Left Guard Gilbert Part 10

"Chop it off, Gilbert," he said finally. "Give a fellow a chance to use his own brains a little. I'm no greenhorn, you know. I played guard all last year on this team."

"I know you did," answered Don. "And I don't say you can't play your position all right. But the best of us make mistakes, and Boots has told me to look out for them and try and correct them. I'd a lot rather be playing than doing this, Kirkwell, but while I am doing it I'm going to do it the best I know how. A fellow who isn't in the game sees a lot the player doesn't, and when----"

"Oh, all right. Only don't tell me stuff I know as well as I know my name, Gilbert. Don't nag."

"Sorry. I'll try not to. But you see what I mean about that stiff-arm business, don't you? Don't get out of position when you're not sure where the play's coming, Kirkwell. Stiff-arm your man and hold him off until you see what's doing. Then you can play him right or left or shove him back. Once or twice you waited too long to find out where the play was coming and you didn't hold your man off. Get me?"

"Yes, but we don't all play the position the same way, you know. What's the good of sparring with your man when you've got to find where the play's coming? You can't watch the ball and your opponent too, can you?"

"It doesn't sound reasonable," said Don, "but you can! You watch Hall do it, if you don't believe me. Maybe you don't actually look two ways at once, Kirkwell, but you can watch your man and locate the play at the same time. I suppose it comes with practice."

"I'd like to see you do it," replied Kirkwell aggrievedly.

"Watch Hall do it. He's the best guard around here. I'm not setting up as an example."

"You talk like it," muttered Kirkwell. But Merton, who had been a silent audience, stepped in to Don's support.

"Gilbert's only trying to help us, Ned. Quit grousing. Come on; time's up."

In spite of mutinous objections Kirkwell profited by Don's advice and instruction and soon showed an improvement in his defensive playing. It didn't appear that day, for Kirkwell was replaced by Don before the second period was more than a few minutes old, while Merton gave way to Goodhugh. Don's advent considerably strengthened the left of the second team's line and more than once during his brief presence there he had the satisfaction of outwitting Tom Hall and once got clear through and smeared a play well behind the first team's line.

Boots cut his squad from day to day and on Friday only some eighteen candidates remained. Brace went with the discard. Between parting with Brace and Goodhugh, Don, when consulted, chose to sacrifice the former.

Possibly young Brace suspected Don's part in his release, for, for some time after that, he viewed Don with scowls.

Don's hand was now entirely healed, although the scars still showed, and, according to the doctor, would continue to show for a long time.

Mr. Boutelle used Don at right guard during some portion of every scrimmage game against the first, a fact which caused Kirkwell a deal of anxiety. Kirkwell had from the first, and not unreasonably, resented Don's appearance with the second team squad. Don had been, as every fellow knew, slated for the first team, and Kirkwell thought it was unfair of him to drop back to the second and "try to do him out of his place." Feeling as he did, it isn't surprising that he took more and more unkindly to Don's teaching. It took all of Don's good nature at times to prevent an open break with Kirkwell. Once the latter accused Don of trying to "ball him up" so that he would play poorly and Don would get the position. The next day, though, he made an awkward apology for that accusation and was quite receptive to Don's criticisms and instructions. But Don's task was no easy one and it grew harder as the season progressed and the second team, especially as to its linemen, failed to develop the ability Mr. Boutelle looked for. Don more than once was on the point of resigning his somewhat thankless task, but Tim refused to sanction it, and what Tim said had a good deal of influence with Don.

"Well, then," he said moodily, "I hope Kirkwell will break something and get out of it."

"Tut, tut," remonstrated Tim. "Them's no Christian sentiments."

"I do, though. Or, anyway, I hope something will happen to let me out of it. Boots said he was afraid Robey would take me on the first, but I don't see any chance of it."

"I don't see why he doesn't, though," mused Tim. "Your hand's all right now and you're playing a corking good game. You can work all around any guard he's got except, maybe, Tom. Tom's rather a bit above the average, if you ask me. Neither Walton nor Pryme amounts to a whole lot."

"Robey's been playing Walton a good deal lately," said Don. "I wouldn't be surprised if he put him in ahead of Gafferty before long."

"There isn't a lot to choose between them, I guess," answered Tim.

"Gafferty's no earthly good on offence. Wait till we run up against Benton tomorrow. Those huskies will show Gafferty up finely. And maybe some more of us," Tim added with a chuckle.

"Oh, well----" began Don, vaguely, after a minute.

But Tim interrupted. "Know what I think? I think Robey means to take you on the first later and is letting you stay with Boots just so you'll get fined down and speeded up a bit. You know you're still a little slow, Donald."

"I am?" Don asked in genuine surprise. "I didn't know it. How do you mean, slow, Tim?"

Tim leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. "Every way, Donald. I'm telling you this for your own good, dearie. I thought you realised it, though, or I'd have said it before.

