Left Half Harmon

The day after McNatt’s first appearance with the team was the day of the Hillsport game. Hillsport School was a much smaller institution than Alton Academy, but it made up for lack of numbers by self-esteem and aggressiveness. It had held a place on Alton’s football schedule for four years, during which time it had met with one defeat, had played one tie and had won one victory.

The victory had come to it last year, on Alton Field, and in the ecstasy of triumph the Hillsport supporters had tarried in town long enough to record that triumph for posterity. Loyal Altonians on their way to church Sunday morning found to their horror and indignant surprise that the legend: “H. S. 14, A. A. 6,” appeared in large green characters on a dozen hitherto blank walls and boardings! The worst of it was that the insulting inscriptions were there to stay. Perhaps the elements would, in the course of years, subdue, perhaps obliterate, those vivid brush streaks, but today they looked as glaring as they had on that first calm Sabbath morning. Alton had viewed and exclaimed and muttered vengefully for some days, but as time passed familiarity bred indifference, and now it was only when a visiting relative innocently asked the meaning of the cryptic signs that indignation and a thirst for revenge welled again in the Alton breast.

Last year’s defeat and those insulting green painted symbols of disgrace combined to form a mad desire for revenge this fall in the heart of every Alton fellow. There were some whose outraged sensibilities even induced the opinion that a victory over Hillsport was more to be desired than a triumph over that arch-enemy, Kenly Hall. This, however, was an extreme view held by only a few, although among the few were several representative minds: as, for instance, Mr. Robert Wallace Newhall and Mr. Calvin Grainger. Mr. Newhall stated distinctly and with much feeling, in the presence of Mr. Grainger, Mr. Myers, Mr. Proctor and Mr. Harmon, that if “we don’t lick the tar out of those fresh mutts tomorrow I won’t come back here!” Mr. Grainger, who had earnestly striven the preceding spring to wreak revenge on Hillsport on the baseball diamond, and had failed, applauded the sentiment, but others, frivolous-minded persons like Martin Proctor and Joe Myers, expressed only derision.

“What would you do, Bob?” asked Martin. “Stay over in Hillsport and blow up the school buildings?”

“He knows blamed well,” laughed Joe, “that he’s safe. With old Felix McNutt tearing holes in the line, Hillsport’s got about the same chance to escape a walloping as Bob has to get to heaven!”

“I hope you’re right,” said Cal Grainger. “I’d feel disgraced if those fresh guys licked us again.”

“They won’t,” Joe assured him. “Not this year. Boy, we’ve got a team now! With McNutt in there, that’s a mighty pretty backfield, and Kenly’s going to know it three weeks from tomorrow!”

“Three weeks!” exclaimed Willard. “Not really?”

“Why not?”

“But – but that’s so soon! Gee, I thought the Kenly game was lots further off!”

“It isn’t, though,” answered Joe, shaking his head. “And those three weeks will be gone before you know it, too. It’s funny about that. One day you’re in the middle of the season, and then, seems like it was the next day, you wake up and the Big Game’s right on top of you! It – it sort of scares you, too!”

“Say, Joe, what’s the real dope on Kenly this year, anyway?” asked Bob thoughtfully.

Joe shrugged. “You know as much as I do. She’s had about an average season, I guess. She’s played five games, one more than we have, and has lost two, won two and tied the other. You can’t tell much about Kenly until along toward the end of the season, any more than you can about us. Last year she didn’t look very good until the Lorimer game. Then she walked all over Lorimer to the tune of twenty-something to nothing. That was the week before we played her, you know, and it made us sit up and take notice. But taking notice didn’t do us much good, for she walloped us when our turn came.”

“The papers speak pretty well of her backs,” observed Cal. “She has one fellow, I forget his name – ”

“Puckhaber?” asked Joe.

“That’s it, Puckhaber! Some name, I’ll say! He’s good, isn’t he?”

“He’s all right, but he wasn’t anything remarkable last fall. We stopped him as well as we stopped any of her backs. She’s got a good man in Timmons, though, her left end. He’ll bear watching, fellows. Well, it’s nine-thirty, Bob. Time to turn in. This may be your last night in the old school, son: better make the most of it!”

CHAPTER XVIII

REVENGE!

