And even when finally the scrimmage was ended, the first having earned a touchdown and a field goal and held their opponents scoreless, there was still work for the centers, backs, and ends. The other players trotted breathlessly back to the gymnasium, but a dozen or so unfortunates remained for punting practice, the centers to snap back the ball to the punters, the backs to catch and run the pigskin back, and the ends to get down under the kicks and head off the catchers. It was almost dark when the last thump of boot against ball was heard and Mr. Cotting let them go. In the locker room at the gymnasium fellows grinned tiredly at each other, and shook their heads as if to say, “Don’t ask me what got into him to-day! All I know is I got mine aplenty!”
But an hour or so later, refreshed by showers, trooping into supper, the hard words and hard knocks were all forgotten, or, remembered, had lost their sting. “That was some practice, old man! Say, didn’t he rub it into us for fair? Bet you, though, we learned more than we have all season so far, eh? He’s a little wonder when he gets het up, what?” And bruises were exhibited proudly, vaingloriously, while a wonderful glow of wellbeing encompassed their wearied bodies as they satisfied gigantic appetites, and already they were thinking of the morrow and looking forward eagerly to the next practice, each fellow resolved in his heart to “show him a few things next time!”
It’s a wonderful game, this football; wonderful for what it will do for flabby muscles and hollow chests, but more wonderful still for what it can do for flabby characters. There’s young Jones, for instance, who came to school with a quick and mighty ugly temper, an intolerance of anything savoring of discipline, and no especial ambition beyond doing as he pleased and being as selfish as fourteen years of spoiling at home had taught him to be. And there’s young Smith, fat and flabby and lazy when he came up, with only a sneering laugh for the form of school patriotism that caused other boys to keep their bodies clean and healthy and to toil on gridiron or diamond or cinder path for the glory of the school. Don’t look the same to-day do they? They fought and struggled and matched muscles and wits against each other this afternoon for a solid hour or more, took hard knocks and gave them, sweated and panted for breath, and rolled in the mud of a wet field, lost their tempers perhaps now and then for a brief instant—they’re only youngsters yet, after all. And now, side by side, they’re talking it over, laughing at the mishaps, criticising the misplays, praising each other’s good feats, each feeling for the other the respect—yes, and the affection, too—that every brave warrior has felt for a worthy opponent since the world began. Yes, it’s a wonderful game, this football, a gentleman’s game.
Who misses or who wins the prize,
Go lose or conquer as you can;
But if you fail or if you rise
Be each, pray God, a gentleman!
Young Jones learned to accept criticism and submit to authority, to govern his temper and consider the welfare of someone other than his own selfish little self. I fancy it didn’t come very easily, just at first; it was probably something of a shock to him to discover that on the football field he was only one, and an inconsiderable one, of many, and that no one cared a straw if he got a black eye. But he learned and profited, and it did him a heap of good. And should you ask him to-day about the young Jones that he used to be he’d probably tell you frankly and succinctly that that boy was “a selfish little brat!” And Smith worked the flabbiness out of his body and his mind, and got rid of his fat and his laziness together. It didn’t take him long to discover that his fellows had scant sympathy for his views, and that his sneers met only disgust and dislike. Doubtless he would have found himself ultimately without the aid of football, but football turned the trick very expeditiously. Smith, they say, is in line for the captaincy now. Success to him!
The second game of the season was played with Mumford Preparatory School, and in the fourth period, when Maple Hill was two scores to the good, Rodney had his first experience on the firing line. He and two other third string men went in for a few minutes, just before play ended. Rodney was trying for halfback. He was given the ball but once, since Maple Hill was on the defensive most of the time he played, and then managed to get the two yards required for a first down. An instant later the whistle sounded and Maple Hill was the victor by a 15 to 5 score. But if that brief experience in the line up had not especially advanced Rodney’s chance of being retained, although he could not be certain of that, it had left him with a redoubled desire to make the team. Figuratively, he had smelled the smoke of battle, and he wanted to fight again.
And so it was with not a little anxiety that he awaited the next cut in the squad. This had been looked for on Friday but had not come, and it was now whispered about that it would be made Monday. On Sunday Rodney observed to Kitty: