The Crimson Sweater Part 10

Another break in the cherry-hued line and Ferry Hill was down on the opponent's thirty-yard line Jack Rogers holding the ball at arm's-length as he lay on the turf with half the Hammond team upon him. Then came two unsuccessful attempts to get through the center, followed by a double-pa.s.s that barely gained the necessary five yards. Chub was busy now and so were all the others on that side of the gridiron. Even Harry joined her shrill voice, the while she waved her flag valiantly. Again the Brown charged into the enemy's line, but this time her attack was broken into fragments and Whitcomb was borne back for a loss of six yards. A tandem on right-tackle failed to regain more than a yard of the lost ground and Pryor, left half-back, fell back for the kick. It was a poor attempt, the ball shooting almost straight into air. When it came down the Hammond right-tackle found it, fought his way over two white streaks and was finally pulled to earth on the forty-yard line. Then the tide of battle turned with a vengeance. Back over the field went Hammond, using her heavy backs in a tackle-tandem formation with telling effect. The gains were short but frequent. The wings caught the worst of the hammering, for at center Hammond found it impossible to gain, although Jones, her much-heralded center-rush, was proving himself a good match for Horace Burlen. Jack Rogers, at left-tackle, was a hard proposition, but Fernald, beside him at left guard, was weak, and not a few of the gains were on that side. On the other side Hadden at tackle was playing high, and although Gallup was doing his best to break things up, that wing gave badly before Hammond's fierce onslaught. The backs saved the day time and again, bringing down the runner when almost clear of the line. Hammond tried no tricks, but pinned her faith to straight football, relying upon an exceptionally heavy and fast set of backs.

Down to Ferry Hill's twenty-five yards swept the line of battle, slowly, irrevocably. There, Bacon shrieking his entreaties and Jack heartening the men with slaps on backs and shoulders, the brown-clad line held against the enemy and received the ball on downs.

Maybe Ferry Hill didn't leap and shout! Down the side-line raced Chub and his companions, waving flags and awakening the echoes with discordant, frenzied tootings on their horns. And Mr. Cobb, quietly chewing a gra.s.s-blade, smiled once and heaved a sigh of relief.

The Brown's first attempt netted scarcely a yard. Her second, a quarter-back run, came to an inglorious end, Bacon being nailed well back of the line. Then, with six yards to gain on the third down, Pryor once more fell back for a kick. This time he got the ball off well and the opponents went racing back up the field. Hammond's quarter gathered it in, reeled off some ten yards and was brought down by Warren. Once again the advance began, but now there were fewer gains through the left of the brown line; Fernald had found his pace and he and Jack Rogers were working together superbly. The other side was still vulnerable, however, and soon, before the fifty-five-yard line had been pa.s.sed, the Ferry Hill supporters saw with dismay that Hammond was aiming her attack, and not without success, at the center of her opponent's line.

Horace Burlen was weakening, and although Fernald and Gallup, on either side, were aiding him all in their power, Hammond's tandem plunged through his position again and again for small gains. Bacon's voice, hoa.r.s.e and strained, coaxed and commanded, but down to the forty yards went the cherry and black, and from there to the thirty-five, and from there, but by shorter gains now, to the thirty.

"Hold 'em! Hold 'em! Hold 'em!" was the cry from the wavers of the brown and white banners. But it was far easier said than done. Once more within sight of a score, Hammond was desperately determined to reach that last white line. To the twenty-five yards she crept, and then she was almost to the twenty. A long plunge through center and the fifteen was close at hand. And then, while the wearied and battered defense crawled to their feet, a whistle shrilled sharply and the half was over!

And Jack Rogers as he limped across the trampled turf to the bench thanked his star for the timely intervention.

The players disappeared through the gate to the gymnasium, followed by Mr. Cobb and a handful of graduates. On the other side of the gridiron the Hammond warriors, wrapped in their red blankets, sat in a long row and were administered to by rubbers and lectured by coaches. On the Ferry Hill side the boys were singing the school song and interspersing it with cheers and blasts of tin horns. Chub sought out Roy.

"Everybody says you'll go in this half," he whispered. "If you do, sock it to 'em!"

"I won't get in unless Forrest does," answered Roy.

"Well, he's sure to, isn't he? Why, Horace is almost done up already!"

"Maybe, but ten minutes of rest brings a fellow around in great shape, and I wouldn't be surprised if he lasted the game out."

"Last nothing! Look at the way Hammond was plowing through him! Say, that's a great tandem of theirs, isn't it?"

"Pretty good."

"Pretty good! I should think so!"

"It wouldn't be so much against a team that got started quicker. Our line's too plaguey slow and half of them are playing away up in the air.

Look at Hadden! Rogers ought to make him get down on his knees. h.e.l.lo, here they come."

"Can we keep them from scoring, do you think?" asked one of the subst.i.tutes anxiously as the brown-stockinged players trotted back through the gate.

"Yes, I guess so," Roy answered. "But I don't believe we can score ourselves."

"Well, a tie is better than being beaten," said the first youth hopefully.

"No it isn't," said Chub. "It's the meanest kind of an ending. You've done nothing and the other fellow's done nothing and you're no better off than you were when you started. We played eleven innings with Hammond year before last and quit six to six. My, but we were mad! And tired! I'd rather they'd licked us."

"Hope I get a show," muttered the other wistfully. He was a subst.i.tute end and only his lack of weight had kept him off the team.

"There's Cobb laying it down to 'em," whispered Chub. "Watch his finger; you'd think he was in cla.s.s, eh? Any new men going in? Yes there's--No, it isn't, either. Blessed if every man isn't going back! Oh, hang!"

"Some of them won't be there long, I guess," said Roy.

"Well, I must go back and get some noise. The lazy chumps don't half cheer. Hope you get on, old chap. So long!"

Presently the Ferry Hill cheer was ringing across the field, and Chub, his coat thrown aside, was out on the side-line leading as only he could. Over the fading white lines the two teams arranged themselves.

From the Hammond side came a last burst of noise. Spectators scurried back to points of vantage. The referee raised his hand.

"Ready, Ferry Hill?"

Jack answered "Ready!"

"Ready, Hammond?"

"All right," called the Cherry's right-end and captain.

The whistle sounded and the game was on again.

The greater part of the second half was almost a repet.i.tion of the first. Both teams were playing straight football and it would be difficult to say which was the more aggressive. For a time, the ball was in Ferry Hill's territory, and then for another ten minutes, in Hammond's. There were many nerve-racking moments, but each side, whenever its goal seemed in danger, was lucky enough to get the ball on downs and, by a long punt, send it out to the middle of the field.

Jack Rogers kicked off to Hammond's left half-back who made fifteen yards behind good interference and landed the ball on his own thirty-five yards. Back went the right-tackle, the tandem swept forward and broke into fragments against the Brown's left wing. No gain. Once more it sprang at the line and this time went through between Gallup and Hadden for two yards. Third down and three to go. A fake kick gave the ball to the right half and that youth reeled off four yards before he was downed. The next attack, at the center, netted a yard and a half; the next, at the same place, two yards; the rest of the distance was gained outside of left tackle. So it went for awhile and once more the ball was in Ferry Hill territory.

Hammond was plugging steadily now at center and right side, Burlen, Gallup and Hadden all receiving more attention than they coveted. At last a long gain through Hadden left that youth crumpled up on the turf.

The whistle blew and a big sub, tearing off his sweater, raced onto the field. Hadden was up in a minute, only to discover that his way led toward the side-line. The sub, Walker, was a trifle harder proposition for Hammond, and for awhile that side of the line showed up well, but by the time the tide had swept down to the thirty-five-yard line Hammond was once more gaining almost as she liked through right-tackle and guard. There were no gains longer than four yards, and such were infrequent owing to the good work of the backs, but almost every attack meant an advance, and not once did Hammond fail of her distance in three downs. But on the thirty-yard line Ferry Hill called a halt. The play was directly in the middle of the field and the goal-posts loomed up terribly near. Hammond's first try failed, for Bacon guessed the point of attack and Ferry Hill threw her whole force behind Burlen. Foiled there, Hammond tried right-tackle again, shoved Walker aside and went through for a scant two yards. It was third down, and over on the side-line Roy measured the distance from cross-bar to back-field and watched for a place-kick. But Hammond, true to her plan of battle, made no attempt at a kick but sent her tandem plunging desperately at the line. It was a mistake, as events proved, to point the tandem at Jack Rogers, for although the attack gained something by being unexpected, it failed to win the required distance. Jack gave before it, to be sure, and spent a minute on the ground after the whistle had blown, but when the referee had measured the distance with the chain it was found that Hammond had failed of her distance by six inches!

Bedlam let loose on the Ferry Hill side as Bacon ran in from his position almost under the goal-posts, clapped his hands and cried his signals. Pryor fell back to the fifteen-yard line, there was a breathless moment of suspense, and then the ball went arching up the field, turning lazily over and over in its flight.

Hammond captured it on her forty yards but was downed by the Ferry Hill left-end. Then it began all over again, that heart-breaking, nerve-racking advance. And this time the gains were longer. At center Hammond went through for a yard, two yards, even three. Once a penalty cost Hammond five yards, but the distance was regained by a terrific rush through Gallup, that youth being put for the moment entirely out of the play. Later, down near Ferry Hill's forty-five-yard line, a fumble by Pool, the plucky, hard-playing Hammond quarter, cost his side ten yards more. And although Pool himself managed to recover the ball it went to the opponent on downs.

I think that fumble was in a measure a turning point in the game.

Hammond never played quite as aggressively afterwards. She had gained a whole lot of ground at a cost of much strength, only to be turned back thrice. It began to look as though Fate was against her. And a minute later it seemed that Fate had decided to favor her opponent. For when Pryor kicked on first down the breeze suddenly stiffened and took the ball over the head of Pool. The latter turned and found it on the bound near the ten yards, but by that time the Ferry Hill ends were upon him and he was glad to call it down on his fifteen yards. The sight of the two teams lined up there almost under Hammond's goal brought joy to the hearts of the friends of the Brown, and the cheering took on a new tone, that of hope. But the ball was still in the enemy's hands and once more the advance began. They hammered hard at Burlen and gained their distance. They swooped down on Walker and trampled over him. They thrust Gallup aside and went marching through until the secondary defense piled them up in a heap. But it was slower going now, there was more time between plays, and knowing ones amongst the watchers predicted a scoreless game. And there was scarcely twelve minutes left.

Roy, his blanket trailing from his shoulders as he moved crouching along the border of the field, prayed for a fumble, anything to give his side the ball there within striking distance of the Hammond goal. But Hammond wasn't fumbling to any extent that day; wearied and disappointed as they were, her players clung to the ball like grim death. On her twenty-five yards she made a gain of three yards through center and when the pile of writhing bodies had been untangled Horace Burlen still lay upon the sod.

Roy turned quickly toward Forrest. That youth was watching calmly and chewing a blade of gra.s.s. Failing to catch his eye, Roy looked for Mr.

Cobb. Already he was heading toward them. The subst.i.tute end tied and untied the arms of the brown jersey thrown over his back with nervous fingers. But the coach never looked in his direction.

"Forrest!" he called. And Forrest slowly climbed to his feet.

"Porter!" And Roy was up like a flash, had tossed aside his blanket and was awaiting orders.

CHAPTER VIII

FORREST LOSES HIS TEMPER AND ROY KEEPS HIS PROMISE

The coach led Roy and Forrest to the field and gave them his orders.

"Get in there, you two," he said briskly, "and show what you can do.

There's small hope of scoring against Hammond, but if the chance comes work their ends for all there is in it. What you've got to do--_got_ to do, mind!--is to keep them away from your goal-line. Forrest, if you ever moved quick in your life do it now. You've simply got to get the jump on Jones. He's a good man, but recollect that he's been playing pretty nearly an hour and is dead tired. He'll play foul, too, I guess; Burlen's face is pretty well colored up. But don't you dare to slug back at him; understand?"

Forrest nodded smilingly.

"And as for you, Porter, just you play the best game you know how. Keep the fellows' courage up; that's half of it. I'm taking Rogers out--he's not fit to stand up any longer--and you'll act as captain. I guess you'll know what to do on defense, and if you get the ball remember the ends. Try it yourself on that formation for tandem on guard; and give Whitcomb a chance, for I think you can get through between tackle and end. Don't be afraid to take risks; if you get the ball risk anything!

Go ahead now!"