Alton played the enemy at Hillsport this year, a small town some twelve miles to the south. The distance, however, didn’t measure up to the time it took for the journey, for team and supporters had to take the train to Darlington, nine miles away, and then cross to Hillsport by trolley, consuming all of an hour and ten minutes on the way. Saturday was what Martin called a “mushy” day. The sun came and went from beyond a haze of gray clouds and a light, damp breeze blew inland from the sea. It was too warm for an ideal football day, but those who were to look on found no fault with it. Most of the School accompanied the players and, since Manager Ross when providing for the team’s transportation had failed to make any arrangement for the followers, a lamentable lack of conveyances developed at Darlington. There was a special car waiting for the players, but the single regular car which was due to make the trip to Hillsport ten minutes later could not possibly be made to hold more than eighty of the nearly three hundred fellows who fought for places. A hurry call was telephoned to Hillsport for extra cars, but before they came several scores of good-natured but impatient youths had set forth on foot to cover the last two-and-a-half-mile leg of the journey. Fortunately for these, the game was not started until nearly fifteen minutes after the advertised time and the last flushed and perspiring Altonian had dragged himself to a seat before the Green kicked off to the Gray-and-Gold.

There is no good reason for devoting much space to the contest, for, although the final score was not as one-sided as early evidences promised, it was plainly to be seen from the first moment that the visiting horde was certain of victory. Save that McLeod was in Macon’s place at right end for Alton, the line-up was quite as expected. McNatt was at full-back and Mawson at left half. Gil Tarver held the helm. There were no substitutes introduced by Coach Cade until the third inning was well along. Then Jack Macon, who had been suffering from a mild attack of tonsillitis, went back to his position, and Willard and Moncks were sent in to replace Mawson and Cochran. Still later, Hutchins ousted Gil Tarver and Cravath replaced Nichols at center. Both teams found the weather uncomfortable and toward the last the play slowed up until it fairly dragged.

There were no spectacular incidents. Alton used few plays and made them go. There was never at any time necessity for uncovering anything new. Hillsport, encouraged by much excellent support from the east side of the field, started off very confidently to make gains through the opposing line. After several failures she shifted her attention to the ends, and still later attempted a kicking advance. To the latter, to the surprise and delight of the visiting spectators, McNatt replied and replied eloquently. Substitutions had deprived the Alton team of her usual punters and the task of returning Hillsport’s kicks devolved on the full-back, and the full-back accepted the task untroubledly and, while he was too much out of practice to quite equal the best efforts of the rival punter, he performed some very satisfactory feats in aerial warfare. McNatt was held back today, being afforded few chances to shine lest his fame reach Kenly too early in the season. Whether there were any Kenly scouts on hand to take notes was not known, but Coach Cade was determined that if there were they should have but little to report. McNatt on defense, though, was not to be repressed, and many an ambitious Hillsport back was nipped in the bud, so to speak. On the attack McNatt gained whenever he was called on, but the work was very evenly distributed among the backs. Willard played a strong, hard game which, if no better than Mawson had put up, was equally as good. Alton made her first score in the first period, smashing Cochran over for a touchdown at the end of eight minutes of playing. Cochran crowned his touchdown with a goal. In the second period Alton worked to Hillsport’s eighteen yards and lost the ball on a fumble by Tarver, and was on her way to a second touchdown when the whistle blew, leaving her in possession of the ball on the enemy’s twenty-three yards. In the third period, after Hillsport had rallied and taken the pigskin to near Alton’s thirty, the Gray-and-Gold took the ball on downs and began a fourth journey up the field that finally resulted in the second score, McNatt going off left tackle for four yards and the touchdown. Tarver kicked a neat goal. That ended the scoring, and, while Hillsport opened up several long passes after the next kick-off and occasioned a moment of uneasiness once, neither side threatened the opponent’s goal, and the play became utterly listless as the end approached.

Today’s Hillsport eleven was not by any means the team that had worsted Alton last fall, and Alton’s victory was nothing to be very proud of. It was, consequently, satisfaction from revenge achieved rather than pride of performance that caused the visiting crowd to cheer and sing with such unction when the game was over. Alton “rubbed it in” a little, I fear, and, since the Hillsport fellows didn’t take defeat any too gracefully, it looked at one time as if there would be trouble before the marching victors left the field. However, a clash was averted, and Alton, waving gray-and-gold banners and still cheering, took herself across the grounds to the car line. Better accommodations were afforded for the return trip to Darlington and no one had to walk.

