Left End Edwards

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The school held its first mass meeting on Wednesday evening of that week
and cheered and sang and whooped things up with a fine frenzy. The
discouragement of the Chambers game was quite forgotten. Andy Miller, in
a short speech, soberly predicted a victory over Claflin, and the
audience yelled until the roof seemed to shake. Coach Robey gave a
resume of the season, thanked the school for its support of the team,
pledged the best efforts of everyone concerned and, while refusing to
say so in so many words, hinted that Brimfield would have the long end
of the score on the twenty-fifth. After that the football excitement
grew and spread and took possession of the school like an epidemic.
Recitations became farces, faculty fumed and threatened--and bore it,
and some one hundred and fifty boys fixed their gaze on the twenty-fifth
of November and lived breathlessly in the future.

There was a second mass meeting on Saturday, a meeting that ended in a
parade up and down the Row, much noise and a vast enthusiasm. Brimfield
had met Southby Academy in the afternoon and had torn the visitors to
tatters, scoring almost at will and sending the hopes of her adherents
soaring into the zenith. To be sure, Southby had presented a rather weak
team, but, as an offset to that, Brimfield had played without the
services of the regular right end, without her captain and with a
back-field largely substitute during most of the game. There was nothing
wrong with Andy Miller, but it was thought best to save him for the
final conflict. The last fortnight of a football season is a hard period
for the captain, no matter how smoothly things have progressed; and
Brimfield had had a particularly fortunate six weeks. Andy Miller was
not the extremely nervous type, but, nevertheless, he had lost some
fourteen pounds during the month and was far "finer" than Danny Moore
wanted to see him. So Andy, dressed in "store clothes," saw the Southby
game from the side-line, hobnobbing with the coaches and Joe Benson,
still on crutches, and with Norton, who, after smashing out two
touchdowns in the first period, was also taken out to be saved.

There was no trace of the slump left, and the final score that Saturday
afternoon was 39 to 7, and the school was hysterically delighted, which
accounts for the added enthusiasm which kept them marching up and down
the Row in the evening until the patience of a lenient faculty was
exhausted, and Mr. Conklin, prodded into action by a telephone message
from the Cottage, appeared and dispersed the assembly.

The second team was to go out of business on Thursday, and several
members of it were eager to end the season with a banquet. Freer and
Saunders dropped in on Steve and Tom Sunday afternoon to talk it over
and win their support. It was a nasty day, rainy and blowy and cold, and
most of the fellows were huddling indoors around the radiators. Steve
and Tom, on opposite sides of the table, were chewing the ends of their
pens and trying to write their Sunday letters when the visitors came.
Steve was studiedly haughty, as, to his mind, became one who was
unjustly suspected of dishonesty. The visitors seemed puzzled by his
manner and presently addressed themselves almost entirely to Tom, who,
anxious to atone for his room-mate's churlishness, was nervously affable
and unnaturally enthusiastic.

"We don't see," explained Saunders, "why we shouldn't be allowed to have
a banquet after we quit training. We deserve it. We've done as much, in
a way, as the 'varsity fellows to win from Claflin. We've been the goats
all the season and it seems to me we ought to get something out of it.
What we want to do is to go to Josh and get him to give us permission to
have a blow-out in the village Thursday night."

"Or here," supplemented Freer, "if he won't let us go to the village.
What do you fellows think?"

"I think it's a good scheme," answered Tom. "And we might get one over
on the 'varsity, too. I mean we'd have our banquet and lots of fun
whether we won from Claflin or not, while the 'varsity, if it loses the
game, doesn't enjoy its banquet very much, I guess."

"Well, will you fellows come around to Brownell's room to-night after
supper? Al is willing enough, but, being captain, he doesn't want to
start the thing himself. We're going to see all the fellows this
afternoon and then have a sort of a meeting this evening about eight.
You'll come, Edwards?"

"Yes, thanks."

"All right. Come on, Jimmy. We've got several of the fellows to see
yet."

"There wouldn't be very many of us, would there?" asked Tom. "Now that
Robey has pinched Thursby there's only about fifteen left on the team."

"Sixteen, but we thought we'd get Robey to come if he would, and
'Boots,' of course, and maybe Danny. That would make nineteen in all."

"Where would you have it? Is there a hotel in the village?"

"Not exactly, but there's a sort of a boarding-house there; 'Larch
Villa,' they call it. They'd look after us all right. They've got a fine
big dining-room which we could have all to ourselves. We haven't talked
price with them yet, but Al says we could probably get a good feed for
about a dollar and a half apiece. That wouldn't be so much, eh?"

"Cheap, I'd call it," said Freer.

"We'd have beefsteak and things like that, you know," continued Saunders
enthusiastically, "things that are filling. No froth and whipped cream,
you know! And lots of gingerale!"

"Sounds good," laughed Tom. "I wish it was to-night. Do you think Mr.
Fernald will let us?"

"I don't see why not. I spoke to Mr. Conklin about it and he said he
would favour it if Josh came to him about it. If he won't let us go to
the village, we thought maybe he'd let us have our feed here after the
regular supper, if we paid for it ourselves. Well, you fellows show up
about eight. Don't forget, because we want to get the whole bunch there
and talk it all over and appoint a committee to see Josh."

Tom was silent for a minute after the visitors had departed. Then,
hesitatingly, "Steve," he said, "what's the good of acting like that
with fellows?"

"Like what?" asked Steve.

"You know well enough. Freezing up and talking as if you had a mouthful
of icicles. You might be--be decently polite when fellows come in. Freer
is a dandy chap, and Saunders is all right, too. But you treated them as
if they were--were a couple of cut-throats."

"I wasn't impolite," denied Steve. "As long as those fellows choose to
think what they do about me, you can't expect me to slop over with
them."

"You haven't any way of knowing what they think about you," said Tom
vigorously. "You take it for granted that every fellow in school
believes that yarn of Sawyer's. I don't suppose a dozen fellows ever
gave it a second thought."

"I know better. Don't you suppose I can tell? Almost every chap I know
treats me differently now. Even--even Roy--and Harry--act as if they'd
rather not be seen with me!"

"Oh, piffle!" exclaimed Tom indignantly. "That's a rotten thing to say,
Steve! Why, you might as well say that I believe the yarn!"

"You?" Steve laughed meaningly. "You wouldn't be likely to."

"Then neither would Roy or Harry. They haven't known you as long as I
have, but they know you wouldn't do a thing like that."

"I don't see why not," replied Steve stubbornly. "The book was found on
this table. And Sawyer says he saw me with it. I guess it would be
natural for them to believe what Sawyer says."

"They don't, though, as I happen to know," replied Tom stoutly. "Even if
you did bring the book up here, that doesn't mean that you were going
to--to use it. What really happened, I suppose, was that you took it up
without thinking and didn't realise you had it when you came back."

Steve stared at him incredulously. "Well, of all the cheek!" he gasped.

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"I mean that that's a fine thing for you to get off," answered Steve
indignantly. "You'll be saying next that you saw me bring the book in
here that night!"

"I didn't, but--hang it, Steve, the thing _was_ here! You told me so
yourself. I thought you confessed that you brought it up without
knowing."

"Oh, cut it," said Steve wearily. "I'm willing to be decent about it,
Tom, but I don't want to listen to drivel like that."

"Drivel?" repeated the other, puzzled. "Say, what's the matter with you,
anyway, Steve? I don't say you meant to cheat with the old book; I know
mighty well you didn't; I told Telford so and convinced him of it, too;
but I don't see why you need to get so hot under the collar when I--when
I simply remind you that you _did_ bring the book up here!"

"So _I_ brought it up, did I?" asked Steve with an ugly laugh.

"Well, didn't you? Who did, then? You know well enough I didn't."

"Do I? How do I know it? Look here, Tom, we might as well have a
show-down right now. I did not bring that blue-book into this room. I
did not take it out of 'Horace's'. But 'Horace' found it on this table,
poked under a pile of books. Now, then, what do _you_ know about it?"

Tom stared in wide-eyed amazement for a moment. "You--you mean to say
you think I did it!" he gasped finally.

Steve shrugged his shoulders.

"But--but you were here when I came back from downstairs, Steve! You saw
that I didn't have it!"

"I didn't see anything of the sort. I didn't notice whether you had
anything in your hands when you came in. Why should I? You might have
slipped it under your coat. There's no use trying that game, Tom."

"Then why--why did you tell 'Horace' you took the book yourself if you
knew you didn't?"

"Because one of us must have, you idiot."

"Oh, I see," answered Tom thoughtfully. "You wanted to keep me out of
it, eh? Look here, Steve, what would I want with Upton's composition? My
own was written two days before."

