Right End Emerson

“Oh, pretty fair,” replied Jimmy modestly. “I guess I’m sort of getting the hang of it. Neirsinger and I put in a couple of hours this morning.”

“That’s fine,” said the coach. “Well, let’s get started, Captain Proctor.”

So Jimmy deposited his ball with Jake the trainer, with instructions to guard it with his life, and departed to the field where for the succeeding thirty minutes he trotted about behind Appel in signal drill. The second team proved far less formidable that afternoon and the first walked through its line three times for touchdowns and ran rings around it meanwhile. Rumor had it that Steve Gaston, second team coach, expressed dissatisfaction very strongly to his charges after the day’s work was over. Certain it is that on Wednesday there were several changes in the scrubs’ line-up, changes which resulted in a smaller total of points for the first team, but which did not entirely satisfy the big coach. Gaston had spent two seasons as a second team player, for some not quite explicable reason never reaching the first. Perhaps this was because he knew football just a little better than he could play it. Last season an injury to his leg had laid him off a few days before the end, an injury which seemed at the time inconsequential enough but which had afterwards proved so serious as to bar him from football for two years at least. Had it not been for that injury Gaston would have been this year’s second team captain. As it was, a wise Athletic Committee proffered him the position of coach, and Steve, bitterly resenting the fate which had deprived him of the fierce joys of the game, could have wept with delight. Of course he did nothing of the kind. All he did do was accept with a contained air and earnestly promise to show the committee and the School the best scrub eleven of recent years.

It is frequently easier to promise than to perform, however, and now, in the second week of the term, Steve Gaston was learning as much. He had started, a week since, with a promising lot, many of them veterans from last year, a few old campaigners with two years of service behind them. He had gathered a scanty handful of likely youngsters from last season’s freshman and dormitory teams, youngsters, of course, who for one reason or another were not yet varsity caliber. Falls, an experienced guard, had been made captain, and the second had started off with fair prospects. The difficulty in building up a second team, however, lies in the fact that just as sure as a player shows anything resembling remarkable ability a hawk-eyed first team coach snatches him away. This is likely to happen, too, toward the end of the season, when there is scant time left in which to break in a substitute. But it may happen at any period, and Steve prayed for a team that would be composed of hard, steady workers and that would contain not a single “phenom.”

The start was like most starts. The first team, playing together better, made Steve’s aggregation look very weak and very futile. But that was to be expected. It took time – yes, and patience, too – to weld seasoned, plugging veterans and inexperienced, high-tensioned newcomers into a smoothly-working whole. After a few days the scrubs began to lose some of their rough edges and Steve relaxed a bit.

Thursday brought new frowns of perplexity to his rather rugged and very earnest countenance. The ends were not what they should be, nor did they look to Steve like fellows who could be taught. Then, too, on the other side of center from Captain Falls, the guard position worried him. On Friday he switched a full-back candidate to the guard position and tried young Williams, who had played quarter rather brilliantly on a dormitory eleven last fall, at left end. But the results were not satisfactory. The backfield man lacked the steadiness required of a lineman, and Williams’ performance showed Steve that he was sacrificing a good quarter-back in the securing of a doubtful end. Steve cudgeled his brains and, after supper that Friday night, metaphorically seized his club and set forth on his man-hunt. At a little after nine he arrived at Number 27 Upton.

His prey, attired in a stained and faded old blue flannel dressing gown, his stockinged but slipperless feet supported on his bed, his chair tipped precariously back so that the light from the green-shaded lamp fell over his shoulder, was deep in study. On the other side of the table Stick Patterson sat with head in hands and nose close to his own book. Stick was down to trousers and shirt, for the night was warm. Visitors were infrequent at Number 27, and so when the somewhat imperative knock sounded both occupants looked up startledly. It was Stick who called “Come in!” in a decidedly ungracious tone of voice. Then Steve Gaston entered, big and broad-shouldered and, somehow, momentous looking, and Russell’s chair came down with a crash of its front legs and his dressing-gown was ineffectually drawn together.

“Hello, Gaston,” said Russell, surprised. “What – I mean – Do you know Patterson?”