The Alton team had dressed in the field-house, a small wooden structure built under one of the grandstands, and by the time they were once more in street clothes the spectators had long since vanished. Willard and Martin had shared the same suitcase and when, having reached the waiting trolley car, some three blocks distant from the field, it was discovered the suitcase was missing each laid the blame on the other.

“I thought you had it,” said Martin.

“I thought you had it,” replied Willard. “You were at it last.”

“I was? I’ll bet you! I’ll match you to see which of us goes back for it.”

“I don’t mind going,” said Willard, “but I’ll miss the car, I guess.”

“We’ll wait for you,” said Bob, who, with Cal Grainger, had been enjoying the joke. “There’ll be another car pretty quick. Get a move on, Brand!”

Willard found the field-house locked when he reached it again, and no one was in sight. There was just one thing to be done, and he did it. Finding a flat piece of iron amongst the litter behind the little building, he forced a window and crawled through. Rather to his surprise, the suitcase was just where they had left it, and, leaving as he had entered, he closed the window again and hurried back across the school grounds. It was well after five o’clock and lights were showing in some of the dormitory windows. At the main entrance a group of three awaited him; Martin, Bob and Cal. The special car had gone, but Bob assured him that there would be another one along pretty soon, and so, their bags at their feet, they perched themselves on the coping of the wall and waited. At intervals Hillsport youths passed through the gateway, eyeing them with a disfavor that brought chuckles from Bob.

“Gee, they’re a sore bunch,” he said. “We could get up a scrap without half trying.”

“Don’t see what they’ve got to be sore about,” observed Cal Grainger belligerently. “We haven’t daubed green paint all over their town!”

Willard held his watch to the light and inquired uneasily: “What time does that train go, fellows?”

“Quarter to six,” answered Martin. “What time is it?”

“Nearly half-past five,” replied Willard.

Bob whistled. “We’ll never make it,” he laughed. “When’s the next one? Anyone know?”

No one did. Cal remarked that even if the car came right then it wouldn’t get them to Darlington in time for the train that the others were taking.

“What do we care?” asked Bob. “We don’t have to get back until ten if we don’t want to. Look here, let’s get some supper here and go home afterwards!”

“Might as well,” agreed Martin. “We couldn’t possibly get to school before seven. Got any money? I’m broke.”

“A couple of dollars,” answered Bob. “How about you, Cal?”

Cal confessed to being the Croesus of the party, having the magnificent sum of four dollars and some cents on his person, and, unlike some wealthy persons, he was quite willing to share his riches. So, all being agreed, they set forth for the center of town, following the car-track for guidance. The long-awaited car overtook them presently, but, although Bob was for taking it because of his suitcase, he was overruled, Cal relieving him of his burden. Half a mile from the school a quite pretentious restaurant rewarded their search and they trooped in and took possession of a table for four. Having ordered rather an elaborate repast, it was decided that Cal should go out and gather information regarding the train service, and Cal, hastily swallowing the rest of the slice of bread that he was engaged on, went. He returned five minutes later grinning broadly.

“What’s the trouble?” asked Bob. “Spill it, son. I know that grin of yours!”

“There was a train two minutes ago,” chuckled Cal, “and the next one doesn’t go until eight-thirty-three!”

“What do we care?” asked Bob. “That’ll get us home long before ten.”

“Sure, but what’ll we do for two hours in this benighted burg?” asked Martin.

“Maybe there’s a movie house. There’s bound to be,” said Bob.

“I didn’t see any,” Cal replied. “I guess they don’t allow ’em here.”

“We’ll ask someone.” Bob hailed a waiter.

“Movies? No, sir, not in Hillsport. There’s two good ones over to Warner, though,” replied the waiter.

“How far’s Warner?”

“Three miles by the trolley. It takes about twenty minutes.”

“Great green grasshoppers!” exclaimed Cal. “What a place to live in! What do you do at night here?”

“Well, there’s a pool-room on the street above and a bowling-alley across the square,” chuckled the waiter. “Mostly, though, we go to bed!”

“I don’t blame you,” muttered Martin. “Only thing to do is eat as much as we can and take our time about it. How long before those steaks’ll be here?”

“Guess they’re ready now, sir. I’ll go see.”

When the waiter had departed Cal took another piece of bread, levied on Willard’s butter and spoke thickly. “Listen, fellows,” he said. “Tell you what we can do. We can get back at Hillsport.”