Steve shrugged his shoulders again impatiently. "That puzzled me. I
didn't know. You did say afterwards, though, that your own comp. was
pretty rotten. I didn't know but what----"

"You have a fine opinion of me, haven't you?" asked Tom bitterly.
"You've known me ever since we were kids at kindergarten and you think
that of me! Thanks, Steve!"

"Well, what----"

"Now you hold on! I'm going to tell you something." Tom was on his feet
now, his hands on the edge of the table, his gaze bent sternly on his
chum who was seated across the littered surface. "I didn't even see that
blue-book of Upton's. I'll swear it wasn't on Mr. Daley's table when I
went down there. I know nothing of how it got into this room. I tell you
this on my word of honour, Steve. Do you believe me?"

Steve's gaze met Tom's troubledly, then shifted. "Oh, if you say so, I
suppose I'll have to. But if you didn't bring the book up here----"

"That means you don't believe me," said Tom quietly. "Very well. Now,
one more thing, Steve." Tom's eyes were blazing now, though his face was
white. "Don't you speak to me unless you have to from now on, until you
come to me and tell me that you believe what I've told you!"

"But, Tom, you can see yourself that it's mighty queer! If you----"

"You heard what I said! Perhaps you think I owe you something for trying
to shield me from Mr. Daley. I don't, though. When you set me down for a
cheat you more than squared that account. That's all. After this I
don't want you to speak to me."

Steve shrugged his shoulders angrily. "That goes," he said. "When you
want me to speak to you, you'll ask me, Tom! And don't you forget it!"

Both boys went back to their letters in silence. After a while Steve put
on a raincoat and tramped down the stairs and over to Hensey. He meant
to call on Andy Miller, but Andy was out and only the saturnine Williams
was in the room. Although Steve had grown to like Williams very well,
yet, in his present mood, the right tackle was not the sort of company
Steve craved, and after a few minutes of desultory football talk he went
on. He would have called on Roy and Harry, but now that he and Tom had
quarrelled they would, he thought, side with Tom. In the end he found
himself in the gymnasium. Several fellows were splashing about in the
tank and Steve joined them. For an hour he forgot his troubles in
performing stunts to the envious appreciation of the others in the pool.
Applause was grateful to him that afternoon, and when he had dressed
himself again and, avoiding the room, had gone across to Wendell to wait
for the doors to open for supper, he felt better. Perhaps, he told
himself, Tom really didn't know anything about that plaguey book, but
even so he needn't get so cocky about it! Besides, someone must have put
the book on their table and--well, the evidence was certainly against
Tom!

It wasn't much fun eating supper with Tom at his elbow as grim and stiff
as a plaster statue. Fortunately, Steve was well into his meal before
Tom came in, and meanwhile there were others of the second team to talk
to if he wanted. With no Tom to converse with he found it difficult to
persist in his role of haughty indifference toward the others.
Besides--and it came to him with rather a shock--what they thought of
him was no more than he had been thinking of Tom! Hang it, it was all
pretty rotten! He'd like to choke Eric Sawyer!

It didn't take the rest of the fellows at the training table long to
make the discovery that the two friends were at outs. Trow, a
pale-faced, shock-haired chap, took delight in trying to engage them
both in conversation at the same time, thereby increasing the
embarrassment. Steve was heartily glad when he had finished his supper
and could leave the table. Returning to his room under the circumstances
was not appealing, but there seemed nowhere else to go. There was the
library, of course, but it was a dismal place on a Sunday evening, and
he didn't want to read. But, as it proved, he needn't have considered
avoiding the room, for Tom didn't return after supper, and Steve
finished his letter home in solitude. At eight he went over to Al
Brownell's room in Torrence, not because he was especially interested in
the project to be discussed, but because he had agreed to attend the
gathering and was glad, besides, to get away from Number 12 Billings.
Life in Number 12 didn't promise to be very delightful for awhile, he
thought dolefully.

In Brownell's room Steve carefully took a position as far distant from
Tom as was possible. There was a lot of talk and a good deal of fun, and
in the end Steve found himself chosen one of a committee of five to call
on the principal and request the permission they desired. At a little
after nine he walked back to Billings alone. Tom didn't return until ten
and then, with never a word between them, they undressed and went to
bed. Steve didn't get to sleep very easily that night. More than once he
was sorely tempted to speak across the darkness and tell Tom that he did
believe him and that he was sorry. And I think he would have done it,
too, in the end if Tom had not fallen asleep just then and announced the
fact in the usual melodic manner. Whereupon Steve frowned, punched his
pillow and flopped over.

