CHAPTER VII

THE FIRST LINE-UP

Evidently Dr. Churchill surmised that something unusual had occurred, for he changed his slow pace to a faster gait as he approached the football squad, in front of which stood Professor Tines, traces of anger still on his unpleasant face.

"Ah, young gentlemen, at football practice, I see," remarked the doctor, smiling. "I trust there is the prospect of a good team, Mr. Lighton. I was very well pleased with the manner in which the baseball nine acquitted itself, and I trust that at the more strenuous sport the colors of Randall will not be trailed in the dust."

"Not if I can help it, sir; nor the boys, either," replied the coach.

"That's right," added Captain Holly Cross.

"I see you also take an interest in the sport," went on Dr. Churchill to Professor Tines. "I am glad the members of the faculty lend their presence to sports. Nothing is so ennobling----"

"Sir," cried Professor Tines, unable to contain himself any longer, "I have been grossly insulted to-day. I wish to enter a most emphatic protest against the continuance of football at this college. But a moment ago, as I was crossing the field, reading this Greek volume, I was knocked over by the ball. I now formally demand that football be abolished."

Dr. Churchill looked surprised.

"I want the guilty one punished," went on Professor Tines. "Who kicked that ball at me?"

"Yes, young gentlemen, who did it?" repeated the proctor, for he thought it was time for him to take a hand. "I demand to know!"

"It wasn't any one in particular, sir," answered Coach Lighton, determined to defend his lads. "It was done on a new play we were trying, and it would be hard to say----"

"I think perhaps I had better investigate," said Dr. Churchill. "Young gentlemen, kindly report at my study in half an hour."

"If you please, sir," spoke Phil Clinton, "Professor Tines asked us to call and see him."

"Ah, I did not know that. Then I waive my right----"

"No, I waive mine," interrupted the Latin teacher, and he smoothed out some of the pages in the Greek book.

"Perhaps we had better have them all up to my office," proposed the proctor. "It is larger."

"A good idea," said the president of Randall. "Gentlemen, you may report to the proctor in half an hour. I like to see the students indulge in sports, but when it comes to such rough play that the life of one of my teachers is endangered, it is time to call a halt."

"His life wasn't in any danger," murmured Tom.

"Hush!" whispered the coach. "Leave it to me, and it will come out all right."

"But if they abolish football!" exclaimed Phil. "That will be too much! We'll revolt!"

"They'll not abolish it. I'll make some explanation."

Dr. Churchill, Professor Tines, and the proctor moved away, leaving a very disconsolate group of football candidates on the gridiron.

"Do you suppose Pitchfork will prevail upon Moses to make us stop the game?" asked Jerry Jackson. "Moses," as has been explained, being the students' designation of Dr. Churchill.

"We'll get up a counter protest to Pitchfork's if they do," added his brother, Joe Jackson.

"Hurrah for the Jersey twins!" exclaimed Tom. The two brothers, who looked so much alike that it was difficult to distinguish them, were from the "Garden State," and thus had gained their nickname.

"Well, that sure was an unlucky kick of mine," came from Holly Cross sorrowfully.

"Nonsense! You're not to blame," said Kindlings Woodhouse. "It might have happened to any of us. We'll all hang together."

"Or else we'll hang separately, as one of the gifted signers of the Fourth of July proclamation put it," added Ed Kerr. "Well, let's go take our medicine like little soldiers."

In somewhat dubious silence they filed up to the proctor's office. It was an unusual sight to see the entire football squad thus in parade, and scores of students came from their rooms to look on.

Dr. Churchill and Professor Tines were on hand to conduct the investigation. The latter stated his case at some length, and reiterated his demand that football be abolished. In support of his contention he quoted statistics to show how dangerous the game was, how many had been killed at it, and how often innocent spectators, like himself, were sometimes hurt, though, he added, he would never willingly be a witness of such a brutal sport.

"Well, young gentlemen, what have you to say for yourselves?" asked Dr. Churchill, and Tom thought he could detect a twinkle in the president's eye.

Then Coach Lighton, who was a wise young man, began a defense. He told what a fine game football was, how it brought out all that was best in a lad, and how sorry the entire squad was that any indignity had been put upon Professor Tines. He was held in high esteem by all the students, Mr. Lighton said, which was true enough, though esteem and regard are very different.

Finally the coach, without having hinted in the least who had kicked the ball that knocked the professor down, offered, on behalf of the team, to present a written apology, signed by every member of the squad.

"I'm sure nothing can be more fair than that," declared Dr. Churchill. "I admit that I should be sorry to see football abolished here, Professor Tines."

Professor Tines had gained his point, however, and was satisfied. He had made himself very important, and had, as he supposed, vindicated his dignity. The apology was then and there drawn up by the proctor, and signed by the students.