“Get back at it!” jeered Martin. “Get out of it’s what we want!”

“I mean we can do a little celebrating,” continued Cal, lowering his voice, although the tables were empty on each side of them. “Get me?”

“Not clearly,” answered Bob. “Elucidate, please. Also, kindly keep away from my butter, you big hog!” Bob removed his modest pat to a safer place, and Cal, foiled, ate the remainder of the slice unbuttered.

“Have you forgotten what they did to us last year?” he demanded indignantly.

“Hardly! They licked us. And then they painted the score all over – I get you! By jiminy, that’s a corking scheme, Cal! We’ll do it! We’ll make this old burg as pretty as a picture! We’ll – ”

“We’ll get in a peck of trouble,” interrupted Martin. “Not for me, thanks!”

“Oh, don’t be a piker,” begged Cal. “They did it to us and didn’t get into any trouble. What’s sauce for the sauce – I mean – ”

“Is sauce for the saucer,” aided Bob. “Righto! We get your meaning, son. I see no reason why we shouldn’t be allowed some slight – ah – evidence of our joy. Hillsport got away with it, so why shouldn’t we?”

The arrival of supper interrupted further discussion of the matter, and it was not until the first intense pangs of hunger had been appeased that Martin returned to the subject. “We’d have to have paint and brushes,” he said discouragingly, “and we couldn’t get them at this time of night.”

“We’d only need one bucket of paint and one brush,” replied Bob. “And how do you know we can’t get them? This is Saturday night, and there’s sure to be some place open.”

“Well, we couldn’t get gray and gold in one bucket, you lobster,” returned Martin impolitely.

“We don’t need gray and gold, you shrimp. They wouldn’t show up well enough. We want a nice quart can of black. That’s the ticket! Nice, black black! Who’s going to have pie?”

It appeared that as many as four of their number were going to indulge in that delicacy, and that Martin, having consumed one large glass of milk, was in the market for a second. He had the forethought, though, to count his money before giving his order, and, finding he was safe, added: “How much does paint cost? I’ve only got carfare left.”

“Cal’s got a dollar yet, haven’t you?” answered Bob. “Paint isn’t expensive. Maybe seventy-five cents for a quart. A brush oughtn’t to be more than a quarter, had it?”

“You can buy a toothbrush for a quarter,” said Cal, “but I guess a paint brush costs a heap more. I’ve got a dollar and sixty cents left, though, and I’ll gladly devote it to the cause. Finish your eats, fellows, and let’s get started.”

Willard followed doubtfully when the repast was over. “I’ll go along,” he said, “but I’d rather not have anything to do with the game. It doesn’t look healthy to me.”

Martin laughed. “It’s all right if we don’t get nabbed, Brand. I’d like mighty well to see the expressions on the faces of some of these chaps over here tomorrow!”

CHAPTER XIX

BLACK PAINT

As Bob had pointed out, it was Saturday night, and even in Hillsport most of the merchants kept their shops open. As it was considered unwise to ask the location of a hardware store, the quartette was some time finding one. But success rewarded their efforts presently and, lest numbers create suspicion, Bob was delegated to do the purchasing alone. Cal emptied his pocket of all it contained except sufficient to pay his fare back to Alton and Bob pulled his cap down and entered the store. In a very few minutes he emerged, a paper-covered package under one arm, and strolled casually along the street to a dimly lighted corner where the others awaited him.

“Get it?” whispered Martin.

“Sure! Also and likewise a brush.” Bob pulled the latter article from a trousers pocket and waved it triumphantly. “Here’s the change,” he added.

Cal held the few coins that dropped into his palm to the uncertain light of a distant street lamp. “Huh, there isn’t much of it,” he said.

“Paint’s high, owing to – to – I forget what,” answered Bob cheerfully. “But the brush was only thirty cents. That was cheap, eh?”

“It must be a wonder!” commented Cal. “Bet you the bristles all come out before we get through with it.”

“We ought to soak it in water first,” said Bob, “but I guess there isn’t time.”

“You’re a swell little guesser,” answered Martin. “Which way do we go?”

“Back the way we came,” said Cal. “The nearer the school, the better, I say.”

“That’s right. I wonder should we stir this stuff up.” Bob tore off the disguising paper and revealed a quart can. “Guess we’ll have to. Let’s get the cover off and find a stick or something.”