You start slow and you don't get up steam until the play's about over.

If it wasn't that you're an indecently strong chap we'd get the jump on you every time. We do, as it is, only it doesn't do us much good, because you're a tough chap to move. Now you think it over, Don. See if you can't ginger up a bit. Bet you anything that when you do Robey'll have you yanked off that second team in no time at all!"

"I'm glad you told me," said Don, after a moment's consideration. "I thought I was doing pretty well this fall. I know well enough it was being all-fired slow that kept me off the first last fall, but I surely thought I'd picked up a whole lot of speed. I'll have to go back to practising starts, I guess."

"Oh, never mind the kindergarten stuff, old man. Just put more jump into it. You'll find you can do it all right, now that you know about it.

Why, I'll bet you'll be performing like a Jack rabbit before the season's over!"

"Like a jacka.s.s, more likely," responded Don ruefully.

"No, for a jacka.s.s, dearie, doesn't take a hint."

"Well, but I don't believe I _can_ play any faster, Tim. If I could I'd be doing it, wouldn't I? Just naturally, I mean."

"Never mind the conundrums, Don. You try it. If you do I'll be willing to guarantee you a place on the first."

"I guess your guarantee wouldn't cut much ice," objected Don, with a laugh. Then he sobered and added: "Funny game, though, me coaching Kirkwell and Merton and Goodhugh. Looks as if I was the one needed the coaching."

"Sure. We all need it. No one's perfect, Don, although, without boasting, I will say that I come pretty near it."

"You come pretty near being a perfect chump, if that's what you mean."

Tim shook his head. "It isn't at all what I mean. Now cut out the artless prattle and let me find some sense in this history stuff--if there is any!"

CHAPTER IX

THE WIDTH OF A FINGER

AT chapel the next morning Mr. Fernald, the princ.i.p.al, after the usual announcements had been made, lifted a newspaper from the table at his side and ran his eyes over an item there. "I have here," he said, "a copy of this week's Brimfield _Times_, which tells of an incident of which I had not learned. In telling of a fire on Sat.u.r.day night last which destroyed a barn and damaged other buildings on the farm of Mr.

William Corrigan, some three miles from the village, the _Times_ makes mention of the valuable a.s.sistance of a Mr. Grover Brady and four boys of this school. According to the _Times_, Mr. Brady and four boys dashed to the scene in a high-powered automobile, organised a bucket brigade and saved"--Mr. Fernald consulted his authority again--"saved the dwelling house from the devouring element. The metaphor is that of the paper. Possibly the _Times_ is misinformed with regard to the heroic young firemen, although I hope not. I should be very pleased to discover that they were really Brimfieldians. If they were, if they are before me at this moment, I trust they will signify the fact by standing up. I'm sure we'd all like to know their ident.i.ty and give them well-deserved applause. Now then, will the modest heroes kindly reveal themselves?"

Silence ensued, a silence broken only by a few whispers and some shuffling of feet. Every fellow's eyes searched the room, or, at least, that is true of almost every fellow. Tim smiled innocently and expectantly at the princ.i.p.al, Clint studied the back of the head in front of him most interestedly, Don observed the scar in his hand absorbedly and Tom grinned because Steve Edwards was whispering from the side of his mouth: "Why don't you get up, you bloomin' hero, why don't you get up?" Harry Walton was smiling that knowing smile of his and doing his best to catch Don's eye. And Don somehow knew it and didn't dare look toward him.

"I'm disappointed," said Mr. Fernald after a minute. "Either the paper is mistaken or the fellows are over-modest. Well, if they won't speak for themselves perhaps someone else will volunteer to wrest them from the obscurity they so evidently court. How about that, boys? Anyone know who the heroes are?"

Again silence for an instant, and then, in various parts of the room, the sudden moving of seats or tramping of feet as though someone was about to get up. But no one did, and some of the younger boys in front began to t.i.tter nervously. Mr. Fernald smiled and laid the Brimfield _Times_ back on the table.

"No heroes amongst us, eh? Well, doubtless if any of you had been there you'd have performed quite as well as these unknown young gentlemen did.

I like to think so. Dismissed."

"Do you think he suspects us?" asked Tom as he ranged himself beside Tim on the way out. "Gee, I thought once he was looking right at me!"

"That's what it is to have a guilty conscience," replied Tim, in a virtuous tone. "Of course he doesn't suspect. If he did he'd have named us, sure as shooting. The funny part of it is that he hasn't thought about what time the fire was! Maybe the paper didn't say. If he knew that he'd probably be a sight more anxious to find us!"

"I was scared stiff that Harry Walton would blab. I didn't dare look at him."

"Harry doesn't know you were with us. He recognised Don, or says he did, and he naturally thinks I was along, but he doesn't know who the other two were. If he opens his mouth I'll brain him."