DANFORTH PLAYS THE GAME (continued 2)

“Yes, sir! I’m all right. Just give me a chance, Mr. Worden.”

The coach nodded. “All right. Warm up a bit. I guess Dyker’s about all in.”

Mr. Worden turned again to the game, and Harry, shedding his sweater even more quickly than he had wormed into it at the gymnasium five minutes before, began to limber up.

Barnstead had thrust her way onward to the Blue’s eight yards in three plays and a touchdown was imminent. The St. Matthew’s captain entreated his men to hold, to throw them back. But the Blue was weary and sore and when, on the next play, Carstairs hit the center of the line it bent inward like cardboard, and he went sprawling through it and over the last line for a touchdown. How Barnstead shouted! The players turned and went leaping back up the field, patting and thumping each other, turning handsprings in their delight. But two minutes later, when the blue-stockinged players had ranged themselves along their goal line and Norman’s toe had sent the ball away from under Peel’s finger, the joy sensibly diminished, for the pigskin floated yards from its course and passed to the left of the further upright. St. Matthew’s was still a point to the good and the blue flags across the field waved valiantly.

The quarter ended after the kick-off had been received and Norman had bounded back up the field some twenty yards. Behind the further stand the sun had dipped long since, and a mellow glow held the world. The ball was taken to its new location at the other end of the field, the teams, blanketed, panting, slowly following. Captain Corson was looking inquiringly, anxiously toward the side line. Then his unspoken question was answered. Three figures scuttled on to the gridiron; Shallcross was coming back at left end, Jones was succeeding Bob Peel at quarter and Danforth was relieving Dyker. Harry’s appearance caused only mild surprise. Corson and his players had other things to interest them than the vagaries of the faculty. All Corson said was:

“Good work, Danforth! Who’s out? Dyker? All right. Show us how you do it, kid! Any instructions?”

“Jones has them,” replied Harry, running on to report to the officials. The whistle summoned the teams again. Jones, his face alight with the inspiration given him by the coach the moment before, sang out his signals cheerily.

“Now, then, Barnstead! Every fellow into it hard! We’ve got the game for the asking! Second formation! Get up there, Jimmy!”

“Ready, St. Matthew’s? Ready, Barnstead?”

“All right, sir!” The whistle shrilled. “Second formation! 21—54—76—98! 21—54——”

Carstairs had the ball and was sliding off right tackle.

“Second down! Six to go!” called the referee.

Past the center of the field Barnstead worked her way, Carstairs, Norman and Harry hitting the line or slanting off the tackles for short and certain gains, and Jones twice making his way on wide end runs. It seemed that St. Matthew’s was always on the point of going to pieces, and yet time and again she responded to the hoarse commands and implorations of her quarter or captain and held her adversary to short gains. But that march down the field took time. St. Matthew’s used up the moments as best she could with injuries and substitutions. She had almost a new team in the field when the last period was half gone, but the new men, if fresher, were less skillful.

On the forty yards Norman fumbled on the third down and Carstairs was forced to punt. St. Matthew’s made a fair catch, taking no risks now, tried an end run and failed, gained a few yards on a forward pass and then kicked to the middle of the field. There Harry, playing back, caught the punt and wormed his way along past three white marks before he was thrown. Then the advance began again. Only seven minutes remained now and the ball was a long ways from the Blue’s goal. On the forty yards an off-side penalty set Barnstead back again, and a groan went up from the stand. Then a wide end run from a fake forward pass regained the penalty distance and four yards besides. Norman was hurt and went off, and Belding took his place. A new center went in at the same time, Surber, who had played a wonderful game, being relieved by White.

Belding’s first try at the line resulted in a fumble, and although Jones fell on the ball Barnstead had lost seven yards. Carstairs, who was weakening noticeably now, failed at a skin-tackle play, and it was fourth down with six to go. Corson looked discouraged, and went back to confer with Jones, while the panting St. Matthew’s players gibed. Whatever it was that Corson suggested Jones shook his head at. It was the quarter himself who made the required distance, running twenty yards across the field to do it and only finding his opening at the last moment, when Harry, forming his interference, bowled over an opposing end.

