Behind the Line: A Story of College Life and Football

Stone, l.e.; Tucker, l.t.; Carey, l.g.; Stowell, c.; Witter, r.g.; White, r.t.; Devoe, r.e.; Foster, q.b.; Fletcher, l.h.b.; Gale, r.h.b.; Mason, f.b.

Besides these, eight substitutes went along and some thirty patriotic students followed. Among the latter was Sydney Burr and "Fan" Livingston. Neil had brought the two together, and Livingston had readily taken to the crippled youth. In Livingston's care Sydney had no difficulty in making the trip to Soldiers Field and back comfortably and safely.

There is no need to tell in detail here of the Harvard-Erskine contest. Those who saw it will give Erskine credit for a plucky struggle against a heavier, more advanced, and much superior team. In the first half Harvard scored three times, and the figures were 17-0. In the second half both teams put in several substitutes. For Erskine, Browning went in for Carey, Graham for Stowell, Hurst for Witter, Pearse for Mason, and Bailey for Foster. In this half Harvard crossed Erskine's goal-line three more times without much difficulty, while Erskine made the most of a stroke of rare good luck, and changed her goose-egg for the figure 5.

On the Purple's forty yards Harvard fumbled, not for the first time that day, and Neil, more by accident than design, got the pigskin on the bounce, and, skirting the opposing right end, went up the field for a touch down without ever being in danger. The Erskine supporters went mad with delight, and the Harvard stand was ruefully silent. Devoe missed a difficult goal and a few minutes later the game ended with a final score of 34-5. Mills, however, would gladly have yielded that five points, if by so doing he could have taken ten from the larger score. He was disappointed in the team's defense, and realized that a wonderful improvement was necessary if Robinson was to be defeated.

And so the Erskine players were plainly given to understand the next day that they had not acquired all the glory they thought they had. The advance guard of the assistant coaches put in an appearance in the shape of Jones and Preston, both old Erskine football men, and took hold with a vim. Jones, a former guard, a big man with bristling black hair, took the line men under his wing and made them jump. Neil, Paul, and several others were taken in hand by Preston, and were daily put through a vigorous course of punting and kicking. Neil was fast acquiring speed and certainty in the art of kicking goals from drop and placement, while Paul promised to turn out a fair second choice.

Jones, as every one soon learned, was far from satisfied with the line of material at his disposal. He wanted more weight, especially in the center trio, and was soon pleading with Mills to have Cowan reinstated. The head coach ultimately relented, and Devoe was given to understand that if Cowan expressed himself decently regretful and determined to do good work he could go back into the second. The big sophomore, who, by his frequent avowals, was in college for no other purpose than to play football, had simply been lost since his dismissal, and, upon hearing Devoe's message, eagerly came off his high horse and made a visit to Mills. What he said and what Mills said is not known; but Cowan went back into the second team at right-guard, and on Saturday was given a try at that position in the game with Erstham. He did so well that Jones was highly pleased, and Mills found it in his heart to forgive. The results of the Erstham game were both unexpected and important.

Instead of the comparatively easy victory anticipated, Erskine barely managed to save herself from being played to a standstill, and the final figures were 6-0 in her favor. The score was made in the last eight minutes of the second half by fierce line-bucking, but not before half of the purple line had given place to substitutes, and one of the back-field had been carried bodily off the gridiron.

With the ball on Erstham's twenty-six yards, where it had been desperately carried by the relentless plunging and hurdling of Neil, Smith, and Mason, Erstham twice successfully repelled the onslaught, and it was Erskine's third down with two yards to gain. To lose the ball by kicking was the last thing to be thought of, and so, despite the fact that hitherto well-nigh every attempt at end running had met with failure, Foster gave the ball to Neil for a try around the Erstham left end. It was a forlorn hope, and unfortunately Erstham was looking for it. Neil found his outlet blocked by his own interference, and was forced to run far out into the field. The play was a failure from the first. Erstham's big right half and an equally big line man tackled Neil simultaneously for a loss and threw him heavily.