Steve didn’t and shook hands rather perfunctorily and took the chair that Russell yielded. Russell perched himself on the bed and gathered his scantily covered knees within his arms. He thought now that he knew Gaston’s mission, for he had suddenly recalled the forgotten fact that Gaston had become second team coach. Steve smiled, but it was plainly only a sop to etiquette, or whatever law it is that decrees that a guest must show pleasurable emotion on arrival. So, perhaps, did the Cave Man smile ere he raised his club and smote, subsequent to dragging off his victim. Although Steve didn’t smite, having got that brief smile out of his system he approached his errand with as little delay as his distant progenitor.

“How does it happen you’re not with us this fall, Emerson?” he asked severely.

Russell, who had determined to put on a bold front and be as adamant to all pleas and protestations, secretly quailed a little. There was that about this big, serious-faced youth that made him wish he had not been discovered in dressing-gown and “undies”; his attire, or lack of it, put him at a disadvantage, for it is difficult to do battle, even moral battle, when your unclothed ankles stare up at you from under the frayed hem of a dressing-gown and you are distressingly aware of a large hole in your left sock! Russell had to blink once or twice before he answered, and blinking took time and looked like hesitation and so weakened his cause right at the outset.

“I haven’t time for football this year, Gaston,” he answered finally. “You see, Patterson and I have started a small store – ”

“Yes, I know that,” interrupted Steve impatiently. “I hope you do well, Emerson. But that store won’t take all your time, I guess. We’re up against it for good men this fall and I’d take it as a real favor if you’d give us a hand, old man.”

That phrase “good men” didn’t unduly elate Russell. He knew that Gaston would use it in like circumstances to any fellow he might be after. Still, there was a pleasant sound to it. Russell shook his head, though, and steeled himself.

“I’m afraid it can’t be done. I’d like to, Gaston, but I’m in this store business to make some money, and there’s only Patterson and me to look after it. Patterson tends the place most of the morning, generally, and so I have to be down there afternoons. If it wasn’t for that – ”

“You played end a good deal last year, didn’t you?” Steve asked. Russell felt helplessly that Gaston hadn’t been one bit impressed by what he had told him. Russell nodded dolefully.

“Quite a bit,” he conceded.

“Thought so. We need you, Emerson. Got a place ready and waiting for you. Fact is, I want to make this year’s second something the School will remember and talk about for the next ten years. I want to turn out a rip-snorting bunch of fellows that’ll make the first team sit up and take notice. You’ve got to have a good scrub team if you’re going to have a good first, Emerson. You can’t train a first team against a lot of easy-marks and then beat Kenly. No, sir, you’ve got to have something hard to go up against, and the better your second team is the better your first will be. Well, I mean to give the school a great second, Emerson, and that’s why I’m after you; you, and a couple of others who have been playing possum. I want all the good stuff I can get hold of, and, believe me, I’m going to get it!”

“Yes, of course,” answered Russell uneasily, glancing toward his room-mate for assistance. Stick, however, was pretending to study, and Russell saw that he must expect no help from that quarter. He went on more firmly. “I wish I could help you, Gaston – ”

“Oh, not me, Emerson! Never mind about me! It’s the School you’re going to help, you see. Keep that thought in your mind, son. You can’t turn down the School, can you?”

“Why, no, but – ”

“When a fellow can play football, Emerson, he’s got a duty to the School, and you don’t need to be told that. Fellows like you don’t hesitate at a sacrifice when the good of Alton is at stake. And you’ve been here long enough to know that a fellow who goes out and does his best on the second is doing just as much for the success of the big team as he would be doing if he played on the first instead.” Gaston was horribly earnest, and his brown eyes bored Russell’s implacably. Russell stirred uncomfortably.

“Well, but, you see how I’m fixed, Gaston,” he said pleadingly. “I – we’ve put quite a little money in this thing, and we can’t afford to lose it. Fact is, between you and me, we – the store hasn’t got started very well yet, and it wouldn’t do at all to get careless about it. Now, if – ”

“No, indeed,” agreed Steve quite heartily. “Naturally, you want to make it go. I don’t blame you. I’d see what arrangement I could make, Emerson.” He glanced at Stick. “I dare say Patterson can fix it somehow to take charge in the afternoon long enough for you to get in some work. A couple of hours would do. Patterson would be doing his part, too, that way. Every fellow wants the team to win, of course, and is willing enough to do what he can.”