Then the line-smashing began again. Past the thirty yards went the Brown, past the twenty-five, past the twenty. There were three minutes left. Corson wanted to try a field goal, but Jones again resisted. Harry got through between left guard and tackle and made three yards before he was smothered. Belding redeemed himself by making four outside of right tackle. Carstairs gained a scant yard at center. With two to go on the fourth down, the ball close to the ten-yard line, Jones himself cut through for the distance. They had to use the tape again, but the verdict went to the Brown. Two minutes, said the timekeeper. St. Matthew’s called for time. A guard had his hand rebandaged and a new fullback, primed with advice from the St. Matthew’s coach, loped on. Then the teams lined up again for the final effort.

Carstairs was called on to get past left tackle, but he was caught back of the line for a yard’s loss. Then Jones noticed something. With the advent of the new fullback the Blue was drawing her line closer and the fullback and the two halves were playing up behind it. Jones did some quick thinking then. The ball was almost on the ten-yard line, it was second down and there was eleven to gain. And less than a minute and a half of playing time remained. He might hammer his way through as before for a touchdown, he might try a field goal, he might attempt a forward pass. Any of these would be looked for by the enemy. Of the three the forward pass promised to succeed best since the Blue was playing her backfield up close to the line. But there was one play that had not been used during the game. It had been devised for use around the middle of the field, but Jones, scanning its possibilities, couldn’t see why it should not do as well here under the shadow of the goal. At least it had the merit of unexpectedness, and the enemy’s present formation on defense promised success. At all events, he decided, he would try the line once more. So, calling for Third Formation, which put both tackles at the left of the line and placed the left halfback at the end of the rush line on the right, the end falling in and back, he sent Carstairs plunging at right tackle. The play netted three yards. The timekeeper was slowly walking nearer, watch in hand and eyes on the dial. Then:

“Same formation!” called Jones. “37—39—164—28!” A puzzled glance from Captain Corson rewarded him, and Belding cried “Signals!” in a panicky voice. Jones whispered to him, shot a reassuring look at Corson and repeated:

“37—39—164—28! 37—39—164——”

Carstairs dropped back a good twelve yards behind center, Jones stepped back mid-way between him and the line and the ball shot to Carstairs. As it settled into his hands he poised it as though to throw it forward and to the left. The St. Matthew’s line had concentrated on its right, and now it struggled to break through, while the backfield started around to intercept the pass. The Blue’s left end plunged straight across, dodging the opposing end, and made for the fullback. Just as he leaped forward, however, Carstairs sidestepped, passed the ball at a quick toss to Jones, who had run back to take it, and threw himself in front of the Blue’s end. They went down together. Jones, the ball tucked under his arm, wheeled across the field for a dozen yards, and then, pausing suddenly, raised the ball and sent it hurtling further out to where, some fifteen feet from the side line, Harry awaited it. Too late the St. Matthew’s players saw the trick. Yards separated their nearest player from Harry as the latter, catching the well-aimed pass coolly, romped unmolested over the line in three strides and, dodging a blue-legged enemy, placed it fairly between the posts!

“Harry ... catching the well-aimed pass coolly, romped unmolested over the line.”

Two minutes later, after Corson had attempted the goal and failed and after the scoreboard had changed its figures to 15 to 10, and after the final whistle had shrilled, a delirious mob took possession of Barnstead Field. Brown flags snapped and waved, caps flew into air and rained earthward and hundreds of hoarse throats cheered and shouted. And Harry, swaying rather dizzily about on the shoulders of two enthusiastic admirers, following the confused line that wound its way around the gridiron, caught sight of a grinning face in the throng beside him and waved a hand.

Perry Vose’s grin broadened.

“Who gave you the black eye, kid?” he called.

“Oh, a friend of mine,” laughed Harry. “Who spoiled your nose for you?”

“A friend of mine!” chuckled Perry. Then, thrusting his way forward, “Here,” he said to one of Harry’s bearers, “let me get there. You’re too small for this job. Why, you’ve got the biggest fellow in school there! Didn’t you know that? Vamoose, I tell you!”

And the youth, looking doubtfully into Perry’s grinning countenance, with its battered nose and swollen lip, finally yielded his place. It didn’t do to make Perry Vose angry!