CHAPTER XXVII

VINTON’S VICTORY

Yardley had fought her way down to Broadwood’s twenty-four yards and Loring was despairingly hurling the backs at the slowly yielding green line. First down again on the twenty-yard-line! A plunge through left guard for a scant yard; a run outside of tackle for three; third down and six yards to go, the goal-posts standing there mockingly almost above them. Loring wouldn’t risk a forward pass again. A try for a field goal was the only thing, and yet even if it succeeded it would still leave them two points behind. If only they might get a touchdown. He hesitated, the signal on his lips, hesitated, caught Colton’s dejected nod, and decided. Kapenhysen walked back, Loring following and dropping to his knees. Carefully the latter smoothed and patted the turf. The two lines, watching each other like boxers in the ring, shifted and moved, ready to close the instant the ball was passed. On the side-lines the silence grew and deepened. Then back came the ball into Loring’s waiting hands, his fingers clutched themselves about it, turned it and put it to earth. The lines swayed. Green-clad figures leaped through, arms up-stretched in the flight of the pigskin which, arching in slow flight, propelled by Kapenhysen’s mighty toe, was making surely for the cross-bar. A sudden thunder of sound, wild and discordant, filled the air. Blue banners waved triumphantly. On the score board the figure 4 topped the enemy’s 6. Back to the middle of the field trotted the teams.

Around the corner of the home stand came two figures. One was in everyday clothes, the other in the blue and khaki of Yardley.

“Ready, Broadwood?” The referee’s whistle was at his lips.

“All ready, sir!”

“Ready, Yardley?”

“All--No, sir! Just a minute. There’s a man coming on!”

“It’s all right, Vinton,” Payson was whispering calmly. “I can’t explain now. Go in there for Williams and do your best. Tell Loring not to forget ‘seventeen’ when he gets a chance. And when it comes, Vinton, make it good! You can do it! Play close on defense, and--well, that’s all. Go ahead!”

Vinton leaped forward like a young colt and raced onto the field. His heart was in his mouth, but he was fearsomely happy! The stand saw, wondered and shrieked approval. The leaders called for a “short cheer for Vinton, fellows, and make it good!” It was good, but Dan didn’t hear it. The ball was in air, Broadwood was charging down beneath it and he was blocking off a Broadwood tackle. Loring was playing like a dozen men that day, and now, with the ball clasped fast, he was dodging and running back up the field. Tackler after tackler was fooled, foe after foe was left behind. Dan was running too, trying to reach his team-mate to ward off the enemy. But before he could catch up with him Loring was down, rolling over and over, half a dozen green-clad players tumbling about him.

There was a quick line-up on the Blue’s forty yards and the game went on. But Yardley had met a foeman worthy of her steel to-day and as the ball went nearer and nearer to the north goal the gains grew shorter and shorter. On a second down a “bunch” pass was tried and although Connor secured it a penalty for off-side set the offense back again. Then a third down failed of the required distance by a bare twelve inches and the pigskin went to the enemy and was booted far down the field.

Yardley had it all to do over again. But now she was plainly the aggressor; Broadwood, doubtful of her ability to score again, had settled down to a policy of defense. But a scant ten minutes of playing time remained, and if she could keep her opponent from reaching her thirty-yard-line she need have no fear as to the final result. Yardley had not fully found herself until the first half was half over, and since then she had been playing a fast, hard game, and up until the present time had been improving rather than falling off. Broadwood’s single score, while by no means a fluke, had resulted from a trick which would probably not work again, and Yardley had demonstrated to her opponent’s satisfaction that consistent gains through the blue line were impossible. So Broadwood “played it safe,” longing for the sound of the final whistle.

Back on her thirty yards Yardley was buckling down to her task, a heart-breaking task at best. Loring feared to punt now, lest Broadwood should change her tactics and keep the ball. But after the Blue had reconquered twenty yards by desperate attacks at the line, Loring saw that at last the enemy was getting slow and logy. If the few untried tricks which remained in Yardley’s repertoire were to be used at all, now was the time. Constant hammering at the line, with occasional excursions outside of tackles on the part of the enemy had lulled Broadwood into unsuspiciousness. A quarter-back kick which was regained by Connor for an advance of twelve yards, opened her eyes. Connor was hurt in the play and Dyer took his place.

Broadwood became wary again, but her line-men were slow; only her backs had real life in them any longer. Loring tried Dyer around his own end, passing the ball to him on the run, and the right half-back tore off nine yards before he was captured. Yardley was past the middle of the field now, once more in the Green’s territory. A rather complicated cross-buck play ended in a loss and Loring went back at the line, sending Kapenhysen through a ragged hole made by Colton and Hill for a good six yard gain. But after that the Broadwood line stiffened again and on the forty yards Loring tried a quarter-back run, which gained four yards, following it with a run by Capes from punting formation, the fleet-footed left half covering thirty yards across the field to gain a scant eight. But every play was a gain of some sort, and the ball was still Yardley’s.

Now she was past the opponent’s thirty yards and the cheers from the Blue’s supporters were imperative and continuous. The time-keeper had passed the five-minute word. It was now or never, for once let Broadwood gain possession of the ball and she would punt far down the field from where Yardley could never retrace her steps in the time remaining.

It was first down on Broadwood’s twenty-seven yards. Loring and Colton held a consultation. Colton was for risking all in a try at goal from placement, but Kapenhysen, when called on for an opinion, begged them not to try it.

“I’ll do my best, old man,” he panted, “but I’m pretty near all in. Let’s hammer it over. Anyhow, don’t kick until you have to.”

