Right Guard Grant

by Ralph Henry Barbour

It was Kendall back once more, but Greenwood got the ball and dug through for something less than two yards. [On the same play he got one more], placing the pigskin just over Kenly’s twenty-five-yard line. Then a play designed for just such a situation, a play that had been practiced until it went as smoothly as a lot of oiled cogs, was called for. Kendall was still eight yards back, Appel knelt before him to take the ball from Newton and Kenly was on her toes to break through. And then something happened. One of the cogs slipped, perhaps. At all events, the ball never arose from Kendall’s toe, and when the whistle blew the Alton quarterback was found at the bottom of the pile with the pigskin desperately clutched in his arms. The perfect play had gone agley, and instead of a deceptive end run by quarter, with fullback swinging at empty air, it was fourth down for a six yard loss!

[On the same play he got one more]

And then, while the Alton stands were blankly confronting the sudden change in affairs, while Leonard was heaving a sigh that had seemed to come from the very cleats of his shoes, Appel was piping his signal again, undismayed, as it seemed by the misfortune. Now it was Captain Emerson back, with Kenly somehow suspecting a forward-pass instead of the threatened drop-kick. Well, a drop-kick from somewhere around the thirty-seven yards, even with a breeze behind the kicker, did look fishy. And yet that is just what followed. If Jim Newton had been at fault before—and he may not have been, for all I know—he was perfect now. The ball went back breast-high, was dropped leisurely and sped off and up and over! And Alton had scored at last and some four hundred wearers of the Gray-and-Gold became hysterically joyful!

The half ended almost directly after that, with the score-board bearing a single numeral still, a “3” following the word “Alton.”

Leonard went back to the dressing room with the others and sat around and listened and talked and was very excited and jubilant. Slim had a beautiful swelled lip and couldn’t say much because he had to laugh every time he heard himself speak. Renneker waved a hand across the room at Leonard, but didn’t come over. He had a nice broad ribbon of plaster under his right eye. Plaster, indeed, seemed quite a popular ornament. Mr. Cade talked for a minute while Tod Tenney stood at the door watching the hands on his watch. Leonard didn’t hear what he said very well, but he cheered as loudly as any at the end. Then they piled out and started back.

Going along the bench, Leonard heard his name called and looked up the slanting stand to where a youth with a Gray-and-Gold flag draping his shoulders waved wildly. It was Johnny McGrath, Johnny very hoarse from much shouting, who was greeting him. Leonard grinned and waved back to him. Then, suddenly, the battle was on again, Kenly took the ball on the kick-off and ran it back to her twenty-eight before Billy Wells placed the runner on his head. Kenly smashed at the Alton right, stopped and formed again. Once more the teams crashed together. Kenly had made a yard. The whistle blew. Some one was still down. “Greenwood!” exclaimed Leonard’s left-hand neighbor. Then: “No, Renneker, by gum!” Jake, the trainer, was bending over the injured player. A minute passed. Jake signaled to the bench. Mr. Cade jumped up and looked down the line until his eye met Leonard’s. His head went back and Leonard disentangled himself from his blanket and obeyed the motion. On the field, Gordon Renneker, his head wobbling from side to side, was coming off between Jake and Rus Emerson.

“All right, Grant,” said the coach. “You know what to do without my telling you. Go to it!”

There were cheers from the stand behind him as he sped on, cheers for Renneker and for Grant, short, snappy cheers that made a fellow tingle. Leonard eyed Renneker anxiously as he drew near the little group. The big fellow seemed to be just about all in, he thought. He didn’t like the way his head lolled over on his shoulder, or those closed eyes of his. He hoped that— Then he stared. Renneker’s eyes had opened as Leonard had come abreast, and then one of them had closed again in a most amazing wink! Leonard asked himself if he had imagined it. He turned his head to look back. Some one had taken Emerson’s place, but Renneker’s head still lolled and wobbled. He must have imagined that wink, and yet— No, by jiminy, he hadn’t! He understood all at once. Renneker was faking! He had pretended an injury so that Leonard might have his place!

“Hey! Report to the referee, General!”