"I must ask for one stipulation," said the still indignant instructor. "I must insist that, hereafter, when I, or any other member of the faculty approaches, all indiscriminate knocking or kicking of balls cease until we have passed on. In this way all danger will be avoided."

"We agree to that," said Mr. Lighton quickly, and the incident was considered closed. But Professor Tines, if he had only known it, was the most disliked instructor in college from then on. He had been hated before, but now the venom was bitter against him.

"We're well out of that," remarked Tom to Phil, as they went to their room, having gotten rid of their football togs. "I wonder what fun Pitchfork has in life, anyhow?"

"Reading Latin and Greek, I guess. That reminds me, I must bone away a bit myself to-night. I guess Sid is in," he added, as he heard some one moving about in the room.

They entered to find their chum standing on a chair, reaching up to one of the silken banners Tom had hung with such pride.

"Here, you old anchorite! What are you doing?" cried Phil.

"Why, I'm trying to make this room look decent," said Sid. "You've got it so cluttered up that I can't stand it! Isn't it enough to have pictures stuck all over?"

"Here, you let that banner alone!" cried Tom, and he gave such a jerk to the chair on which Sid was standing that the objector to things artistic toppled to the floor with a resounding crash.

"I'll punch your head!" he cried to Tom, who promptly ensconced himself behind the bed.

"Hurt yourself?" asked Phil innocently. "If you did it's a judgment on you, misogynist that you are."

"You dry up!" growled Sid, as he rubbed his shins.

Then, peace having finally been restored, they all began studying, while waiting for the summons to supper. When the bell rang, Phil and Tom made a mad rush for the dining-room.

"Football practice gives you a fine appetite," observed Phil.

"I didn't know you fellows needed any inducement to make you eat," spoke Sid.

"Neither we do," said Tom. "But come on, Phil, if he gets there first there'll be little left for us, in spite of his gentle words."

"We'll have harder work at practice to-morrow," continued Phil as they sat down at the table. "It will be the first real line-up, and I'm anxious to see how I'll do against Shipman."

"He's got Gerhart's place for good, has he?" asked Tom.

"It looks so. Pass the butter, will you? Do you want it all?"

"Not in the least, bright-eyes. Here; have a prune."

"Say, you fellows make me tired," observed Sid.

"What's the matter with you lately, old chap?" asked Tom. "You're as grumpy as a bear with a sore nose. Has your girl gone back on you?"

"There you go again!" burst out Sid. "Always talking about girls! I declare, since those pictures and things are up in the room, you two have gone daffy! I'll have 'em all down, first thing you know."

"If you do, we'll chuck you in the river," promised Phil.

Thus, amid much good-natured banter, though to an outsider it might not sound so, the supper went on. There was more hazing that night, in which Phil and Tom had a share, but Sid would not come out, saying he had to study.

"Come on, Tom," called Phil the next afternoon, "all out for the first real line-up of the season. I'm going to run the 'varsity against the scrub, and I want to see how I make out."

"Has the 'varsity eleven all been picked out?" asked Tom anxiously.

"Practically so, though, of course, there will be changes."

"I wonder if I----"

"You're to go at left-end. Come on, and we'll get our togs on."

After a little preliminary practice the two teams were told to line-up for a short game of fifteen-minute halves. Coach Lighton named those who were to constitute a provisional 'varsity eleven, and, to his delight, Tom's name was among the first named. Phil went to quarter, naturally, and several of Tom's chums found themselves playing with him.

"Now try for quick, snappy work from the start," was the advice of the coach. "Play as though you meant something, not as if you were going on a fishing trip, and it didn't matter when you got there."

The ball was put into play. The 'varsity had it, and under the guidance of Phil Clinton, who gave his signals rapidly, the scrub was fairly pushed up the field, and a little later the 'varsity had scored a touchdown. Goal was kicked, and then the lads were ready for another tussle.

The scrub, by dint of extraordinary hard work, managed to keep the ball for a considerable time, making the necessary gains by rushes.

"We must hold 'em, fellows!" pleaded Phil, and Captain Holly Cross added his request to that end, in no uncertain words.

Shipman, the scrub quarter, passed the pigskin to his right half-back, and the latter hit the line hard. Phil Clinton, seeing an opening, dove in for a tackle. In some way there was a fumble, and Phil got the ball. The next instant Jerry Jackson, who was on the 'varsity, slipped and fell heavily on Phil's right shoulder. The plucky quarter-back stifled a groan that came to his lips, and then, turning over on his back, stretched out white and still on the ground.

"Phil's hurt!" cried Holly Cross. "Hold on, fellows!"

Tom bent over his chum. He felt of his shoulder.

"It's dislocated," he said. "We'd better get the doctor for him, Holly."