"It isn't bothering him any," he thought. "If he wants me to speak to
him, he'll have to say so. Cranky chump!"

CHAPTER XXII

STEVE GETS A SURPRISE

Mr. Fernald was surprisingly complaisant on Monday when the committee
from the second team waited on him at the Cottage. He gave them
permission to hold their banquet in the village and even said several
nice things to them about their share in the development of the
'varsity. He warned them against rowdyism, told them they must be back
promptly at nine o'clock and said he hoped they'd have a good time!
After which, much surprised and not a little embarrassed, the committee
backed out of the room and returned joyfully to spread the tidings. A
second committee, headed by Saunders, had already been appointed to
arrange for the banquet in case permission was secured and by Tuesday
everything was complete. I may say here that the event duly came off on
Thursday evening and was a big success. But as neither Steve nor Tom was
present, our interest in the banquet is slight.

On Monday the _Review_ came out. The school paper was published on the
twentieth of the month, and the December issue contained, among other
features, a rather interesting resume of the football season by Mr.
Robey and a list of the games played to date. The coach's article was
too long to reproduce, but the summary of the season's contests was
brief enough to be set down here:

Sept. 30--Brimfield 10; Thacher 3

Oct. 4--Brimfield 10; Canterbury 7

Oct. 7--Brimfield 26; Miter Hill 0

Oct. 14--Brimfield 3; Larchville 17

Oct. 21--Brimfield 0; Benton 0

Oct. 28--Brimfield 27; Cherry Valley 6

Nov. 4--Brimfield 12; Phillips 0

Nov. 11--Brimfield 9; Chambers 30

Nov. 18--Brimfield 39; Southby 7

Brimfield had played nine games, of which she had won six, lost two and
tied one, not a bad record, as the _Review_ rather complacently pointed
out, for a school whose football history dated back but a few years. But
Brimfield didn't waste much time contemplating past performances. Had
the team won every game in its schedule by an overwhelming score, the
season would still be a dismal failure if it lost to Claflin, just as,
if it finally won its big game, the school would rise up and call it
blessed even had it lost every other contest of the season. In other
words, Claflin was the only foe that really counted, and the Claflin
game was the final test by which the Brimfield Football Team stood or
fell.

Claflin School, at Westplains, New York, some twelve miles distant from
Brimfield, was a larger school in point of enrolment, a very much older
school and far more "select." I don't intend to imply by that term that
the Claflin students were a finer set of fellows than those at
Brimfield. Doubtless they would have averaged up about the same. But
Claflin liked to be considered "select" and so I might as well accord
her the distinction. Claflin had been educating the youth of New York
and surrounding states for almost a hundred years, and nowadays fathers
applied for admission for their boys about as soon as the boys were
born. The school was in that respect like a club with a long waiting
list. If a boy wasn't "entered" by the time he was five or six years old
at the latest, he stood small chance of getting in when the time came.

Claflin had won from Brimfield three years on end, or ever since they
had been playing together. She had started out by according Brimfield a
mid-season date. The following year she had placed the game a week later
and last year she had put it last on her schedule, Brimfield having by
then proved herself an adversary of real merit. Oddly enough, Claflin
had for some time been without a special rival and had gladly bestowed
the honour on the Maroon-and-Grey as soon as the latter had shown
herself worthy. This fall Claflin had had an unusually successful
season, having played seven games and won all but the last, that with
Larchville. Larchville, who had defeated Brimfield 17 to 3, had also
taken the measure of Claflin to the tune of 12 to 6. Brimfield read of
it in the Sunday papers and took comfort. After all, Claflin was not
unbeatable it seemed. Her defeat by Larchville, coupled with Brimfield's
overwhelming victory over Southby, lent next Saturday's game a roseate
glow, viewed from a Brimfield view-point. In fact, by Monday Brimfield
was almost confident of at last winning from the Blue, and the question
of a proper celebration of the victory was up for discussion. Of course
it should be a whopping big bonfire, with a parade and speeches and
singing and plenty of music! But Brimfield had never yet celebrated such
a stupendous event and consequently there were no precedents to guide
them. Neither was it known what attitude faculty would take in regard to
such an affair. But a few choice spirits in the upper forms made
tentative arrangements to the extent of picking out a likely spot in a
corner of the athletic field for the fire and locating such loose
material as might come in handy as fuel.

