The Crimson Sweater Read online

  CHAPTER VIII

  FORREST LOSES HIS TEMPER AND ROY KEEPS HIS PROMISE

  The coach led Roy and Forrest to the field and gave them his orders.

  "Get in there, you two," he said briskly, "and show what you can do.There's small hope of scoring against Hammond, but if the chance comeswork their ends for all there is in it. What you've got to do--_got_ todo, mind!--is to keep them away from your goal-line. Forrest, if youever moved quick in your life do it now. You've simply got to get thejump on Jones. He's a good man, but recollect that he's been playingpretty nearly an hour and is dead tired. He'll play foul, too, I guess;Burlen's face is pretty well colored up. But don't you dare to slug backat him; understand?"

  Forrest nodded smilingly.

  "And as for you, Porter, just you play the best game you know how. Keepthe fellows' courage up; that's half of it. I'm taking Rogers out--he'snot fit to stand up any longer--and you'll act as captain. I guessyou'll know what to do on defense, and if you get the ball remember theends. Try it yourself on that formation for tandem on guard; and giveWhitcomb a chance, for I think you can get through between tackle andend. Don't be afraid to take risks; if you get the ball risk anything!Go ahead now!"

  Roy and Porter trotted toward the group of players. As they approachedBurlen and Rogers were coming unwillingly off, the former looking prettywell punished and the latter limping badly. Jack Rogers turned from hiscourse to speak to them.

  "Good boy, Forrest!" he panted. "We've got to stop them and you can doit. Porter, remember your promise!"

  Roy nodded and sprinted into the group.

  "All right now!" he cried cheerfully. "Get into it everybody and stopthis. You fellows in the line have got to play lower. Get down there,Walker, you're up in the clouds. Charge into 'em now! Stop it righthere! You can do it. Look at 'em! They're beaten right now!"

  "Only we don't know it," growled a big guard, wiping the perspirationfrom his face onto the sleeve of his red jersey. Roy grinned across athim.

  "You will know it pretty soon, my friend," he answered. "All right now,fellows! Every man into it!"

  Then he retreated up the field and watched.

  Hammond had replaced her left-tackle and left half with fresh men, and,when the whistle blew, went at the work again as though she meantbusiness. A straight plunge by the new left half gained a yard throughGallup. Then the tandem formed again and again the hammering began.Presently Roy saw that Forrest had been picked out for attention and wasgetting a lot of it. Two gains through him in quick succession broughtthe ball back to the thirty yards. Roy raced up to the line, pulledForrest about by the shoulder and shook a fist in the face of thatamazed young giant.

  "Forrest, if you let 'em through here again I'll lick you till you can'tstand up!" shouted Roy, his blue eyes blazing. "You coward! Get in thereand do something! Put that man out. Get the jump on 'em! He's half deadnow!"

  Forrest forgot to smile.

  "All right," he growled.

  After the next attack at center Roy again ran up. Forrest turned with ableeding nose and a new light in his eyes.

  "You don't need to scold," he said quietly. "He just handed me this."

  "What are you going to do?" asked Roy scathingly.

  "Do?" grunted Forrest, mad clear through. "I'm going to put him out ofcommission."

  "No slugging, remember!"

  "I won't slug; I'll just play ball!"

  And he did. There were no more games through center while play lasted.Time and again Jones, the big Hammond center, was literally lifted offhis feet by Forrest's savage onslaught; twice the pass was practicallyspoiled. Forrest was angry, and being angry forgot both his good-natureand his slowness. Hammond soon transferred her attention to the wingsagain and found a fairly vulnerable spot where Jack Rogers had givenplace to a substitute. But there was no chance for her to score and sheknew it. Now she was only killing time, determined to keep the ball inher possession and guard her goal until the whistle blew. And she wouldhave done it, too, had not Forrest lost his temper. That blow on thenose hurt and he set out to make life as unpleasant as possible for hisadversary. He didn't slug once, but he pushed and hauled and upset Jonesuntil that gentleman was thoroughly exasperated. Over and over heappealed to the officials to watch Forrest.

  "He's interfering with the ball," he declared.

  But the officials couldn't see it that way. And finally, when the ballhad been worked back to the center of the field and the word had gonearound that there was only five minutes of time left, Forrest spoiled asnap-back, the ball trickled from Pool's hands and Forrest plungedthrough and fell upon it.