Patterson looked over and scowled. “That’s all right, Gaston, but I can’t tend that shop morning and afternoon both. I’ve got recitations and things. Seems to me there must be plenty of chaps for your team without Rus!”

“Got to have him, Patterson.” Steve arose smiling calmly but inexorably. “You fellows fix it up between you. You can do it better without me, so I’ll be going along. I’m grateful to you, Emerson, for doing what you’re going to do, even if, as I’ve said, it isn’t as a favor to me. And the School doesn’t miss these things either. Well, I’ll look for you Monday, old man, and I’ll give you a chance to be mighty useful. Good night. Good night, Patterson.”

“Night,” replied Stick morosely.

“Good night,” said Russell. “You – you mustn’t count on me, though, Gaston. I’ll think it over and if there’s any possible way – ”

“Sure! I understand. That’s the way to talk.” Steve paused in the open door and smiled back appreciatively. “Monday at three-thirty, then!”

When the door had closed Russell stared blankly across at Stick and Stick scowled darkly back at Russell.

“A nice mess you’ve made of it,” growled Stick disgustedly.

CHAPTER IX

AT THE “SIGN OF THE FOOTBALL”

Alton expected a rather hard game with Banning High School, which she had succeeded in beating last year by the small margin of two scores to one. Banning, however, proved scarcely more formidable than Alton High had been, and on Saturday afternoon the Gray-and-Gold, playing a fairly ragged game herself, romped off with the contest to the tune of 27 to 6. Banning’s touchdown came to her as the result of a clever quarter-back run from midfield to Alton’s thirty-four yards, followed by a forward pass that again gave her her distance and laid the pigskin on the twenty-two. Two attempts past tackle were foiled and Banning prepared for a try-at-goal, her left half-back, who performed such feats for her, retiring as far as the thirty-three yards. Alton read in this a fear of having the kick blocked and was unprepared for the play that followed. The Banning half, having received the ball from center, romped away toward the right side of the field, drawing the adversary with him. Only Harmon, the opposing left half, refused to be taken in, and when, besieged by the enemy, the Banning runner side-stepped, poised the ball and threw hard and far diagonally across the gridiron, over the tangled lines of the players, it was Harmon who saw the danger and raced to meet it. But a Banning end, who had sneaked unobserved well toward the left side-line, caught the hurtling ball perfectly and, although challenged an instant later by Harmon and plunged at by Ned Richards a few feet from the goal line, sped over for Banning’s score. The handful of Banning supporters cheered rapturously and even the Alton crowd clapped their applause for a very pretty stratagem.

That happened in the second quarter and practically brought the half to its close. Banning missed the goal and left the score 13 to 6. In the second half Alton took revenge, adding two more touchdowns to her portion, both in the third quarter. Neither was spectacular, the Alton team plunging again and again at the enemy line, satisfied with short and certain gains. Once Moncks was banged through from the four yards and once Browne went over from the two. Captain Proctor attempted three of the goals and made each. The fourth, after Mart had given place to Butler at left tackle, was missed by Mawson, though by a few inches only.

The game showed better team-play by the Gray-and-Gold and better generalship by Ned Richards, but most of the faults which had been so apparent in the earlier game were still visible. Second and third substitutes had their inning in the fourth quarter and, at least, made the game more interesting if less scientific. Jimmy Austen had two chances to show what he could do at punting, and whether it was because he didn’t like the ball as well as his precious “P. & F.” or whether he was perturbed by the frantic efforts of the opponents to get through on him, the fact remains that he sent off two of the poorest punts seen on Alton Field in many a day.