Monday's practice was short and easy. Even the second had an off-day.
The 'varsity players were given a blackboard lecture in the meeting-room
in the gymnasium after supper and were put through an examination on
plays and signals. On Tuesday the practice was as stiff as ever. Coach
Robey was not altogether satisfied with the defence, and there were
forty-five minutes of the hardest sort of scrimmage in which the second
was given the ball at various distances from the 'varsity goal and told
to put it over. The field was closed to spectators that day and it was
hard hammer-and-tongs football all the way. "Boots" drove the second
with whip and spurs and the second responded nobly. But the best it
could do was to drop a field-goal over the bar in the third period of
the scrimmage, after having been held a half-dozen times by a desperate
adversary. Steve played about as well that afternoon as he had ever
played in his life. For once he had no worries on his mind. To be sure,
there was still his falling-out with Tom and his quarrel with the school
at large, but those things seemed rather to lend him a new strength than
to bother him. He played with a dash and a reckless disregard for life
and limb that made Coach Robey observe him with a new interest. Tom
performed with his customary steadiness and more than once put it over
on Fowler and on Churchill, who substituted him. They were some three
dozen very tired youths who finally straggled back to the gymnasium when
the work was over.

On Wednesday the last real practice of the season was to be held, since
the Thursday performance was more in the nature of an exhibition for the
school than real work, and on Friday afternoon the team was to journey
over to Oakdale, on the Sound, and remain there until Saturday forenoon.
But the weather proved unkind on Wednesday. In the middle of the
forenoon the wind veered around to the south and a drizzle of rain set
in. By three o'clock the drizzle had grown into a very respectable
downpour and the gridiron was slow and slippery. But Mr. Robey was not
to be deterred and, with Danny Moore anxiously hovering about like a hen
with a batch of ducklings, the 'varsity was put through a half-hour of
signal work, punting and catching. Then the second, wet and muddy, came
across to the first team gridiron and the two elevens leaped at each
other again. Danny followed close behind, cautioning and scolding, and
more than one player was dragged out of the melee and sent off to the
gym in spite of the coach's pleas and protestations.

"I'll not have them hurted," reiterated Danny stubbornly. "'Tis no sort
of a day for hard work, Coach. I've got 'em through this far an' I'll
not be havin' them breakin' their legs an' arms for the sake of a bit of
practice, sir."

"Hang their arms and their legs!" fumed Mr. Robey. "They might as well
not have any as start the game Saturday half-baked! Give me a chance,
Danny!"

"'Tis takin' big chances, sir, playin' 'em on this sort of a field."

"Then we'll take chances!" growled the coach. "Now get in there, first,
and rip it up! Show what you can do! You've got six to go on third down;
put it over! Wait a minute! Thursby! Get in there for Innes and hold
that centre of the line steady."

"Trot all the way in, my boy, and get a good rubbin'," directed Danny to
the discomforted Innes. "Hi! Put your blanket on! Are you crazy?"

"Play lower there, Hall! Throw them back, second!" entreated "Boots."
"Don't let them have an inch!"

Then the first piled through Brownell for three yards, slipping in the
mud, panting, grunting to the accompaniment of thudding feet and the
_swish_ of wet canvas. Above the players a cloud of steam hovered as
they disentangled themselves. Danny darted into the confusion. Benson
was on his back, thrashing his arms.

"Water!" bawled Danny.

A helper raced on with a slopping pail. Danny's fingers went exploring.

"Ankle," groaned Benson, and Danny shot a triumphantly accusing look at
Coach Robey. In a minute Benson was being helped off and the game was on
again, but Mr. Robey showed a distinct aversion to meeting the trainer's
glance. Later, in the gymnasium, it was known that Benson had hurt the
bad ankle again and would not be able to play the game through on
Saturday, even if he was allowed to get into it at all. Coach Robey
accepted the tidings with a shrug and a scowl.

"Fine!" he said sarcastically. "Claflin's left end is the best player
they've got. Roberts will stand a fine chance against him! Look here,
Danny, I thought you said Benson's ankle was all right?"

"So I did! And so it was all right!" sputtered Danny. "But I didn't say
he could go out an' play on a field like that to-day, did I?"

"All right. It can't be helped now. Where's Captain Miller?"

Danny bent his head backward toward the rubbing room. "In there," he
answered shortly.

"Heard about Benson?" asked the coach.

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