CHAPTER XVIII

A FIRE ALARM

"Well," remarked Phil ruefully, as he and Tom, rather sore and bruised, went to their room. There was an air of quietness about the sophomores. They did not cheer and sing, but back on the knoll the victorious freshmen made the night hideous with their college cries.

"Is that all?" inquired Tom, for Phil had uttered only the one word.

"That's all, son, as Bricktop Molloy would say. 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' We were dumped good and proper."

"With plenty of gravy on the side," added Sid.

"I was afraid of it," spoke Tom solemnly. "I said they were too many for us."

"Listen to old 'I told you so,'" mocked Phil. "Next he'll be telling us that he predicted we'd lose the football championship. You make me tired!"

"I'm tired already," retorted Tom good naturedly. "Some one gave me an extra good poke in the ribs the last minute."

"It was Gerhart," declared Sid. "I saw him. I had a good notion to punch him for you."

"I'd just as well you didn't," went on Tom. "There's no love lost between us and his crony, Langridge, now. No use making matters worse. But he certainly managed the freshies well. That was a good trick, lying down and making a mat of themselves."

"Yes; hereafter I suppose it will be the regular practice for future classes," said Phil. "We'll have to think up a new plan to break up that kind of interference. My, but I'm lame!"

"Better not let Lighton hear you say that."

"Why?"

"He'd lay you off from football. There are three candidates for every position on the 'varsity this term, and we fellows who have made the eleven will have to take care of ourselves."

"That's so," admitted Tom. "Well, a hot bath will fix me up, and then for some good sleep."

"I wish I could snooze," spoke Phil.

"Why can't you?" asked Sid.

"I've got to bone away on Greek. Got turned back in class to-day, and Pitchfork, who's a regular fiend at it, as well at Latin, warned me that I'd be conditioned if I didn't look out."

"You want to be careful, son," cautioned Sid. "Remember how I nearly slumped in Latin before the big ball game last year, and only just got through by the skin of my teeth in time to play? Don't let that happen to you. It isn't good for the constitution; not a little bit."

The three chums went to the gymnasium and had a warm shower, followed by a brisk rub-down, after which they all felt better. Then, in their room, they talked the walk rush all over again, until Phil threw books at Sid and Tom to make them keep quiet so that he might study.

The week that followed was marked by some hard practice on the gridiron, for there was in prospect a game with the Orswell Military Academy, the eleven of which was seldom defeated. Therefore, Coach Lighton and Captain Cross worked their men well.

Phil, in particular, received some very special instructions about running the team. Some new plays were practiced, and a different sequence was planned.

"I want three corking good plays to be worked in sequence when we get to within reaching distance of the twenty-five-yard line," said the coach. "Maybe we can try for a field goal, but the chances are against it if the wind blows. A good sequence will do wonders."

Then the coach explained the sequence plays. They were to be three, in which the right-half, the full-back and the left-tackle would successively take the ball, without a word being spoken after the first signal for the play had been given. The plays were to be executed in quick succession, and the coach depended on that to demoralize the cadet eleven.

"There'll probably be such cheering when we get to within twenty-five yards of their goal that it will be hard to hear signals, anyhow," Mr. Lighton went on. "So memorize these plays carefully, and we'll try to work them. When Clinton remarks: 'We have twenty-five yards to go, fellows; walk up together, now,' that will be the signal for the sequence plays."

They tried them against the scrub, and did remarkably well. Then came a day of hard work, followed by some light practice, and a rest on the afternoon preceding the game with the cadets.

There was a big attendance at the grounds, which adjoined the military academy, about twenty miles from Randall College. In their first half the home eleven, by dint of trick plays and much kicking, so wore out the Randallites that they could not score, while Orswell made two touch-downs. But it was different in the second half, and after a touch-down gained by a brilliant run on Tom's part, there came a second one, which resulted from the sequence plays. Right through the line in turn went Kindlings Woodhouse, Holly Cross and Ed Kerr. The twenty-five yards were made in three minutes of play, and the score tied. Then, by a skilful forward pass and some line bucking, another touch-down was made, and then, as if to cap the climax, Holly Cross kicked a beautiful field goal.

"Wow! Hold me from flying!" cried Phil, as he tried to hug the entire team after the referee's whistle blew. His fellows had responded nobly to the calls he made on them, and he had run the team with a level head.

"Boys, I'm proud of you," said the coach. "It's the biggest score against the Orswell cadets in many a year."

And there was much rejoicing in Randall College that night, so that Professor Tines felt called upon to remonstrate to Dr. Churchill about the noise the lads were making.

"Why, I'm not aware of any unusual noise; not from here," spoke the venerable president, in his comfortable study, with a book of Sanskrit on his knee.

"You could hear it if you went outside," said the Latin teacher.

"Ah, yes, doubtless; but, you see, my dear professor, I'm not going outside," and Dr. Churchill smiled benevolently.

"Humph!" exclaimed Mr. Tines, as he went back to his apartments. "If I had my way, football and all sports would be abolished. They are a relic of barbarism!"

It was late when Phil and Tom got to their room that night. They narrowly escaped being caught by Mr. Snell, one of the proctor's scouts, and dashed into their "den" at full speed.

"Can't you make less row?" demanded Sid, who was studying. "You've put all the thoughts I had on my essay out of my head."

"Serves you right for being a greasy dig!" exclaimed Tom. "Why don't you be a sport? You're getting to be a regular hermit."

"I want my degree," explained Sid, who was studying as he had not thought of doing his first term.

It was after midnight when Tom, who did not sleep well on account of the excitement following the football game, awoke with a start. Through the glass transom over the door of the room he saw a red glare.

"Fire!" he exclaimed, as he jumped out of bed and landed heavily in the middle of the apartment.

"What's that?" cried Phil, sitting up. "Is there a telegram for me? Is there--is there----"

He was at Tom's side, hardly awake.

"It's no telegram," answered Tom quickly "Looks like a fire."

He threw open the door. The corridor was filled with clouds of lurid smoke which rolled in great masses here and there.

"The whole place is ablaze!" cried Tom. "Get up, Sid!" and he pulled the bedclothes from his still sleeping chum.