Wyndham scored first, in the second quarter, when, held firmly on Horner’s nineteen yards, Stoddard kicked a goal from the twenty-eight. But that was the last of such performances, for after that the game was all Horner. The Blue-and-Brown took the ball on its forty-two when the third quarter arrived and rushed it straight down to Wyndham’s twenty-six, using off-tackle and round the end plays varied with one forward-pass that was good for eight yards. Wyndham held for two downs and then succumbed before a tricky play that should have been either a kick or a pass and was a quick quarterback plunge at center that landed the ball just short of the required distance. A wedge on the left of the dark blue line made it first down, and from the fifteen Horner took the ball over in six plays, battering at Desmond and Weldon until the right of the Wyndham line finally crumpled and the last charge yielded four long yards and a touchdown.
“G. G.” replaced Desmond with Smythe and, still later, sent half a dozen other substitutes dribbling in. But Horner couldn’t be seriously dented between tackles, and although, as a final desperate enterprise, “G. G.” sent Sproule in for Whitemill with instructions to round the ends, Wyndham came no nearer another score than the enemy’s thirty-two yards, from where, well along in the fourth quarter, “Big Bill” made a desperate and well-nigh hopeless try for a goal from placement. The ball came down near the five-yard line. Horner was still not through, and in the last six minutes of the twelve-minute period, she added insult to injury by plowing her way from midfield, where she had taken a short punt, to the seventeen yards and, when stubbornly held there, shooting a forward toss over the middle of the line for another score. As a doughty fullback kicked an easy goal after each touchdown the final humiliating score was 14 to 3.
Well, a team can’t always win, and Wyndham had feared Horner beforehand. Unfortunately, though, she hadn’t feared her enough. Wyndham’s defense against the forward-pass, which had worked nicely when opposed to her Scrub, had failed badly. Horner had tried the air three times and each time had succeeded. Her style of passing was, however, different from the Scrub’s, and the First had failed to solve it. Evidently, then, there was still much to be learned as to protection against the passing game. Even Coach Otis’s big line of forwards hadn’t gained much glory. More than one Horner plunge had torn it wide apart, while the enemy’s persistent attack on Desmond and Weldon had shown conclusively that the right side needed something at present lacking. Wyndham’s ends had been boxed time after time, and even “Big Bill,” the pride and boast of the School, had fallen down badly on the defense. Altogether, then, the coaches had much to ruminate on that Saturday evening. Especially as Horner Academy then rated about 60 to Wolcott’s 100!
But other things besides football games and practicings occurred during that week preceding Wyndham’s first defeat. For instance, there was a stupendous chess combat between Loring and Tom. That took place on Wednesday evening. Clif had almost despaired of inducing Tom to visit Loring. Tom was studiedly indifferent on Sunday and Monday, agreeing with his chum that it was extremely likely that Loring Deane could beat him at chess. Tom stated humbly that he really wasn’t much of a player. Clif contradicted the assertion indignantly, almost spoiling his conspiracy by declaring that maybe Tom could lick Loring after all. On Tuesday, having recovered from an attack of jealousy, Tom said that a fellow who didn’t have much else to do but play chess ought to be pretty good at it. On Wednesday he capitulated and followed Clif over to East Hall when supper was over. No one could well help being attracted to Loring, and Tom forgot his prejudice instantly. Soon they were seated with the chess-board between them and the game was on. Clif watched, at first with interest, then, as time passed, merely for want of other occupation. Wattles was not present. After serving Loring’s supper—Loring had all his meals in his room—he was free until half-past nine, at which time he returned to get the boy to bed. Sometimes Wattles went to the village and attended the moving pictures, but more frequently he was to be found in the library or reading room in West Hall. Clif wished he were present. Talking to Wattles would be far more amusing than watching the interminable game.
When, finally, Loring won, Clif got the impression that the host would have preferred to lose. Loring was almost apologetic and found numerous excuses for Tom. Tom, however, was a good loser, and he refused to take refuge behind the excuses. “Heck,” he said, “you just played better chess, Deane. Where I made my mistake—”
And then they played the whole thing all over again, and had scarcely more than finished when the gong warned of study hour!
The next evening Tom hurried through his supper and was almost impatient with Clif because the latter, in spite of many honorable wounds received in battle that afternoon, was hungry and insisted on satisfying his appetite. When they got to Loring’s room that youth was still eating, and Tom had to wait a good ten minutes while Loring finished and Wattles removed the tray and the small table was placed close to Loring’s chair. Then another battle began, and Clif selected one of the books on football and fairly turned his back on the game. This time, though, the contest was soon over, for Loring made a fatal mistake soon after the start. As there was scarcely time for another, the chessmen were put away, Clif returned the book he had been reading to the shelf and they talked. Presently Tom asked to see the collection of football diagrams of which Clif had told him and the rest of the time was spent in discussing them. Tom was loud in his praise of them, but he thought some of them not workable, and that led to a three-cornered discussion during which the chess-board was again produced and several plays were rehearsed. Tom proved his contention with regard to one of them and Loring cheerfully crumpled a sheet of paper up and tossed it into the waste-basket. Going back to West, Tom confided to his companion that Loring Deane knew a lot of football and that it was a plaguey shame he couldn’t get out and play like other fellows.
By the last of that week going over to Loring’s after supper had become a habit with Clif and Tom, and by Saturday evening the intimacy had reached the point where the chums were calling Loring by his first name and Loring was saying “Tom” and “Clif” quite naturally. Discussion of the First Team’s defeat by Horner delayed the chess game that evening, to Clif’s delight, and the subject was well thrashed out between them before the board was set out on the little table. In an argument between Tom and Loring on the subject of Stoddard’s choice of plays, Loring, in Clif’s opinion, won conclusively.
“Well, maybe he made mistakes,” Tom conceded at last, “but he’s better than Houston, isn’t he?”
“I think so,” answered Loring, “but neither of them is my idea of a corking quarter. But then, I’m not keen on their style, anyway.”