“How—why—how did you happen to think of it?” asked Ned, rather humbly. “Weren’t you—scared?”
“Scared? Have a heart! I was frightened to death every minute I sat on the bench. And then, when Mulford yelped at me, I—well, I simply passed away altogether! I’m at least ten years older than I was this morning, Neddie, and I’ll bet I’ve got gray hairs all over my poor old head. You see, Murray as much as said that it was all day with you if you didn’t show up. Kewpie was a bit down-hearted about it, too. I waited around until half-past one or after, thinking every moment that you’d turn up—hoping you would, anyhow; although, to be right honest, Neddie, I had a sort of hunch, after the way you acted and talked, that maybe you’d gone off on purpose. Anyhow, about one o’clock I got to thinking, and the more I thought the more I got into the notion that something had to be done if the honor of the Turners was to be—be upheld. And the only thing I could think of was putting on your togs and bluffing it through. Kewpie owned up that he’d been talking rot last night—that he didn’t really think you’d be called on to-day. And I decided to take a chance. Of course, if I’d known what was going to happen I guess I wouldn’t have had the courage; but I didn’t know. I thought all I’d have to do was sit on the bench and watch.
“So I went over to the gym and got your togs on, and streaked out to the field, I guess I looked as much like you as you do, for none of the fellows knew that I wasn’t you. I was careful not to talk much. Mr. Mulford gave me thunder, and so did Murray, and Joe Stevenson looked pretty black. I just said I was sorry, and there wasn’t much time to explain, anyway, because the game was starting about the time I got there. Once, in the third period, when Slavin was hurt, Mulford looked along the bench and stopped when he got to me, and I thought my time had come. But I guess he wanted to punish me for being late. Anyway, Boessel got the job. When the blow did fall, Neddie, I was sick clean through. My tummy sort of folded up and my spine was about as stiff as—as a drink of water! I wanted to run, or crawl under the bench or something. ‘You’ve pleased yourself so far to-day, Turner,’ said Mulford. ‘Now suppose you do something for the school. Kendrick will call for a kick. You see that it gets over, or I’ll have something to say to you later. Remember this, though: not a word to any one but the referee until after the next play. Now get out there and win this game!’
“Nice thing to say to a chap who’d never kicked a football in his life except around the street! But, gee, Neddie, what could I do? I’d started the thing, and I had to see it through. Of course I thought that maybe I’d ought to fess up that I wasn’t me—or, rather, you—and let some one else kick. But I knew there wasn’t any one else they could depend on, and I decided that if some one had to miss the goal, it might as well be me—or you. Besides, there was the honor of the Turners! So I sneaked out, with my heart in my boots,—your boots, I mean,—and Hop called for a line play, and then another one, and I thought maybe I was going to get off without making a fool of myself. But no such luck. ‘Take all the time you want, Nid,’ said Hop. ‘We’ll hold ’em for you. Drop it over, for the love of mud! We’ve got to have this game!’ ‘Drop it?’ said I. ‘Not on your life, Hop! Make it a place-kick or I’ll never have a chance!’ ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘I mean I can’t drop-kick to-day.’ I guess something in my voice or the way I said it put him on, for he looked at me pretty sharp. Still, maybe he didn’t guess the truth, either, for he let me have my way and let me kick.
“After that”—Laurie half closed his eyes and shook his head slowly—“after that I don’t really know what did happen. I have a sort of a hazy recollection of Hop shouting some signals that didn’t mean a thing in my young life, and kneeling on the ground a couple of yards ahead of me. I didn’t dare look at the goal, though I knew it was ahead of me and about twenty yards away. Then there was a brown streak, and things began to move, and I moved with them. I suppose I swung my foot,-probably my right one, though it may have been my left,—and then I closed my eyes tight and waited for some one to kill me. Next thing I knew, I was being killed—or I thought I thought I was, for a second. It turned out, though, that the fellows weren’t really killing me; they were just beating me black and blue to show they were pleased.
“Of course, it was all the biggest piece of luck that ever happened, Ned. Hop aimed the ball just right, and somehow or other I managed to kick it. Maybe any one would have done just as well, because I guess it was an easy goal. Anyway, the honor of the Turners was safe!”
“You’re a regular brick,” said Ned, a bit huskily. “What—what happened afterward? I didn’t stay.”
“Afterward Hop looked at me kind of queer and said, ‘I guess that’ll do for you, Turner,’ and I beat it away from there as fast as I knew how, and Mulford sent in some other poor unfortunate. There were only half a dozen plays after that, and we kicked whenever we got the ball.”
“Do you think any one but Hop found out?” asked Ned, anxiously.
“Not a one. And I’m not sure, mind you, that Hop did. You see, he didn’t say anything. Only, he did call me ‘Nid’ at first, and then ‘Turner’ the next time. I haven’t seen him since. I guess I never will know, unless I ask him. One thing’s sure, though, Ned, and that is that Hop won’t talk.”