When they got off him Neil tried to arise, but, with a groan, subsided again on the turf. The whistle blew and Simson ran on. Neil was evidently suffering a good deal of pain, for his face was ashen and he rolled his head from side to side with eyes half closed. His right arm lay outstretched and without movement, and in an instant the trouble was found. Simson examined the injury quickly and called for the doctor, who probed Neil's shoulder with knowing fingers, while the latter's white face was being sopped with the dripping sponge.

"Right shoulder's dislocated, Jim," said Dr. Prentiss quietly to the trainer. "Take hold here; put your hands here, and pull toward you steadily. Now!"

Then Neil fainted.

When he regained consciousness he was being borne from the field between four of his fellows. At the locker-house the injured shoulder was laid bare, and the doctor went to work.

The pain had subsided, and only a queer soreness remained. Neil watched operations with interest, his face fast regaining its color.

"Nothing much, is it?" he asked.

"Not a great deal. You've smashed your shoulder-blade a bit, and maybe torn a ligament. I'll fix you up in a minute."

"Will it keep me from playing?"

"Yes, for a while, my boy."

Bandage after bandage was swathed about the shoulder, and the arm was fixed in what Neil conceived to be the most unnatural and awkward position possible.

"How long is this going to lay me up?" he asked anxiously. But the doctor shook his head.

"Can't tell yet. We'll see how you get along."

"Well, a week?"

"Maybe."

"Two?"

"Possibly."

"But–but it can't! It mustn't!" he cried. The door opened and Simson entered. "Simson," he called, "he says this may keep me laid up for two weeks. It won't, will it?"

"I hope not, Fletcher. But you must get it well healed, or else it may go back on you again. Don't worry about–"

"Don't worry! But, great Scott, the Robinson game's only a month off!"

The trainer patted his arm soothingly.

"I know, but we must make the best of it. It's hard lines, but the only thing to do is to take care of yourself and get well as soon as possible. The doc will get you out again as soon as it can be done, but you'll have to be doing your part, Fletcher, and keeping quiet and cheerful–"

"Cheerful!" groaned Neil.

"And getting strong. Now you're fixed and I'll go over to your room with you. How do you feel?"

"All right, I suppose," replied Neil hopelessly.

Simson walked beside him back to college and across the campus and the common to his room, and saw him installed in an easy-chair with a pillow behind the injured shoulder.

"There you are," said the trainer. "Prentiss will look in this evening and I'll see you in the morning. You'd better keep indoors for a few days, you know. I'll have your meals sent over. Don't worry about this, but keep yourself cheerful and–"

Neil leaned his head against the pillow and closed his eyes.

"Oh, go 'way," he muttered miserably.

When Paul came in half an hour later he found Neil staring motionless out of the window, settled melancholy on his face.

"How bad is it, chum?" asked Paul. He hadn't called Neil "chum" for over a week–not since their quarrel.

"Bad enough to spoil my chances for the Robinson game," answered Neil bitterly. Paul gave vent to a low whistle.

"By Jove! I am sorry, old chap. That's beastly, isn't it? What does Prentiss say?"

Neil told him and gained some degree of animation in fervid protestation against his fate. For want of another, he held the doctor to account for everything, only admitting Simson to an occasional share in the blame. Paul looked genuinely distressed, joining him in denunciation of Prentiss and uttering such bits of consolation as occurred to him. These generally consisted of such original remarks as "Perhaps it won't be as bad as they think." "I don't believe doctors know everything, after all." "Mills will make them get you around before two weeks, I'll bet."

After dinner Paul returned to report a state of general gloom at training-table.

"Every one's awfully sorry and cut up about it, chum. Mills says he'll come and look you up in the morning, and told me to tell you to keep your courage up." After his information had given out, Paul walked restlessly about the study, taking up book after book only to lay it down again, and behaving generally like a fish out of water. Neil, grateful for the other's sympathy, and secretly delighted at the healing of the breach, could afford to be generous.

"I say, Paul, I'll be all right. Just give me the immortal Livy, will you? Thanks. And you might put that tray out of the way somewhere and shove the drop-light a bit nearer. That's better. I'll be all right now; you run along."

"Run along where?" asked Paul.

"Well, I thought maybe you were going out or–somewhere."

Paul's face expressed astonishment. He took up a book and settled himself firmly in the wicker rocking-chair.

"No," he said, "I'm not going anywhere."