So back to the hammer-and-tongs plays they went, but now, in the shadow of her goal, Broadwood awoke from her lethargy and played grand football. Berwick went in at center for Hill, Minturn replaced Dickenson, Smith went in for Hadlock. But, in spite of the fresh material, or perhaps because Broadwood, too, was sending in substitutes, Yardley won her next first down by the barest three inches. Dan remembered for a long time his suspense while the officials bent over the chain measuring the distance, and the great shout of relief that went up as the referee waved the linesman on.

Loring doubted now whether the next three downs would bring the required ten yards if he continued the attack on the line. He would have liked to try that double forward pass, but hesitated because, as he knew, to be at its best it should follow a “bunch” pass to the other side of the line, and Yardley’s attempts at this play had not been brilliantly successful. Still pondering and studying as he leaned over behind Berwick and looked around at the backs, the solution came to him. He gathered the team about him, issued his instructions, gave the signals and the backs took up the kicking formation.

“Forward pass!” cried the Broadwood quarter. “Look out for forward pass, fellows!”

Back went the ball, off raced the back-field to form in a bunch at the right. But a groan arose from the Yardley side of the field; Kapenhysen had fumbled the ball! And although he recovered it long before Broadwood broke through, and although having recovered it, he tucked it against his body and went straight into the melee before he was downed, yet a first down had been wasted and the ball was no nearer the goal-line than before. They never knew on the side-lines that Kapenhysen’s little fumble had been intentional, nor did the enemy guess it now. Encouraged, she set up her line again, wearied, but grimly determined.

Again came the signals:

“_43--53--177--6!_” And again: “_43--53--177--6!_”

Off raced Dyer, Loring and Kapenhysen to the right, Dickenson and Mitchell plunging through ahead of them.

“Forward pass!” cried Broadwood again, and her whole team followed to where, ten yards back of the line, Yardley was bunched as though to receive the pass. No one but the Broadwood quarter saw Dan steal through outside of tackle unmolested, and he saw it too late. Kapenhysen had stopped in his flight to the right and had passed the ball, straight and swift to Capes, fifteen yards away across the field. Capes took a step or two, stopped and sped the ball forward in a low curve to Dan’s waiting hands. Back raced the Broadwood players, but too late. Dan was almost on the five-yard-line when the ball settled into his arms. With a quick turn he plunged to the right, eluded the oncoming Broadwood half, tore free from the quarter and went staggering around the goal-post for a touchdown and victory.

* * * * *

The banquet was well along towards its close. The last plate had been pushed away, Loring, just elected captain for next year by acclamation, had made his little speech and now Payson had been called on. The coach laid down his napkin and arose, looking smilingly down the long table which, aglow with shaded candles, made an oasis of light in the darkened commons. Then he began to speak.

Dan, seated between Hill and Folwell, at the far end of the board, listened for a few moments. Then his thoughts wandered to the events of the day, to the note that Gerald had passed him outside the gymnasium door and which still lay unopened and until now forgotten in his pocket. He wondered what it could be. He drew it forth and broke the seal out of sight. The writing looked like Tubby’s atrocious fist, but--Why it was from Tubby! And what was this? Dan began at the beginning and read the note from end to end.

“Dear Dan: I’m off for home to-day. Don’t expect me back. You went and spoiled everything, you fool. It was I that did the decorations on Dudley. I wanted to get even with that ass Loring, and I would have if you hadn’t butted in and done the early Christian Martyr act. I’ve sent a note to Payson, so I guess he will let you play this afternoon. Hope you win. And I’ve left a note at the Office respectfully tendering my resignation. So they can’t fire me, you see. There was another fellow in with me on the painting act, but I won’t say who he is. Anyhow, it was my idea and I did the whole thing; he just watched. And I don’t want him to get into trouble over it, so you’d better keep mum about him. I guess I’ll try to make Broadwood after Christmas, if dad will let me go. Anyhow, I hope I’ll see you again some time before long. I’m glad to get out of this hole, you bet!

“Your friend,

“HARRY L. JONES.

“P. S. I’m leaving my silver shoe-horn in the top bureau drawer. Maybe you’ll like to keep it. You can if you want. I wish you’d get my trunk down and pack my things for me. I’ll send for them in a few days. Good luck. TUBBY.”

Tubby gone! Dan stared in amazement at the letter. And Tubby had done the painting. Well, he had suspected that. Poor old Tubby! He was sorry, real sorry, and he wished now that--

“Wake up, Vinton!”

Dan started. Folwell was digging him with his elbow and grinning at him.

“Huh?” he asked blankly. But Folwell whispered to him to “shut up and listen to Payson, you chump!” And Dan listened. The next moment his eyes were on the table and he felt the blood creeping up his neck, around his ears and into his cheeks. Once he glanced up and met Loring’s face laughing back at him across the board. But there was more than laughter in Loring’s look and Dan’s eyes dropped swiftly again.

“And so,” Payson was saying, “although this victory of to-day belongs to us and to the whole school, yet it is essentially a one-man victory. And that one is here amongst us. It is his victory, not merely because, a new fellow this Fall, he worked hard and cut his way into the team; not merely because at the last moment, on a play which he himself invented, he made the winning score for us; but because, when two of our men, one of whom we simply couldn’t have done without, were charged with a misdemeanor and deprived of their right to play on the team, this fellow came forward and, innocent though he was, shouldered the fault and the punishment that those men might play and that Yardley might win. Yes, fellows, to-day’s victory was your victory, my victory, the school’s victory, but more than all it was Vinton’s victory!”

THE END

* * * * *

Transcriber’s Notes:

--Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).

--Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to follow the text that they illustrate.

--Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.