CHAPTER XXIII

BATTERING BOXER HALL

There was a little buzz of talk, following the announcement of the coach. Each player looked at his neighbor, as if to learn whether or not he was the guilty one. But Mr. Lighton at once called a halt to this.

"I will say," he continued, "that no member of the 'varsity team, nor has any substitute, been guilty of this mean, sneaking piece of business. I don't even know who it was. I don't want to know. I don't know to whom the offer was made. I don't want to know. But we are going to protect ourselves, and change the signals."

It was a comparatively simple matter, the way the signals had been devised, to so change them so that another team, even with a copy of the originals, would have found it impossible to know in advance what the plays were to be.

Half an hour was spent in going over the new combinations while the team was in the gymnasium, and then they went out on the field to play against the scrub. It was a little awkward at first for Phil to run the eleven under the new system, and he made one or two blunders. But the scrub was beaten by a good score.

"You'll do better to-morrow," commented the coach. "It is a little troublesome, I know, to use the new letters and figures, but we'll practice on them constantly until we meet Boxer Hall on Saturday."

This was to be the first game of the season with Boxer Hall, the college, which, with Fairview Institute and Randall, formed the Tonoka Lake League. The Randallites were on edge for it, and they had need to be, for Boxer had a fine eleven, better than in many years.

"We'll have all we want to do to beat them," said Phil to a crowd of his chums after practice one day. "They're in better shape than Fairview was."

"So are we," declared Tom. "We're going to win."

"I hope you do," remarked Ford Fenton. "They have a peculiar way of playing the game in the first half. My uncle says----"

"Wow!" It was a simultaneous howl from the crowd of lads. They sometimes did this when Ford's reminiscences got on their nerves. The lad with the uncle turned away.

"I was going to put you on to some of their tricks," he continued in injured tones. "Now I won't."

"Write it out and hand it to Holly Cross," suggested Phil.

"Well, Phil," remarked Tom to his chum on Saturday, about an hour before the big game, when the team was dressing in the Randall gymnasium, "do you feel as if we were going to win?"

"I certainly do," spoke the quarter-back as he laced his canvas jacket. "I never felt in better shape. Only for one thing----" He paused suddenly, but Tom knew what he meant. It was the fear that, in the midst of the game, he might get bad news about his mother. Since receiving the telegram advising him to be ready to leave for Florida on short notice, Phil and his sister had had word that their mother had rallied somewhat, but that no permanent hope was held out for her recovery.

"Try not to think about it, old man," advised Tom.

"I--I do try," responded Phil. "But it--it's hard work," and he bent over to tie his shoe.

Out on the gridiron trotted the Randall players. They were received with a burst of cheers, led by Bean Perkins, whose voice was more than ever like a foghorn.

"Give 'em the 'Conquer or Die' song," he called.

"No; wait until they need it," suggested Sid Henderson, who was in the grandstand. "Let's sing 'We're Going to Make a Touch-down Now!' That'll be better."

The verses and chorus welled out from several hundred lusty throats, and the Randall team, which was at quick practice, looked up in appreciation.

"I wonder if any of the Fairview girls will be here," said Tom as he and Phil were passing the ball back and forth.

"I don't know about all of 'em," replied the quarter-back, "but Ruth and Madge are coming."

"Since when have you been calling her 'Madge'?" asked Tom, with a sharp look at his chum.

"Since she gave me permission," was the answer, and Phil booted the pigskin well down the field.

"And how long is that?"

"What difference does it make to you?" and there was a shade of annoyance in Phil's voice.

"Nothing, only I--er--well---- There they come!" cried Tom suddenly, but it was not to the girls that he referred. The Boxer Hall team had just trotted out, to be received with a round of cheers from their partisans.

"Husky-looking lot," observed Ed Kerr, as he and the other Randall players gazed critically at their opponents.

"They are that," conceded Bricktop Molloy, one of the biggest guards who ever supported a center.

"I'm afraid they'll do us," came from Snail Looper, who was not of a very hopeful turn of mind.

"Nonsense! Don't talk that way, me lad!" objected Bricktop, lapsing into brogue, as he always did when very much in earnest. "Just because they're a lot of big brutes doesn't argue that we can't smash through them. _Omnis sequitur_, you know."

"Oh, you and your Latin!" exclaimed Tom. "Don't we get enough of that in class."

"It's a fine language," went on Molloy, who was a good classical scholar. "But suppose we line up and run a bit."

The practice was over, the preliminaries had all been arranged, the new ball was brought out and handed to Boxer Hall, for Captain Stoddard had won the toss, and elected to kick off. The yellow spheroid was placed on the center line, on top of a little mound of earth.

"Are you all ready?" asked the referee, and Captain Holly Cross cast a quick eye on his team, which, spread out on their field, was like an aggregation of eager foxhounds, waiting for the start.

"Ready," answered Holly.

"Ready," responded Stoddard.

The whistle sounded shrilly, and a moment later Pinkey Davenport's good right toe had met the pigskin with a resounding "thump," and the ball was sailing toward the Randall goal.