Neil studied in silence a while, and Paul turned several pages of his book. Then footsteps sounded on the stairs and Cowan's voice hailed Paul from beyond the closed door.

"O Paul, are you coming along?"

Paul glanced irresolutely from the door to Neil's face, which was bent calmly over his book. Then–"No," he called gruffly, "not to-night!"

CHAPTER XIII

SYDNEY STUDIES STRATEGY

Neil was holding a levee. Livingston shared the couch with him. Foster reclined in Paul's armchair. Sydney Burr sat in the protesting wicker rocker, his crutches beside him, and South, his countenance much disfigured by strips of surgeon's plaster, grinned steadily from the table, where he sat and swung his feet. Paul was up-stairs in Cowan's room, for while he and Neil had quite made up their difference, and while Paul spent much of his leisure time with his chum, yet he still cultivated the society of the big sophomore at intervals. Neil, however, believed he could discern a gradual lessening of Paul's regard for Cowan, and was encouraged. He had grown to look upon his injury and the idleness it enforced with some degree of cheerfulness since it had brought about reconciliation between him and his roommate, and, as he believed, rescued the latter to some extent from the influence of Cowan.

"Doc says the shoulder is 'doing nicely,' whatever that may mean," Neil was saying, "and that I will likely be able to get back to light work next week." The announcement didn't sound very joyful, for it was now only the evening of the fourth day since the accident, and "next week" seemed a long way off to him.

"It was hard luck, old man," said South.

"Your sympathy's very dear to me," answered Neil, "but it would seem more genuine if you'd stop grinning from ear to ear."

"Can't," replied South. "It's the plaster."

"He's been looking like the Cheshire cat for two days," said Livingston. "You see, when they patched him up they asked if he was suffering much agony, and he grinned that way just to show that he was a hero, and before he could get his face straight they had the plaster on. He gets credit for being much better natured than he really is."

"Credit!" said South. "I get worse than that. 'Sandy' saw me grinning at him in class yesterday and got as mad as a March hare; said I was 'deesrespectful.'"

"But how did it happen?" asked Neil, struggling with his laughter.

"Lacrosse," replied South. "Murdoch was tending goal and I was trying to get the ball by him. I tripped over his stick and banged my face against a goal-iron. That's all."

"Seems to me it's enough," said Foster. "What did you do to Murdoch?" South opened his eyes in innocent surprise.

"Nothing."

"Nothing be blowed, my boy. Murdoch's limping to beat the band."

"Oh!" grinned South. "That was afterward; he got mixed up with my stick, and, I fear, hurt his shins."

"Well," said Neil, when the laughter was over, "football seems deadly enough, but I begin to think it's a parlor game for rainy evenings alongside of lacrosse."

"There won't be many fellows left for the Robinson game," said Sydney, "if they keep on getting hurt."

"That's so," Livingston concurred. "Fletcher, White, Jewell, Brown, Stowell–who else?"

"Well, I'm not feeling well myself," said Foster.

"We were referring to players, Teddy, my love," replied South sweetly.

"Insulted!" cried Foster, leaping wildly to his feet. "It serves me right for associating with a lot of freshmen. Good-night, Fletcher, my wounded gladiator. Get well and come back to us; all will be forgiven."

"I'd like the chance of forgiving the fellow that jumped on my shoulder," said Neil. "I'd send him to join Murdoch."

"That's not nice," answered Foster gravely. "Forgive your enemies. Good-night, you cubs."

"Hold on," said Livingston, "I'm going your way. Good-night, Fletcher. Cheer up and get well. We need you and so does the team. Remember the class is looking forward to seeing you win a few touch-downs in the Robinson game."

"Oh, I'll be all right," answered Neil, "and if they'll let me into the game I'll do my best. Only–I'm afraid I'll be a bit stale when I get out again."

"Not you," declared Livingston heartily. "'Age can not wither nor custom stale your infinite variety.'"

"That's a quotation from–somebody," said South accusingly. "'Fan' wants us to think he made it up. Besides, I don't think it's correct; it should be, 'Custom can not age nor wither stale your various interests.' Hold on, I'm not particular; I'll walk along with you two. But fortune send we don't meet the Dean," he continued, as he slid to the floor. "I called on him Monday; a little affair of too many cuts; 'Mr. South,' said he sorrowfully, 'avoid two things while in college–idleness and evil associations.' I promised, fellows, and here I am breaking that promise. Farewell, Fletcher; bear up under your great load of affliction. Good-night, Burr. Kindly see that he gets his medicine regularly every seven minutes, and don't let him sleep in a draft; pajamas are much warmer."