Russell wanted very much to witness that game, but Patterson, who had been in a continual state of disgruntlement since the evening previous, made no offer to relieve him of duty at the store and Russell didn’t care to make the request. So far as business was concerned, though, he might almost as well have gone to the field, for there were only two customers and their combined expenditures amounted to but three dollars and forty cents. Russell was getting not a little alarmed over the lack of trade. Of course, as he told himself frequently enough, it took time to establish a business, but now the store had been open for more than a fortnight and the total of its sales – well, Russell didn’t like to dwell on that! Stick was more than alarmed. There were times when he showed absolute panic and loudly bewailed his connection with the enterprise. Without putting it in so many words, he managed to convey the impression that he held his partner to blame for enticing him into the enterprise, that, indeed, Russell had somehow managed to blind his better judgment. Stick was vastly afraid that he was going to lose his capital, and if he could have got out without impairment of it he would have gladly done so. Russell frequently wished devoutly that it was in his power to return Stick’s contribution to the fund, but that was quite out of the question. More than half of the capital had already disappeared. Stock, rent, advertising, half a hundred incidental expenses had eaten it up as a March sun consumes a snowbank. And sometimes, looking over the scanty stock on hand, encountering the doleful, pessimistic countenance of Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer, Russell thought there was just about as much left to show! At such times he had to go outside and look up at the gay cheerfulness of that sign above the door. Somehow that sign always restored his spirits.

This Saturday afternoon, however, as he waited in the darkening store for the hour of six to arrive and release him, his worries were complicated by that overnight conversation with Steve Gaston. Russell had a rather highly developed conscience, and he wasn’t able to get away from the idea that perhaps Gaston was right and that his duty to the School ought to take precedence over everything else. The fact that it appeared to be a physical impossibility to play football on the second team and conduct the business of the Sign of the Football at one and the same time added to the complications. Even if he should reach the decision that it was his bounden duty to join the second, how was he to do it? It would be useless to look to Stick for assistance. Stick had already and on four occasions assured him emphatically that he didn’t propose to do all the work connected with the store and that he’d be switched if he was going to sit around down there half the morning and all the afternoon while Russell went out and played football. Stick wasn’t keen on football, anyway, and he didn’t hesitate to say so. Russell had spent a whole hour trying to work out a schedule that would equalize their store duties and yet give him two hours each afternoon between three and five, and had signally failed. It couldn’t be done. The only alternative appeared to be the employment for a part of the day of a paid assistant, and Stick wouldn’t consider that for a moment. And Russell couldn’t blame him. With affairs as they were now, paying out good money, even a little of it, to a clerk would be rank absurdity. In fact, Russell didn’t seriously consider the plan himself. Faced squarely, the situation came to just this, he ruefully concluded. Either he must keep out of football or he must close the store each afternoon between three and five, or even half-past five, a period during which trade, should it ever discover the Sign of the Football, might well be expected to prove heaviest. Russell sighed and shook his head and kicked dolefully at the counter. Kicking at the counter appeared to bring him no relief and seemed to prove irritating to Mr. J. Warren Pulsifer, who glanced across reprovingly from where he was sadly making up a funeral wreath of wilted ferns and forlorn white carnations. Russell desisted. He wished there was some one he might talk it over with, some one with common-sense whose judgment he could rely on. He had quite a number of friends and acquaintances, had Russell, but, passing them before his mind’s eye, he found them all wanting. Ordinarily he could have thrashed the matter out with Stick, but as regards the present question Stick was badly prejudiced. And then, just as he was giving vent to another doleful sigh, there was a shrill and cheerful whistle at the open doorway and Jimmy breezed in.

Jimmy had a badly wrapped parcel under one arm from which protruded the label of what was, for all the world to know, a carton of biscuits of a popular and well advertised brand. Jimmy whistled because he was rather in the dumps, and it was for the same reason that, having hurried himself into civilian clothes after the game, he had set forth alone for Bagdad and the bazaars thereof. It always cheered Jimmy up wonderfully to spend money, and to-day, being in need of cheering after his dismal fiasco as a punter, and having plenty of money on hand, he had fared from store to store and bought a number of things of which he stood in no immediate want – mostly edible! He dumped his disintegrating parcel on the counter and smiled brightly, gayly at Russell.

“Hello,” he greeted. “How’s the busy mart of trade, Emerson?” He glanced across the store and then swung himself to a seat on the counter. “Guess I’ll buy me one of those things,” he went on in a lower and confidential tone, nodding toward the wreath. “Place it on my dead hopes, Emerson.”

“Dead hopes?” repeated Russell questioningly and smilingly.