Jerry Jackson caught it and began scuttling back toward the center of the field. Tom, with Ed Kerr and Bricktop Molloy, formed interference for him, and with their efficient aid Jerry rushed the leather back for thirty yards, or to within five yards of the middle of the gridiron. There he was downed with a vicious tackle by Dave Ogden, who had managed to get through between Tom and Bricktop, though they flung themselves at him. Jerry lay still for a moment after falling, with the ball tightly clasped in his arms. Captain Cross ran to him.

"Hurt?" he asked anxiously.

"No. Only--only a little wind knocked out of me," answered the plucky left half-back. "I'm all right now."

"Line up, fellows!" cried Holly, and Phil began rattling off a string of numbers and letters.

It was a signal for Kindlings to take the ball through tackle, and, as he got it, the right half-back leaped for the hole that was opened for him. Right through he plunged, staggering along, half pulled, half shoved, until it was impossible to gain another inch, and Kindlings was buried out of sight under an avalanche of players. But the required gain had been made, and Phil signaled for another try at the Boxer Hall line. Captain Stoddard was vainly calling on his men to brace and hold their opponents, while from the grandstand came wild cheers at the first sign of prowess on the part of Randall.

This time Holly Cross went through guard and tackle for a fine gain, and next he was sent between right-tackle and end. So far there had not been a halt in the progress of bucking the line, but when, on the next play, Ed Kerr was called on to go through between left-end and tackle, he felt as if he had hit a number of bags of sand. There was not a foot of gain, and Ed barely saved the ball, which bounced from his arms; but he fell on it like a flash.

"Don't try there again," whispered Kerr to Phil, as he took his position once more. Phil, however, had seen that the Boxer Hall line was weak, and he determined for another try at it, but in a different place. This time Jerry Jackson was called on for a run around right-end, and so successful was it that he went to the twenty-five-yard line before he was heavily thrown. The tackling of the Boxer Hall lads was severe when they got a chance at it.

Phil, in a flash, determined for a field goal trial. The chances were in favor of it, for there was no wind, and the position was right. Besides, if it was successful it would add immensely to the spirit of his team, and give them a rest from the hard line bucking.

Quickly he gave the signal, and Holly Cross ran to the thirty-yard line for a drop kick. The ball came back and was cleanly caught. The Randall line held, and Holly booted the pigskin in fine shape, but with a groan almost of anguish the players and supporters of the college by the river saw the ball strike the cross-bar and bounce back. The attempt had failed.

The leather was brought out to the twenty-five-yard line, and Boxer Hall prepared for her turn at it. On the first try they gained fifteen yards through a hole that was ripped between Grasshopper Backus and Dutch Housenlager. They then gathered in ten more by a run around Tom's end, though he made a desperate effort to stop the man with the ball.

"Right through 'em, now, fellows!" called Captain Stoddard to his players. "Rip 'em up!"

"Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" besought Holly Cross.

And hold the Randallites did. The wave of attack fell back in a sort of froth of players as Pinkey Davenport tried in vain to gain through center. Snail Looper was like a great rock. Once more there was a try at the line, Dave Ogden being sent in with a rush. But he only gained three yards, and it was inevitable that Boxer would punt. The backs of the Randall team ran toward their goal, but Boxer worked a pretty trick, and on a double pass made fifteen yards before the man was stopped.

"That's the stuff!" cried the Boxer coach, and he ran on the field to whisper to Captain Stoddard.

But the thoughtless action of the coach brought its punishment, for Boxer was penalized ten yards on account of their trainer coming on the field without permission. There was much kicking at this, but the officials insisted, and it stood. Then, with a net gain of less than was needed, and on the last down, Boxer had to kick. Holly Cross got the ball and rushed it well back before he was downed.

So far the playing had been pretty even. Though Boxer was a bit weak on defense, they played a snappy game, and seemed to be able to outgeneral their opponents. Now Randall had another chance to show what they could do.

"Give 'em the 'Conquer or Die' song now!" cried Bean Perkins, and the strains of "_Aut vincere aut mori_" welled out over the gridiron. It seemed to give just the stimulus needed, and when Kindlings had been sent crashing into the line for a twelve-yard gain, Phil quickly resolved on the fake tackle and pass to half-back play. First, however, he called for Ed Kerr to make a try through right-tackle, and when this had been accomplished, with a smashing force that temporarily demoralized the Boxer Hall players, Kindlings was once more requested to oblige. He took the ball from Ed, who had received it from Phil, and around right-end he went, with beautiful interference. It completely fooled the other team, and when the Boxer full-back finally managed to stop Kindlings it was on the ten-yard line.

"Touch-down! Touch-down!" yelled the Randall supporters.

"Touch-down it shall be!" exclaimed Phil.

Smash and hammer, hammer and smash, batter and push it was for the next three minutes! Boxer was desperate, and with tears in their eyes her players sought to stem the tide rushing against them. But Randall was not to be denied. Again and again her men went battering against the wall of flesh and blood, until, with what seemed a superhuman effort, Holly Cross was shoved over the line for a touch-down.