"Come on, you grinning idiot," said Foster.

When the door had closed upon the three, Sydney placed his crutches under his arms and moved over to the chair beside the couch.

"Look here, Neil, you don't really think, do you, that you'll have any trouble getting back into your place?"

"I hardly know. Of course two weeks of idleness makes a big difference. And besides, I'm losing a lot of practise. This new close-formation that Mills is teaching will be Greek to me."

"It's simple enough," said Sydney. "The backs are bunched right up to the line, the halfs on each side of quarter, and the full just behind him."

"Well, but I don't see–"

"Wait," interrupted Sydney, "I'll show you."

He drew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and passed it to the other. Neil scowled over it a moment, and then looked up helplessly.

"What is it?" he asked. "Something weird in geometry?"

"No," laughed Sydney, "it's a play from close-formation. I drew it this morning."

"Oh," said Neil. "Let's see; what–Here, explain it; where do I come in?"

"Why, your position is at the left of quarter, behind the center-guard, and a little farther back. Full stands directly behind quarter. See?"

"Pshaw! if we get into a crowd like that," said Neil, "we'll get all tied up."

"No you won't; not the way Mills and Devoe are teaching it. You see, the idea is to knife the backs through; there isn't any plunging to speak of and not much hurdling. The forwards open up a hole, and almost before the ball's well in play one of the backs is squirming through. Quarter gives you the ball at a hand-pass, always; there's no long passing done; except, of course, for a kick. Being right up to the line when play begins it only takes you a fraction of a second to hit it; and then, if the hole's there you're through before the other side has opened their eyes. Of course, it all depends on speed and the ability of the line-men to make holes. You've got to be on your toes, and you've got to get off them like a streak of lightning."

"Well, maybe it's all right," said Neil doubtfully, "but it looks like a mix-up. Who gets the ball in this play here?"

"Right half. Left half plunges through between left-guard and center to make a diversion. Full-back goes through between left tackle and end ahead of right half, who carries the ball. Quarter follows. Of course the play can be made around end instead. What do you think of it?"

"All right; but–I think I'd ought to have the ball."

"You would when the play went to the right," laughed Sydney. "The fact is, I–this particular play hasn't been used. I sort of got it up myself. I don't know whether it would be any good. I sometimes try my hand at inventing plays, just for fun, you know."

"Really?" exclaimed Neil. "Well, you are smart. I could no more draw all those nice little cakes and pies and things than I could fly. And it–it looks plausible, I think. But I'm no authority on this sort of thing. Are you going to show it to Devoe?"

"Oh, no; I dare say it's no use. It may be as old as the hills; I suppose it is. It's hard to find anything new nowadays in football plays."

"But you don't know," said Neil. "Maybe it's a good thing. I'll tell you, Syd, you let me have this, and I'll show it to Mills."

"Oh, I'd rather not," protested Sydney, reddening. "Of course it doesn't amount to anything; I dare say he's thought of it long ago."

"But maybe he hasn't," Neil persuaded. "Come, let me show it to him, like a good chap."

"Well–But couldn't you let him think you did it?"

"No; I'd be up a tree if he asked me to explain it. But don't you be afraid of Mills; he's a fine chap. Come and see me to-morrow night, will you?"

Sydney agreed, and, arising, swung himself across the study to where his coat and cap lay.

"By the way," he asked, "where's Paul to-night?"

"He's calling on Cowan," answered Neil.

Sydney looked as though he wanted to say something and didn't dare. Finally he found courage.

"I should think he'd stay in his room now that you're laid up," he said.

"Oh, he does," answered Neil. "Paul's all right, only he's a bit–careless. I guess I've humored him too much. Good-night. Don't forget to-morrow night."

Mills called the following forenoon. Ever since Neil's accident he had made it his duty to inquire daily after him, and the two were getting very well acquainted. Neil likened Mills to a crab–rather crusty on the outside, he told himself, but all right when you got under the shell. Neil was getting under the shell.

