The Secret Play

by Ralph Henry Barbour

[“‘I’ve had the loveliest time,’ announced Louise exultantly.”]

“Tired!” grumbled Morris. “Don’t talk to me about being tired! I’m one big ache from head to toes, and my feet feel as if they’d been pounded by a spile-driver! I don’t mind buying things, but when it comes to shopping—excuse me!”

And the odd part of it was that Morris’s tiredness stayed with him all the next day, and when, at practice, he tried to kick some goals in the course of his half-hour instruction of the candidates under his charge, he made awful misses! The Scrubs played the Varsity to a standstill that afternoon, and all the driving of which Dick and Lanny were capable, and all the entreaties of Chester Cottrell and of Perry Hull, who took his place finally, failed to bring about a score. The Scrubs were as proud as turkey cocks and remained so until the next day, when, smarting under the ignominy of those forty scoreless minutes, the Varsity came back and literally tore the other team wide open and scored three touchdowns, two of which Morris converted into goals. The best that the Scrub Team could do was to force a safety on the Varsity when Tupper misjudged a punt.

That was on Wednesday. Thursday passed without a scrimmage since Dick was not satisfied with the tackling and handling of the ball. Several of the Varsity had been showing the weakest sort of work at tackling and fumbles had been far too frequent. And so on Thursday there was a hard drill at the dummy and a lot of work in essentials. Cable took the linemen off to a corner of the field and gave them a long session in blocking and breaking through, and Morris kept his pupils busy in front of a goal. It must be confessed that Morris was not a huge success as an instructor. He knew how to kick goals from placement and from drops, and he was a good punter, but when it came to imparting his knowledge to George Tupper and Nelson Beaton, he was far less skillful. The explanation was that he didn’t really know how he obtained his results, and if one doesn’t know how he does a thing, it’s well-nigh impossible to teach another! Morris took infinite trouble, for he was fully as enthusiastic as Dick about developing the kickers, and he worked as hard as he knew how, but his method of correcting a pupil was to say, “No, you don’t get it, George. Now watch me. See? One hand on each side—get your lacings right—sight your goal—drop it—swing— There you are! See what I mean?” And Tupper or Beaton would assent doubtfully and, perhaps, do no better the next time. Still, George Tupper had made progress; that couldn’t be denied; and Dick hoped for the best and silently wished he knew more about the gentle art of drop- and placement-kicking himself.

On Friday the team showed some improvement as a result of the previous day’s practice, and in the short and not very hard scrimmage with the Scrubs managed to get by without fumbling. But a spell of unseasonably warm weather had had its effect on the players of both teams and there were distinct signs of sluggishness visible. Dick read the signs and called an early halt. He had been expecting a slump for several days and now, he told himself, it had arrived. He was relieved rather than troubled, however, for if there must be a slump—and there usually is at some time during a football season—it was better to have it now than two weeks, or even a week later. He hoped for a change of weather on the morrow, but scarcely dared expect it.

And it didn’t come. If anything, Saturday was warmer and more enervating than Friday had been, and many of the seventeen players whom Dick took to Corwin at noon looked dragged and tired. Not a few more were plainly irritable, always a bad sign, and Dick secretly feared that Lanny was not destined to be much pleased with the outcome of the afternoon’s game.

But if the Varsity was not in the best of condition, little fault could be found with the Scrubs that afternoon. Perhaps the prospect of having a real game with an outside team buoyed them up and caused them to forget the fact that they had been listless the day before. At all events, they trotted on to the field for the contest with the North Side team looking much alive. Will Scott, who had not been taken along to Corwin with the Varsity, had been given the management of the Scrubs for the occasion, which meant that he had his hands pretty full. Not that the players demanded any attention from him, but he had to look after the contest itself; find boys to take money at the two gates, see that Danny Shore’s players were looked after on arrival, arrange for a referee, an umpire and a head linesman, find a youth to take one end of the ten-yard chain and perform a number of other duties, which, since he had never performed them before, caused him a condition of mind and body closely approaching collapse.

The public turned out generously for that much-heralded game. A large portion of the audience was composed of workers in the factories, who were plainly there for two things; to have a good time—and having a good time with them entailed making a certain amount of noise—and to see their champions win. When the last spectator had entered and Will Scott hurriedly counted the proceeds, he discovered that something over three hundred and twenty persons had paid their dimes at the gates, which, everything considered, was a good showing.