"Roy ... leaped upward and forward, clearing him by a foot."
From there to the goal-line was only a romp, although he had to fight hard for breath and although the defeated right half-back was close behind him all the way. Straight between the posts he staggered, placed the ball on the turf and rolled over on his back beside it. Somewhere they were cheering madly and nearer at hand people were shouting. Then, recovering from his momentary giddiness, Roy opened his eyes, shut them again because someone was slapping a great cold, wet sponge over his face and then sat up. Someone gave him a hand and he got on to his feet, swayed a little dizzily and then found himself in the grip of what at first seemed a bear and afterwards turned out to be Jack Rogers.
"You remembered your promise, Porter," Jack was saying softly, "and I'll not forget mine. You're a trump!"
Pryor failed miserably at the try for goal, but who cared? Surely not Jack Rogers, leading the cheer for his defeated rivals; nor Roy, dodging his fellows as he tried to steal away to the gymnasium; nor Harry, waving her brown and white flag and shrieking lustily; least of all the throng of fellows who, with banners flying and tin horns sounding, danced madly around the field in the November twilight.
CHAPTER IX
RED HAIR AND WHITE RABBITS
A fellow can't make a touchdown in the last thirty seconds of play, and so win the game for his school, without affecting his position. No matter what he was before, after that he's a hero and a saint and a public benefactor all rolled into one. Roy's case was no exception. He woke up Saturday morning a rather unimportant and quite unpopular person. He climbed out of bed Sunday morning to find that, metaphorically, the world was his! As soon as the bell had rung the difference was apparent. There was no more dressing in silence, no more waiting till the others were through for a chance at the wash-room. It was "Morning, Porter! How are you feeling after it?" "Hello, Mr. Quarter-back! How'd you sleep?" "Here, Stearns, get out of here and give Porter a show; he's been waiting hours!" And in the midst of it Chub came tumbling upstairs half dressed to sit on Roy's bed and delay matters so that they barely scraped into dining hall between the closing doors.
Well, you and I aren't going to begrudge him the satisfaction the changed conditions brought him. Life has been using him rather badly for six weeks or so and he surely deserved some compensation. The only fly in the ointment was the thought that, after all, the sudden popularity was his only as a clever quarter-back, that, for the rest, he was still, to the fellows, the tale-bearer. But in this he was not altogether correct, for the majority of boys argued that any chap who could display the qualities that Roy had shown on the football field must of necessity be all right, and that if he had told on Horace and Otto and the others he must have had some good reason for it. But Roy couldn't know this, and so he was rather unresponsive through it all and held himself aloof from all save Chub and Jack Rogers and Tom Forrest. He was polite enough, but if any of his admirers hoped at that time to make friends with him they were doomed to disappointment. But there was still another that Roy admitted to a certain degree of friendship, and that other was Sidney Welch. Sid became a most devoted admirer, followed Roy about like an amiable puppy and was content to sit and watch him in awed admiration as long as Roy would let him. Sid, whose overwhelming ambition was to make the first eleven and aid in defeating Hammond, had hero worship in its most virulent form. After two or three days of Sid's attention Roy got so that he would dodge out of sight when he saw the youngster coming.
It required some bravery on Sid's part to show open admiration for Roy, for Horace still ruled the school, and the juniors especially, with an iron hand, and Sid was, as he well knew, courting dire punishment. But it was a time of open revolt against Horace's supremacy and Sid, with many others, escaped chastisement. Horace hated Roy worse than ever, hated Tom Forrest because that youth had succeeded where he had failed, and, now that he had nothing to gain by seeming friendliness toward the football captain, even threw down the gauntlet to Jack Rogers, who, happy as a clam over the outcome of the game and over the receipt of a letter from Johnny King, paid no attention to Horace. Otto Ferris, disgruntled over his failure to make even the second team save as a substitute, shared Horace's sentiments with enthusiasm and aided that youth to the best of his ability in his efforts to discount Roy's triumph. But it was a hard task that they had set themselves, for Roy had won gratitude as well as admiration. Ever since the previous autumn when Hammond had triumphed unfairly over the Ferry Hill eleven the school had looked forward almost breathlessly to revenge. And now it was in no mood to withhold adulation from the one who had secured it for them. And so, ere a week had passed, the revolt had grown to well-defined proportions.