Getting the cover off was not difficult, Cal prying it up with his locker key, but finding a piece of wood with which to stir was more of a problem. They searched and poked around in the gloom of the back street without success until Martin found a broken fence picket and pulled off a nice long splinter. Then, in the added darkness of a tree, they put the can on the sidewalk and proceeded to mix the ingredients thoroughly. Once a passer on the other side caused them to straighten up and assume casual attitudes, but for the rest they were undisturbed. Even on the business thoroughfares Hillsport was not a crowded town tonight. Presently they set off, Bob bearing the paint and Cal the brush, keeping to the darker streets until the center of the town was left behind. Then they crossed to the residence avenue by which they had returned from the school and began to look for blank walls or fences appropriate to their purpose.

After some five blocks had been traveled Bob voiced disparagement. “This is a punk town for decorating,” he said. “Nothing but iron and picket fences.”

“What’s that over there?” asked Martin, pointing. It proved, when they had crossed the street, to be the clapboarded side of a stable or garage set some three feet back from the fence. Bob gloated fiendishly and called for the brush. But, although until that instant scarcely half a dozen persons had been sighted, now the long street suddenly became densely populated, or so it seemed to the vandals. A man came out of a house across the way, a boy and a dog appeared from a cross thoroughfare and two ladies appeared from the direction of the shopping district. Bob deposited the paint can against the fence and the boys stood in front of it in negligent attitudes. Cal whistled idly and unmusically. The boy passed unsuspiciously, but the dog showed signs of curiosity until Martin lifted him swiftly but mercifully from the vicinity with a dexterous foot. Then the man, having lighted a cigar very deliberately, took himself off and the two ladies passed, casting nervous glances at the quartette, and the street was again quiet.

Bob dipped brush in paint and reached toward the immaculate whiteness of the building. Willard looked on dubiously, but forebore to remonstrate. It was a difficult reach and Bob was grumbling before he had formed the big A that started the inscription. But, although the black paint ran down the handle of the brush and incommoded him vastly, he persevered and in a minute the sign stood forth in the semi-darkness, huge and startling:

One brief instant they tarried to admire, and then they hurried away from the place. It seemed to them that those big black letters and numerals were visible for blocks! By common consent they turned the next corner and dived into the comparative blackness of a side street. Presently they stopped and exchanged felicitations.

“Swell!” chuckled Cal. “Gee, I wish I could see the Hillsport fellows tomorrow when they catch sight of it!”

“So do I,” said Bob. “Didn’t it show up great? Who’s got a handkerchief he’s not particular about?”

“Wipe your hands on your trousers,” advised Martin coldly.

“What’s the matter with your own handkerchief?” inquired Cal. “You get too much paint on your brush, anyway.”

“Well, you can’t be very careful when you’ve got to hurry,” grumbled Bob. “You can do the next one, seeing you know so blamed much about it! Gosh, the silly stuff is running up my sleeve!”

“I’ve got an old handkerchief you can have,” said Willard.

“Thanks, Brand. You’re the only gentleman in the bunch. Excepting me,” added Bob as Martin laughed.

“Where next?” asked Cal while Bob wiped his hand.

“Let’s paint a good one somewhere near the school,” Martin suggested. “Seems to me there was a brick wall across from where we were waiting for the car that would be just the ticket.”

“Lead me to it,” begged Cal. “This is my turn.”

They got back to the main street a block farther on and a few minutes’ walk brought them in sight of the main entrance to the school. “We don’t want to stay around too long,” said Willard. “It’s nearly eight o’clock now.”

“Guess we’ll have to do one more and call it a day,” replied Bob. “I never saw such a punk town for – for decorative purposes!”

Three Hillsport fellows, returning to school, overtook them as they neared the entrance and, as it seemed, viewed them very, very suspiciously. But the four kept their heads down, and Cal, now carrying the pot of paint, was careful to keep it hidden. The three entered the school grounds and were lost to sight and the conspirators breathed more freely. The wide street ended at the campus. A cross street ran right and left and for a block in each direction the high iron fence of the school bore it company. From the right the street car line came, turning in front of the gate. As, however, they had seen but one car since they had started forth on their expedition, interruption from that source seemed unlikely. The brick wall of which Martin had spoken could not have been placed more advantageously. It surrounded the small premises of a residence on the left-hand corner, and, as Bob triumphantly pointed out, a sign painted there would be the first thing seen by anyone coming through the school gate.