“Ah,” replied Jimmy, “you weren’t at the game, then. I see. If you had been you wouldn’t have asked that question, Emerson. Yes, sir, my poor dead hopes. You see, I had an idea that I could become a punter. I toiled and moiled – Say, what is that? Anyway, I did it, and to-day Johnny let me in in the last quarter and I tried twice to punt the ball and each time I – well, the thing almost hit me on the head when it came down!”

“Dropped the ball too late, probably,” offered Russell. “I guess it takes a lot of practice, punting. You’ll probably bring it off all right the next time. By the way, what do you think of that ball you bought here?”

“That’s what I dropped in about,” said Jimmy, brightening again. “Came over for a few eats” – he glanced unenthusiastically at the parcel – “and thought I’d drop in and tell you about that there ball, Emerson. It’s a corker! It’s a dream! It – it’s all right! Say, honest, if I’d had that ball in the game I’d have poked it fifty yards, Emerson. Honest, I would! I like it mighty well, and I’ve talked it up a lot. Showed it to Mart Proctor the other day; and Johnny Cade, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if you sold quite a few of them this fall. Well, how are things going with you? Been busy to-day?”

“Fairly,” answered Russell. Then, encountering Jimmy’s straight and level gaze, he shrugged. “I guess there’s no use lying, Austen,” he corrected. “Business has been rotten this afternoon, and every other afternoon.”

“Thought so,” said Jimmy. His eyes roamed over the poorly lighted store and came back to Russell. “I guessed the other day that a lot of this was just bluff.” He nodded backward at the shelves. Russell flushed slightly. “Not that it isn’t all right,” added Jimmy quickly. “Bluff’s a part of every game nowadays, I guess. And I like your nerve. So business isn’t rushing, eh?”

“It isn’t even crawling,” responded Russell wryly. “At least, it isn’t crawling this way.”

“I wonder,” mused Jimmy, “if you didn’t make a mistake in locating over this way instead of further down town. You’d ought to get the trade from the town folks, Emerson; high school and grammar school fellows, you know, and that crowd. I’m afraid there isn’t enough business among the Academy fellows to make it go. What do you think?”

“Well, I wanted the Academy trade first,” said Russell. “I can get the other trade, I believe, if I can wait long enough. But the question is, can I wait? I – we’ve advertised in the High School paper, and we’re running a small ad. in the town paper three times a week. They gave us a pretty good reading notice last Saturday. Something ought to come of those ads.”

“Sure to,” agreed Jimmy comfortingly. “Later on, now, when fellows start baseball, you’d ought to do better, too. Fellows buy baseball stuff more than they do football. Take the dormitory teams, for instance. They’ll be starting up this week, I guess. Well, most every fellow will have a shirt and a sweater and a pair of breeches, and that’s about all they’ll need. Maybe they’ll be along to buy a nose-guard or a pair of stockings, and that’s their limit. They get an old football from the first team, one that’s been through ten wars, and that fixes them. Baseball, though, is different. Every chap wants to own a ball and a bat and, maybe, a glove – ”

“It’s a long time till spring,” interrupted Russell. “Look here, Austen, do you know any good reason why the football management shouldn’t buy their stuff here instead of sending to New York for it?”

Jimmy looked startled for a moment. Then: “Why, n-no, I can’t say I do, Emerson. Of course, they always have bought their truck in New York, but – ” Jimmy stopped and viewed the other with dawning suspicion. “Say, is that what you’re after?” he asked incredulously.

Russell hesitated, looked away and finally nodded. “Yes,” he said, “it is. I haven’t told any one else, Austen, but that’s what I had in mind. If we can get the job of supplying the school teams we’re fixed. We can do it, too, just as well and just as reasonably as any place in New York. That’s what I’m working for. It will take time, though, and meanwhile we’ve got to keep going. And that’s going to be the tough part. It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

Jimmy was staring reflectively at the floor. At last: “Do you know Sid Greenwood?” he asked.

“No. He’s basket ball captain, isn’t he?”

“Yes. You’d better meet him. Coolidge, too. Bob’s hockey captain. And – yes, by jove, Stan ought to be able to help you. You know my chum, Stan Hassell, don’t you?”

“Just to speak to,” replied Russell, doubtfully. “I don’t think he knows me, though.”