“A hundred and twenty-five’s a lot more than I want to lose,” answered Stick earnestly. “If you hear of any one who will pay that much, sir, I wish you’d let me know.”
“I will, certainly. In fact, Mr. Patterson, I’ll make inquiries. Perhaps, though, we’d better keep this to ourselves for the present. For instance, I wouldn’t mention it to your partner just yet. Time enough when we have a buyer, eh? For that matter, maybe it’ll be just as well if Mr. Emerson doesn’t learn of my call. Between you and me, Mr. Patterson, he seems to have taken a—er—well, a dislike to me.” Mr. Crocker smiled patiently and forgivingly. “He might, you see, object to losing your interest, which, doubtless, he hopes to acquire himself when he is quite ready. Perhaps he figures that by spring, say, the business will be so run down that your interest can be purchased for less than you’d be willing to let it go for now.” Mr. Crocker shook his head sadly, in the manner of one who, during a blameless life, has watched the devious ways of less upright persons. “Well, I’ll be going,” he continued. “Very glad to have met you, Mr. Patterson, and to have had this talk. It is always a pleasure to meet a reasonable and sensible person. Good afternoon.”
After the caller had gone Stick had one or two qualms of doubt. Had he done right in letting Mr. Crocker so far into the secrets of the business? Would it be fair to sell out his interest to any one save his partner? Still, if Rus couldn’t buy, and another could—
Stick had plenty of food for thought during the rest of the day.
Russell watched the Mount Millard game from a comfortable seat in the grandstand and heroically joined his voice to the voices of some three hundred and seventy-five others during four hectic periods. For neighbors he had Stanley Hassell and Bob Coolidge, those young gentlemen having spied Russell making an eleventh-hour search for a seat, hailed him and in some mysterious manner wedged him in between them. No matter how much difficulty Bob Coolidge might experience in ordinary conversation, when it came to cheering he was all there. There was no hesitation, no stuttering, and his voice was like unto the voice of the Bull of Bashan. But had every Altonian there that afternoon possessed Bob’s vocal powers it is doubtful if the outcome of the game would have been much different.
Russell saw the enemy hold the home team scoreless throughout the first quarter, when, with the wind in her favor and all the luck of the game with her, the Gray-and-Gold struggled valiantly and desperately to cross the enemy’s goal-line and, twice reaching the fifteen yards, was halted and turned back. It was in that period that Alton played her best game, although the fact wasn’t known then. In the second quarter, with the wind behind her, Mount Millard punted and kept on punting until, near the end, her chance came. Then Crocker, who seemed to have definitely won the left end position from Rhame, shooting around the opposite end of the Alton line with the ball, was met head-on by a watchful enemy back and in the shock of that collision let go of the pigskin. When the whistle again piped the pigskin lay twelve yards nearer the Alton goal and a Mount Millard lineman sprawled protectingly above it. That was the enemy’s opportunity, for the line-up was on Alton’s thirty-two yards and the brisk wind was blowing straight toward the Alton goal-posts. Mount Millard tried two rushes that added four yards more to her possession and then, amidst a deep silence, sent her left halfback to kicking position for the third consecutive time. This time, as friend and foe alike knew, there was no pretense about it. A minute later the ball had sailed lazily across the bar and Mount Millard had scored.
But three points seemed as yet nothing to worry about. Stanley Hassell predicted that after Johnny had got through reading the riot act in there—nodding backward toward the gymnasium—the home team would come back and bite large and gory holes in Mount Millard. Bob Coolidge agreed thoroughly if stutteringly and only Russell remained pessimistic. Russell had noted the first team’s let-up in that second period, had seen the signs before and interpreted them correctly as subsequent events proved. Alton never again during the remaining twenty-four minutes of actual playing time showed herself dangerous. The third quarter was all Mount Millard, even if she didn’t score. For Alton, who had taken a leaf from her opponent’s book and was kicking on second down, Jimmy Austen performed creditably enough, but what he managed to gain on his punts the enemy stole away by running back the ball for ten, fifteen, occasionally twenty yards. The Alton ends were heavy-footed and slow, tackled the wrong man and, when they had picked the right one, generally missed him. Rhame went in for Crocker and Lake for McLeod, but little improvement resulted. In the line Alton at times seemed half asleep. The men charged high and slow, and on defense it was only the secondary army that saved the day a dozen times. Mount Millard paved the way for a touchdown in the final minutes of the third quarter and secured it soon after the last period had begun. Then a short forward-pass took the ball to the Gray-and-Gold’s twenty-seven yards, a long-legged halfback skirted Lake for six and Mount Millard formed for a try-at-goal. None expected it and it didn’t materialize, but again Mount Millard edged closer, this time by a full-back sprint. The enemy made it first down on Alton’s sixteen, and from there, although Coach Cade threw in almost a new line from end to end, took the ball over in four plays, the last of which went for three yards through an utterly demoralized defense.
Mount Millard kicked the goal and made the score 10 to 0, and then set to work to further humiliate the opponent. And she would have done so, there is no doubt, if the last trump hadn’t brought the game to an end just when it did. For Mount Millard was again well inside Alton’s last defenses and coming hard.
Bob Coolidge remarked sadly as they made their way down the aisle that, anyway, ten to nothing wasn’t as bad as nineteen to nothing, which had been the score of last year’s win for the visitor. But neither he nor his hearers appeared to derive much comfort from the thought!