And Ballard? Ah, that was the question uppermost in Johnny’s mind at this moment. As he crouched there waiting for the kick off of that first of the season’s games, he asked himself over and over, “What about Ballard?”
When he told the coach that he had found a star half-back for him, a sure winner who in all his life had played but three games of football and had been given no opportunity to shine in these, the coach had indulged in that quaint but classic expression: “Oh yeah?”
But Johnny had remained undismayed. “You wait and see!” had been his only reply. He had not told of the late night tryst with the champion butter of all rams, old Nicodemus. It seemed a little strange to him as he thought of it now. “Wait and see,” he had repeated. That was all. Now they were waiting. They were to see. The zero hour was approaching. Cedarville, the visiting team, would kick off to Hillcrest. An important game? All games of a series are important. Seven games were to be played for the championship of the Little Seven League.
No one wanted Hillcrest to win as Johnny did. He wanted his find, Ballard Ball, to turn out to be a star of the first magnitude. He wanted the Hillcrest boys to win because he knew and loved them. More than that, Hillcrest had been his father’s school. Johnny’s father had died while he was still young, not, however, until he had fired Johnny’s boyish mind with tales of football battles of good, old, half forgotten days.
“They used to win,” Johnny had said to Ballard that very morning. “Win and win and win! Last year Hillcrest lost and lost and lost. Hillcrest has not carried off the pennant for six years.”
To this Ballard had made no reply. Johnny thought he saw the lines tighten about his thin, serious face. He was sure he caught a gleam from those dark, deep-set eyes. That was all. It was enough. “He’ll do,” had been his mental comment. Now the eternal question came back to him, “Will he do?”
“Here they come!” a high-pitched voice cried. The speaker was close beside Johnny. “Here they come! The Crimson Tide!”
It was Jensie Crider who, wakening Johnny from his reverie, brought him to his feet with a snap. Yes, Jensie, the same Jensie, who had screamed three times then leaped, full dressed, into that mountain pool was here. And, miracle of miracles, wild and free as she had been down in the hills, today she was garbed in a sober costume and going to college, Johnny’s college, old Hillcrest. Something to marvel at here.
No time for that now though, for indeed, here they came, the Hillcrest team, the Crimson Flood as Jensie had named them.
The ball had been kicked off. A long, high, rocketing kick, it had been gathered in by Punch Dickman, the Hillcrest full-back, and now here they came.