To the cries of the coaches were added the panting expostulations, appeals, commands of the quarterbacks and captains and the hoarse clamors of the players. Wells, of the second, had found his old eloquence once more and his voice sounded well above the bedlam. “Yah! Try that again, you mutton-face! Come on, Second! Tear ’em up! Look out, you yellow curs, we’re coming through! Yah!”
And then red-headed Reilly was flat on the yellowing sod, his legs in their torn gray hose inside the field but his body in its sweat-stained jacket well over and the pigskin nestled beneath him in a grip that would have resisted wild horses! No goal was kicked, none attempted. The last scrimmage was over. Friend and foe faced each other, panting, glaring, growling. A hushed moment passed. Then tense faces relaxed. The second swarmed together and beat each other’s backs and turned somersaults with the last ounce of remaining strength, shouted with what breath was left in their well-nigh empty lungs, and the first looked on with understanding at least. A few grins made their appearance, gruesome efforts, maybe, on dirt-marked and sometimes battered countenances. Then Captain Proctor, leaning heavily on Rowlandson’s big shoulder, lifted a tired voice.
“Regular ... cheer ... for the ... Second ... fellows!... All together! Come on!”
And the second, grouping themselves about Captain Falls, came back heartily, and their season was over, the duties finished, their rest at hand!
But that was on Thursday, and before it happened other events had occurred which must be set down here. It was Tuesday night that Jimmy appeared hurriedly at Number 27 and, since Stick was seated across the table from Russell, decoyed the latter into the corridor and thence downstairs to a corner of the recreation room.
“Look here,” he began when they were seated, “there may not be anything in this, but I thought I’d better tell you. You know that fellow Throgmorton? Well, I’ve just discovered that he and Billy Crocker are as thick as thieves. I happened to see them together in the village this morning. They went into the drug store across the street. Had drinks, I suppose. Then I asked Stimson this evening at table; he rooms in the same corridor with Throgmorton; and Stimson says those two are great pals. Crocker’s at Throgmorton’s room half the time.”
Russell stared blankly. “You mean—”
“Well, what do you think? Here’s this old geezer, Crocker, trying to put you out of business. Patterson gets an offer for his interest from Throgmorton. Throgmorton is young Crocker’s pal. Smell a rat?”
Russell nodded. “Still,” he said, “I don’t see—why, even if Throgmorton bought Stick out—”