and warm, and Willard, looking forth from a window while dressing, smilingly pictured McNatt, far afield, gathering mushrooms from the sunlit meadows. One thing, however, was certain, Willard reflected, and that was that the enthusiastic McNatt would never induce him to partake of that mushroom supper! Yesterday he might perhaps have taken a chance, but today life was too well worth living.
In the afternoon, contrary to custom, there was a hard and prolonged scrimmage between the first and second teams. Ordinarily the day before a contest was given over to formation drill, with only a brief line-up, but today, with Lorimer Academy looming dangerously ahead, Coach Cade couldn’t afford to be lenient. One radical change in the first team line-up was apparent when the two teams faced each other. Arnold Lake, the regular left half-back, was at left end in place of Sanford, and Mawson was at left half. Doubtless it was only an experiment and might not prove satisfactory, but Willard saw, with a quickening of his pulse, that if the change became permanent he would be one notch nearer the realization of his hopes. With only Mawson and, perhaps, Moncks ahead of him, the position of first substitute was just over the horizon. And events that day certainly fostered optimism, for before the practice game was over Mawson was relegated to the bench and Willard took his place. For something like ten minutes life was very strenuous for him. The first was thrice given the ball on the second’s twenty-yard-line and thrice failed to take it over, although Coach Cade stormed and Gil Tarver commanded and Captain Bob Myers implored. The second fought desperately and would not yield the final few feet. In those assaults Willard played his part well, making up in speed and aggressiveness what he lacked in weight. If he didn’t perform any outstanding feat, at least he gained as certainly as Cochran, beside him, and more surely than Steve Browne, again restored to full-back position for lack of a better man. The nearest thing to a mishap befalling Willard was his failure to hold a short forward-pass over the left of the line that might possibly have produced the desired score. But he was sorely beset and, jostled and badgered by the second team backs, he could not make the ball secure after it reached him. That came in the last attack, and afterwards, when Cochran’s desperate attempt at the left of center had failed to carry him over by two feet, the ball was given to the second and Greenwood, standing behind his goal, kicked to safety. It is quite possible that Willard looked for some slight expression of commendation from captain or coach when the whistle blew, for he was under the impression that he had done none so badly for a first appearance on the big team, but the only mention of his part in the fracas that he heard was made by the quarter-back. Probably Tarver had no intention of being unkind, but his regrets haunted Willard for the rest of the day.
“Too bad you couldn’t hold that forward, Harmon,” Tarver said on the way back to the gymnasium. “Gee, we’d have had a score sure if you had!”
Seeking sympathy, Willard repeated the remark to Martin that evening, expecting Martin to tell him that it wasn’t his fault and that Gil Tarver was unreasonable. But Martin only shook his head as he replied cheerfully: “Yes, it was a shame, Brand. Still, I don’t believe first would have scored. Gil threw too short and you were five yards from the line.”
“We-ell,” said Willard, “you think I ought to have caught it?”
“What? Oh, I don’t know about that. You’ve got to be mighty quick to get your hands around a forward or else you’ll miss it. And it’s a heap easier than it looks, usually.”