Oh, what yelling and cheering there was then! Even the voice of Bean Perkins, strident as it was, could not be heard above the others. The grandstands were trembling with the swaying, yelling, stamping mass of enthusiasts congregated on them.

Holly Cross kicked a beautiful goal, and with the score six to nothing against them, Boxer Hall prepared to continue the game. There was no let up to the play. It was fast and furious. For a time it seemed that Boxer would score, as, after getting possession of the ball by means of a forward pass, they ripped off twenty yards, and followed that up by gathering in ten more by a smashing play through center. Snail Looper was knocked out, and had to go to the side lines, Rod Everet replacing him. This, to a certain extent, weakened the team, and Randall could not seem to hold. The ball was rushed along until it was within three yards of the maroon and yellow goal. Then, responding nobly to the entreaties which Holly Cross, made, his players held stiffly, and Randall got the ball on downs. No time was lost in booting the pigskin out of danger, and before another formation could be made the whistle blew, and the first half was over.

"Fellows," remarked Coach Lighton in the dressing-room during the rest, "I needn't tell you that you've got to play for all you're worth to win this game. We're going to have trouble this half. With Looper gone, though I expect Everet will do nearly as well at center, it means a certain loss of team work. But do your best. Their line isn't as strong as I feared, but they play much fiercer in the attack than I expected. However, I think you can rip 'em up. Get another touch-down--two if you can--and prevent them from scoring. They may try for a field goal. If they do, get through and block the kick. Now rest all you can."

The second half started in fiercely. Randall kicked off, and succeeded in nailing the Boxer Hall man with the ball before he had run ten yards. But when the line-bucking began something seemed to be the matter with the Randall players. They were shoved back very easily, it appeared, and, with constant gains, the ball was carried toward their territory. So eager did the Randallites get at one stage that they played off-side, and were penalized ten yards. Again there was holding in the line, and ten yards more were given to Boxer Hall for this. The opponents of Randall were now within thirty yards of the goal. By a smash through center they ripped off five more. Then Pinkey Davenport dropped back for a trial for a field goal, and made it. The score was now six to five in favor of Randall.

When Randall got the ball again there was a change at once noticed. More confidence was felt, and so fiercely did her players assail the line that they carried the pigskin, in three rushes, well toward the middle of the field.

Phil gave the signal for a forward pass, and it was well executed. Then came a fake kick, and this was followed by an on-side one. Both netted good gains, and once more Randall was jubilant.

"Right through the line!" cried Phil. "Eat 'em up, fellows!"

His players responded to his call. Through tackle, guard and center, then around the end, the plays being repeated, the ball was carried. The men were tiring, but Phil would not chance a kick. They had no sure thing of a field goal now, as a little wind had sprung up. Up and up the field the spheroid, yellow no longer, but dirty and grass-stained, was carried. On the Randallites took it, until they were on the twenty-five-yard line. There was a form of madness among the college supporters now. Once more came the fierce cries for a touch-down, and once more Phil called to his teammates to respond. The signal for some sequence plays was given. It was well these had been practiced, for Phil's voice could scarcely be heard. One after another four plays were reeled off. They were all effective, and though Boxer Hall tried to stem the rush, it was impossible. Over the line went the Randall lads, to the inspiring chorus of: "Tear 'Em Apart and Toss 'Em Aside!"

"Touch-down! Touch-down! Touch-down!" came the frantic cries, the players mingling their voices with those of the spectators on the grandstand. The goal was missed, but the score was now eleven to five in favor Randall.

Again came the line-up after the kick off. By a fumble Boxer lost the ball, and Tom Parsons fell on it. Then began another fierce attack on the Boxer eleven. But the terrific line-smashing was telling on both teams, though more so on Randall. There was less power in her attack.

Boxer held for downs, and the kick was a weak one, the ball going only a short distance. Then Boxer Hall began to rush it back, and by a trick play got it so far down the gridiron that another field goal was kicked. It began to look dubious for Randall, but there was no give-up in her playing. Securing the ball, Phil kept his players on the rush. Down the field they went, a forward pass netting a good gain and wonderfully saving the wind of the now almost exhausted team. An on-side kick was also used, and then, seeing a weak place in the adversary's line, Phil in turn sent Kindlings, Jerry Jackson and Holly Cross at it. In vain did Boxer Hall try to stop up the gap, but their left-tackle and guard were about all in. In two minutes more Bricktop Molloy was shoved over the line for a third touch-down, and, as goal was kicked, the score was seventeen to ten.

"One more touch-down!" cried Holly Cross, but there was no time for it. Two minutes more of play and the whistle blew. Randall had won one of the fiercest games she had ever played.

"A cheer for Boxer Hall!" cried Holly Cross, and the despondent players, grieving over their defeat, sent back an answer. Then came cheer upon cheer from the grandstand, where waved the yellow and maroon of Randall, and Bean Perkins led in the song: "We Have Come and We Have Conquered!"

"Great, old man!" cried Tom to Phil, who was limping slightly. "Are you hurt?"

"I shouldn't care if I was in pieces after the way we walloped them! Come on over here. I see my sister and Madge!"

Tom followed, his head singing from a severe knock he had received.