Clif nodded, leaning over to stare fascinatedly at the red and black circles and squares, the straight lines and curved lines and dotted lines, the letters and figures and arrow-heads. He was beginning at last to translate the symbols into panting, crouching players and follow in imagination the flight of the ball along its wavy path. “It’s a quarterback run, isn’t it?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes,” said Loring. “But the ‘kick’ in this play, Bingham, depends on keeping the ball hidden. Now, say we’re on the fifteen-yard line—”
In the village at that moment Tom emerged from Burger’s drug store after his second glass of orange-squiz. He hadn’t particularly wanted that second drink. He hadn’t, for that matter, particularly wanted the first, but a fellow had to do something. He looked again along the almost empty sidewalk in the direction of the school, but Clif still failed to materialize. Tom scowled, dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his trousers, rattled some loose silver and pennies and turned for the fourth time to a bored survey of the left-hand window. Six dozen wrapped bottles of “Buckingham’s Liquid Elixir, the Century’s Greatest Scientific Discovery” made a pinkly geometrical display in the background, while in the foreground numerous boxes, alternately covered and uncovered, of “Tannebaum’s Oil of Amber Soap” added a harmonizing tone of pale yellow. Tom scowled harder than ever and turned toward the more varied offer of the second window. But even this soon palled on fourth acquaintance, and finally he gave it up and set his steps toward school, murmuring a dejected “Heck!” as he set forth.
CHAPTER XII
DEFEAT
Monday was an easy day for both First Team and Scrub, but on Tuesday the hard grind began again. “Cocky” never let a session go by without trotting his squad over to the tackling dummy, and Clif, for one, had grown to hate that limp and headless object with an almost passionate intensity. Perhaps this was largely because his tackling was not of the best and didn’t seem to improve with practice. Mr. Babcock frequently told him that he would never become a really good end until he could make his tackles surer. Secretly, though, Clif considered that he did as well as Jeff Adams, who had asserted his right to the left end position, and a heap better than a lot of the others. He wished he might convince Mr. Babcock of it!
The field was a busy place now, for the third gridiron was in use by the class teams, and from around the corner of East Hall floated frantic shouts and commanding bellows and the thud of booted balls. Practice over there was intensive, for, since there were four squads and but one gridiron, they worked two teams at a time, limiting that time to an hour.
On Monday the Scrub was enlarged by the addition of Joe Craigie, a guard candidate released by Coach Otis. The First was getting its stride now, and most of the positions were settled on. The impression that this was to be another winning year was gaining ground daily, for the team was ahead of the season in development and coming steadily. Mr. Otis, switching from last year tactics, was building his attack around Fargo. Last season, playing very modern football indeed, Wyndham had been beaten; although the defeat was attributable to the renowned Grosfawk rather than to Wyndham’s offense. A coach must build his game about his material, and “G. G.’s” principal assets this year were a powerful fullback who was seldom stopped without some gain and a flashy halfback, Jensen, who had a positive genius for finding fissures in the enemy line and making chasms of them. So, while the passing and running games were not neglected, it was the old, reliable line-bucking style of play that the Head Coach was teaching the First. And this meant that the Scrub had to stand some tough onslaughts those days. It was lucky for the Second that its line held such weighty, non-breakable veterans as Clem Henning and “Babe” and “Wink” and Al Greene and Jimmy Ames, for a lighter or less experienced lot of forwards would never have stood the strain. When “Big Bill” Fargo smashed in, you knew without being told or reading about it that something had happened!
Mr. Otis had sought to provide a strong, heavy line, sacrificing something of speed in the effort, and Raiford and Higgs and Quinlan, early season probabilities, had been put aside in favor of sturdier men. Billy Desmond seemed sure of right guard position, Carlson was in center in place of Higgs, and Weldon had ousted Raiford at right tackle. It was only at the end positions that “G. G.” placed speed above brawn, and Archer and Drayton were first choices there. Stoddard still had a perceptible edge on Houston at quarter, while Whitemill and Sproule were fighting for left half back’s place.
On Thursday the Scrub was instructed to use one forward-pass in every three plays in order that the First might work up a better defense before meeting Horner Academy on Saturday. Clif, who had shown fair ability as a receiver of thrown balls, came through with only an ensanguined nose, a strained wrist and a few minor abrasions, and considered himself lucky. He accused Tom of trying to kill him off by putting him into almost every forward-pass, but he was really very much tickled. One of the passes gave Clif a seventeen-yard run and led to the only score made by the Scrub that week. But most of the attempts to gain by the aerial route failed, for Coach Otis had worked out a very satisfactory defense and it was difficult for Tom and Sim to find an eligible and uncovered man to throw to. Although the Scrub was given the ball many times when she hadn’t earned it, the First held it some of the time and didn’t have very much trouble in making two touchdowns and a like number of field-goals. Friday saw another hard session and then, on Saturday, Nemesis in the shape of some twenty-five husky youths with blue-and-brown-striped stockings came along and upset calculations horribly. Horner came from a long way off, but a hard railway journey had not hurt them a bit, it seemed.