To-day, after Neil had reported on his state of health and spirits, he brought out Sydney's diagram. Mills examined it carefully, silently, for some time. Then he nodded his head.

"Not bad; rather clever. Who did it; you?"

"No, I couldn't if I was to be killed. Sydney Burr did it. Maybe you've seen him. A cripple; goes around on a tricycle."

"Yes, I've seen the boy. But does he–has he played?"

"Never; he's been a crip all his life." Mills opened his eyes in astonishment.

"Well, if that's so this is rather wonderful. It's a good play, Fletcher, but it's not original; that is, not altogether. But as far as Burr's concerned it is, of course. Look here, the fellow ought to be encouraged. I'll see him and tell him to try his hand again."

"He's coming here this evening," said Neil. "Perhaps you could look in for a moment?"

"I will. Let me take this; I want Jones to see it. He thinks he's a wonder at diagrams," laughed Mills, "and I want to tell him this was got up by a crippled freshman who has never kicked a ball!"

And so that evening Mills and Neil and Sydney gathered about the big study-table and talked long about gridiron tactics and strategy and the art of inventing plays. Mills praised Sydney's production and encouraged him to try again.

"But let me tell you first how we're situated," said the head coach, "so that you will see just what we're after. Our material is good but light. Robinson will come into the field on the twenty-third weighing about eight pounds more to a man in the line and ten pounds more behind it. That's bad enough, but she's going to play tackle-back about the way we've taught the second eleven to play it. Her tackles will weigh about one hundred and eighty-five pounds each. She will take one of those men, range him up in front of our center-guard hole, and put two backs with him, tandem fashion. When that trio, joined by the other half and the quarter, hits our line it's going right through it–that is, unless we can find some means of stopping it. So far we haven't found that means. We've tried several things; we're still trying; but we haven't found the play we want.

"If we're to win that game we've got to play on the defensive; we've got to stop tackle-back and rely on an end run now and then and lots of punting to get us within goal distance. Then our play is to score by a quick run or a field-goal. The offense we're working up–we'll call it close-formation for want of a better name–is, we think, the best we can find. The idea is to open holes quickly and jab a runner through before our heavier and necessarily slower opponents can concentrate their weight at the point of attack. For the close-formation we have, I think, plays covering every phase. And so, while a good offensive strategy will be welcome, yet what we stand in greatest need of is a play to stop Robinson's tackle-tandem. Now you apparently have ability in this line, Mr. Burr; and, what's more, you have the time to study the thing up. Supposing you try your hand and see what you can do. If you can find what we want–something that the rest of us can't find, by the way–you'll be doing as much, if not more, than any of us toward securing a victory over Robinson. And don't hesitate to come and see me if you find yourself in a quandary or whenever you've got anything to show."

And Sydney trundled himself back to his room and sat up until after midnight puzzling his brains over the tackle-tandem play, finally deciding that a better understanding of the play was necessary before he could hope to discover its remedy. When he crawled into bed and closed his tired eyes it was to see a confused jumble of orange-hued lines and circles running riot in the darkness.

CHAPTER XIV

MAKES A CALL

Despite Neil's absence from Erskine Field, preparation for the crowning conflict of the year went on with vigor and enthusiasm. The ranks of the coaches were swelled from day to day by patriotic alumni, some of whom were of real help, others of whom merely stood around in what Devoe called their "store clothes" and looked wonderfully wise. Some came to stay and took up quarters in the village, but the most merely tarried overnight, and, having unburdened themselves to Mills and Devoe of much advice, went away again, well pleased with their devotion to alma mater.

The signals in use during the preliminary season had now been discarded in favor of the more complicated system prepared for the "big game." Each day there was half an hour of secret practise behind closed gates, after which the assistant coaches emerged looking very wise and very solemn. The make-up of the varsity eleven had changed not a little since the game with Woodby, and was still being changed. Some positions were, however, permanently filled. For instance, Browning had firmly established his right to play left-guard, while the deposed Carey found a rôle eminently suited to him at right tackle. Stowell became first choice for center, and the veteran Graham went over to the second team. Stone at left end, Tucker at left tackle, Devoe at right end, and Foster at quarter, were fixtures.