  Roy raced in, crying signals as he came. Time was called while theHammond center and the Hammond captain made vain appeals to have theball returned to them, claiming interference with the snapper-back. But,as before, they were denied and the two teams lined up again, this timewith the ball in Forrest's hands.

  "_7-6-43-89!_" called Roy, and Whitcomb, with the pigskin snuggled inhis elbow, was racing around left end. All of eight yards gained, andthe crowd on the side-line went wild with delight! Flags waved and hornsshrieked, and over it all, or so Roy thought, could be heard the shrillvoice of Harry!

  It was a time for risks, the coach had said. And Roy took them. Over andover he attempted hazardous plays that ought not to have succeeded, butthat did, partly, perhaps, because of their very improbability! Twicemore Whitcomb was sent outside of left end; once Pryor got through forfour yards between right tackle and guard; and once Kirby, full-back,hurdled Jones for a good gain. It made joy in the Ferry Hill camp andthe wavers of the brown and white banners had visions of a score. Butthey were not considering the fact that the timer's watch proclaimed buttwo minutes left and that that official was walking out toward the teamsproclaiming the fact.

  Two minutes was not time enough for Ferry Hill to rush the ball from theforty yards down to the goal line for a score, even when the backs weregetting two, three and even four yards at a plunge. But even those whoup until the last moment had hoped that the Brown by merit or flukewould win out could not but feel almost satisfied at the ending of thegame. For now Ferry Hill was outplaying Hammond man for man, in spite ofthe fact that what superiority there was in age and weight was with therival team. Both elevens were tired, but Ferry Hill was the least so,and to her admirers it seemed that her warriors fought harder, moredeterminedly every moment. Chub, watching anxiously between vocalefforts, came to this conclusion and turned to Sidney Welch, who, havingfailed to make the team, was patriotically doing his best to cheer it onto victory.

  "Sid," said Chub, "if we had another quarter of an hour to play we'dlick 'em sure as fishing! Why, we're playing better every minute! Andlook at Roy Porter! The chump is just getting warmed up! Did you eversee a team run any finer than that, eh? And look at the way he getsaround himself, will you? Why, he's all over the shop and intoeverything! He reminds me of Snip out in the barn. I saw Snip kill arat, bite the cow's leg, chase a fly and scratch his ear all inside often seconds one day. And Roy's just like him. And, just between you andme, Sid, the fellows are working better for him than they did for Bacon,but maybe it's because they're finding their pace. If only Whitcombcould get away around the end! The whistle will blow, I'll bet a cookey,just when we're on the edge of a score! Why doesn't Roy try aquarter-back run, I wonder? Look at Jack Rogers; he's over there on theground, see? I'll bet he doesn't know whether he's on his head or hisfeet, and I don't believe he could tell you his name this minute if youasked him. Fact is, my boy, I feel rather better myself for talkingevery minute; it sort of keeps my heart out of my mouth. And as foryou, Sid, that button will be off in just about two more turns. Here,let's give 'em a cheer."

  Chub leaped to his feet and in a moment the slogan was thundering acrossthe field to where eleven brown-clad figures were forming once moreagainst the foe. And it did them good, that cheer; it proclaimedconfidence and affection, and it heartened them so that when the dust ofbattle had blown aside the man with the ball lay acros
s the thirty-yardline!

  It was maddening. Only thirty yards to go, only six trampled white linesto cross, and not time enough to do it, unless--Roy called for time totie a lace and while he bent over his shoe he thought hard. Ever sincehe had taken charge of the team he had been studying the disposition ofthe enemy's force. He had one more trump to play, a quarter-back run. Hehad kept it for the last because he did not want to appear to be seekingpersonal glory. For that reason he had given every one of the backs, aswell as the two tackles, a chance. But while they had made good gainsthey had failed to get clear for a run. And now he was surely entitledto a try himself. Not that he was very hopeful of succeeding where theothers had failed, for Pool, the rival quarter, was a veritable wonderand time and again had called the play in time to allow the back-fieldto spoil the run. But time was almost up--there could scarcely be morethan a minute and a half remaining--and it was now or never.

