“Toss you— No, I’ll be switched if I’m going to turn this room into a gridiron. First thing I know you’ll be moving the furniture out and kicking the thing around!”
But he did toss the ball to Jim in the end, and Jim caught it various ways, studying each way, while Clem looked on and waited for the return of the ball with the expression of one humoring a lunatic. So far as Clem ever discovered that ball was never taken out of Number 15, until it went out for good, but it certainly saw a lot of handling there!
The Thursday before the Southport game Jim played a full fifteen minutes against the second team, and busy, strenuous minutes they were. He had been tried at left tackle and right tackle, and had discovered no preference, but to-day he went in between Smith, substituting Captain Fingal, and Borden, the regular right end. There had already been a fifteen-minute scrimmage with the scrubs, in which the big team had scored a solitary touchdown, and now the scrubs were aching for vengeance. Jim had his hands very full with the opposing guard when the first team had the ball, for the guard played wide and Jim had a big stretch of line to cover. But he was fast, and it soon developed that plays sent through the right of its own line were netting the first team more than those on the other side. Jim usually beat his opponent on starting, and he came up hard, with his back straight and a lot of power in his charge. He made mistakes still and was “called down” half a dozen times for one thing or another. But even the most experienced fared not much better that day. Twice Jim spilled a runner behind the line—once, alas, receiving as his reward harsh words because he should have gone for the interference instead—and he tackled well, using his body and not relying on his arms alone. On the whole, while he made no spectacular plays that afternoon, Jim came out of the fifteen-minute session with his stock higher than it had been, and when the Alton paper published the day’s line-up on Saturday morning, the sixth line read: “Sawyer or Todd.” But then, a hard game was not looked for and Coach Cade had planned to use several substitutes at the start. As it turned out, Jim didn’t get in until the third period was half over and the game was laid safely away, the score 26 to 9. But he showed up rather well while he played, which was until he got a wrenched knee a scant three minutes before the end, and emerged with a nickname. When he came off, limping, some sympathetic freshman shouted, “Atta boy, Slim!” And “Slim” Todd it was thereafter.
[CHAPTER IX]
EXPERTS IN CONFERENCE
There was no work on Monday for those who had taken part in the Southport game. Even Jim, although he had contributed but some fifteen minutes of his time to the contest, was excused. The victory had been an easy one, but it had nevertheless cost Alton heavily, since four of the first and second-string men had met with injuries. Only Crumb had fared seriously, however, and not for several days was the full extent of his injury known to the school at large. Then it was learned that he had fractured some bone with an unpronounceable name, located in his left leg, and would be out of the game for some time. In fact, whether he could get around again in time for the Kenly game was problematic. This news was received with consternation, for Crumb had shown himself the best ground-gainer in the Gray-and-Gold backfield, the only one, indeed, who could be relied on for heavy line-smashes to produce short but certain gains. Weight, speed and fight made him an ideal full-back, and his loss, even if it proved only temporary, was going to be keenly felt. Tennyson, who must fill his shoes, was twelve pounds lighter and was an almost unknown quantity as yet. He had shown ability in practice and in the first two games, but had not played against Lorimer, nor against Southport until the last quarter was well along. However well he might develop, it seemed certain that he would never show either the power or the ding-dong fighting spirit that had made Tom Crumb’s work notable.
Jim’s knee responded readily to treatment, and he could have stood the gaff on Monday had he been allowed to, which he wasn’t. All he could do was go to the field and watch the first team substitutes practice and, later, get mauled about by the second. The only incident of interest to Jim occurred when Manager Woodruff found him on the stand and announced: “Todd, you’re to join the training table to-night.”
Jim blinked and considered. Then, “Well, I don’t know, Woodruff,” he said slowly. “I guess I’d just as lief not.”
“You—what?” gasped Lowell.