  The ball was on Hammond's twenty-eight yards and well over to the leftof the gridiron. Pool had halved the distance to his goal and wasstanding there on his toes, somewhat over toward the right, watchinglike a lynx. The whistle blew and Roy called his signals. Right tacklefell back of the line and left half and full formed behind him intandem. The attack was straight at center, and with Forrest heaving andshoving and half and full pushing from behind tackle went through fortwo yards. Again the same formation and the same point of attack. Butthis time Hammond's backs were there and the gain was less than a yard.It was third down and a trifle over two to go. Once more the signals andthe tandem. But as the backs, led by right tackle, plunged forward, Roy,with the ball hidden at his side, dodged behind them and sped along theline toward the right. For a moment the ruse went undiscovered, butbefore he had reached his opening between tackle and end Pool had seenhim and had started to head him off. Then, as luck would have it, Roy'sown right end got in his way and Roy was forced to run behind him. Thatsettled the fate of the attempt at a touchdown. Pool was close up to himnow. Roy ran across the field in an attempt to shake him off but to nopurpose. He had not gained a foot, and he knew it. There was no use inheading toward the side of the field any longer; he must try to capturethe necessary two yards. So, swinging quickly, he headed in, got one ofthe yards, made a brave attempt to dodge the wily Pool and came toearth.

  "Hammond's ball; first down!" called the referee.

  Roy trotted back up the field, trying his best not to show hisdisappointment. Hammond was not going to take any risks there in frontof her goal and so her quarter fell back for a punt. Pryor ran back tocover the left of the field. Roy heard the signals called and then sawthe Ferry Hill forwards plunge through in an endeavor to block the kick.Then the ball was arching up against the darkening sky. For a moment itwas impossible to judge of the direction. Then Roy was running to theright and back up the field. It was a splendid punt and must havecovered all of fifty yards, for when it settled into Roy's arms he wasnear his own thirty-five-yard line.

  For once the tuckered Hammond ends were slow in getting down and for amoment Roy had an open field. With Pryor leading he dashed straight upthe middle of the gridiron. At least he would put the ball back inHammond territory. Ten yards, and then Pryor met the first of the enemy.Roy swerved and dodged the second. Then the foe was thick in front ofhim. The Ferry Hill players turned and raced beside him, forming hastyinterference, and for a while he sped on unmolested to the wild shrieksof the watchers. Then the Hammond left half broke through and dove athim. Somehow, in what way he could never have told, he escaped thattackle, but it had forced him toward the side of the field. Thefifty-five-yard line was behind him now. Back of him pounded the feet offriend and foe alike; ahead of him were the Hammond right half andquarter, the former almost at hand. Roy edged a bit into the field, forthe side-line was coming dangerously near. Then he feinted, felt thehalf-back's clutch on his knee, wrenched himself loose and wentstaggering, spinning on. He had recovered in another five yards and wasrunning swiftly again. He had little fear of being caught from behind,for he believed himself a match for any runner on the Hammond eleven,but in front of him was Pool, coming up warily with eager outstretchedhands, striving to drive him out of bounds. Roy cast an anxious glancetoward the goal-line and his heart leaped. Already he was passing thethirty or twenty-five-yard line and the final white streak lookedencouragingly near. Then he shifted the ball to his right arm and turnedacutely toward the middle of the field. Pool was directly in his pathnow as Roy, fighting for breath, sped on straight for the goal. For onebrief instant of time the quarter's eyes burned into his. Then thedecisive moment had come, and Roy, taking a deep breath, gatheredhimself. Forward shot the enemy in a splendid diving tackle, clutchingfingers outspread. But the fingers grasped empty air, for as he left theground, Roy, the ball clutched tightly against his breast, leaped upwardand forward, clearing him by a foot!

  "Roy ... leaped upward and forward, clearing him by afoot."]

  From there to the goal-line was only a romp, although he had to fighthard for breath and although the defeated right half-back was closebehind him all the way. Straight between the posts he staggered,placed the ball on the turf and rolled over on his back beside it.Somewhere they were cheering madly and nearer at hand people wereshouting. Then, recovering from his momentary giddiness, Roy opened hiseyes, shut them again because someone was slapping a great cold, wetsponge over his face and then sat up. Someone gave him a hand and he goton to his feet, swayed a little dizzily and then found himself in thegrip of what at first seemed a bear and afterwards turned out to be JackRogers.

  "You remembered your promise, Porter," Jack was saying softly, "and I'llnot forget mine. You're a trump!"

  Pryor failed miserably at the try for goal, but who cared? Surely notJack Rogers, leading the cheer for his defeated rivals; nor Roy, dodginghis fellows as he tried to steal away to the gymnasium; nor Harry,waving her brown and white flag and shrieking lustily; least of all thethrong of fellows who, with banners flying and tin horns sounding,danced madly around the field in the November twilight.