Left End Edwards

R >> Ralph Henry Barbour >> Left End Edwards

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Oakdale was fairly deserted at this time of year. Most of the summer
cottages were closed, but the little hotel kept open the year around,
and when, at four o'clock, the barges pulled up in front of it, fires
were snapping in the open fireplaces and everything was in readiness for
the squad's reception. Followed a very merry and rather boisterous time
while the fellows, bags in hand, sought their rooms to don their togs
and report for light practice on the lawn. There was only signal drill
to-day, and that was brief. Afterwards the centres practised passing and
the kickers limbered up a little, but by five the work was over and the
fellows were free to do what they liked. Some gathered around the two
big fireplaces in the hotel, others went for strolls along the road, and
still others, Steve and Tom amongst the number, sought the little cove
nearby where a diminutive and rather pebbly beach curved from point to
point and a boat-landing stuck out into the quiet water. The trees and
grass went almost to the edge and there were comfortable benches along
the bank from which one might look across the Sound to the Long Island
shore or watch the boats pass. It had been a fair, mild day and the
light still held. Steve and Tom sauntered down to the float and Steve
dipped an inquiring hand into the water.

"Say, that isn't a bit cold," he announced. "What do you say to a swim,
Tom?"

"Fine, only we haven't any suits."

"Maybe they've got some at the hotel. Let's ask." On the way up they met
Norton, Williams and Marvin. "Come on in swimming, fellows," called
Steve.

"Can we?" asked Norton. "Who says so?"

"Why not? We're going to see if we can find some trunks or something."

"All right. You'd better ask the coach, though." This from Marvin. "He's
in the office, I think. If you find any trunks bring some for us,
Edwards."

The clerk was rather dubious at first, but eventually returned with a
miscellaneous collection of bathing togs from which the boys finally
evolved three pairs of trunks and two suits. Meanwhile Mr. Robey had
given hesitant permission.

"If the water's very cold, Edwards, don't try it, please. And, in any
case, don't stay in more than ten minutes. That goes for all of you."

There was a bathing pavilion farther along, reached from the little
beach by a flight of wooden steps, and to this the five boys proceeded,
examining the attire the clerk had provided with much amusement.

"I won't be able to swim a stroke," declared Norton. "I'll just be
doubled up laughing at Hath in that blue-striped thing he has there."

"Huh," growled Williams, "I don't think you'll get any prizes for beauty
yourself!"

By this time the news of their exploit had gone out and other fellows
were hurrying to the hotel to seek bathing suits. A few secured them and
the rest followed down to watch. When they met outside, dressed for the
plunge, the five went off into gales of laughter. Hatherton Williams in
a blue-and-white-striped suit many sizes too small for him cut a
ridiculous figure, while Norton, whose faded red trunks had lost their
gathering string, held his attire frantically with one hand and implored
a pin! Tom's trunks were strained to the bursting point and Steve's were
inches too large for him. Only Marvin had fared well, being dressed in
what he called "a real classy two-piece suit." The two pieces didn't
match in either colour or material, but they nearly fitted and, unlike
Hatherton Williams' regalia, were innocent of holes. Norton declared
that he was extremely glad it was getting dark, since otherwise if the
pin one of the onlookers had supplied him with gave way, he'd have to
stay in the water.

Steve and Marvin led the way to the float and they all plunged in. Tom,
shaking the water from his head, faced Steve accusingly when he had
regained his breath. "Thought you said it wasn't cold!" he shrieked.
"It's freezing! Br-r-r!"

"Move around and get warm," advised Norton, striking out. "It isn't bad
when you get used to it."

But Tom, accustomed to the tempered water of the school tank, groaned
and refused to be optimistic. "Bet it isn't a bit over forty-five," he
muttered.

Steve was already well out in the cove, pursued by Norton. Some of the
boys who had failed to find suits had launched a decrepit rowboat and,
with one broken oar, were splashing about near the float. Far out in the
Sound a big white steamer passed eastward, her lights showing white in
the gathering darkness and the strains from her orchestra coming
faintly across the quiet water. The boys in the rowboat stopped
skylarking to discuss what steamer it was, and Marvin, who had swam up
behind and laid hands on the gunwale, told them that it was the
_Lusitania_ and that if they didn't agree with him he'd tip them over.
Discussion ceased at once. The four mariners instantly declared that he
was right. Churchill even went so far as to say that he had known it was
the _Lusitania_ all the time; that he could always tell her by her
funnels. Innes, who was seated in the stern and filling his position to
the limit, acknowledged that for an instant--oh, the merest fraction of
a second!--he had thought the steamer was the _Ne'er-do-well_, Berlin to
Kansas City, but that he had seen his mistake almost instantly! By which
time, the _Priscilla_, New York to Fall River, had passed out of sight,
and Marvin, merely tipping the boat until the water ran in a bit over
one side, just as a mark of esteem, swam off before Guild could reach
him with the broken oar.

Tom and Williams were paddling about not far off the landing, Tom
floating on his back most of the time and complaining about the
temperature of the water, when Norton swam up, puffing and blowing.

"Where's Steve?" asked Tom. Norton nodded toward the Long Island shore.

"Somewhere out there," he answered. "He was too much for me. I had to
quit. The chump swims like a--a dolphin. I'm going in, fellows. I'm
getting cold."

"I guess we'd all better," agreed Williams. "Hello! What's that?"

"_Help!_" From somewhere beyond the mouth of the little cove the cry
came, sharp, imperative, and was repeated again while they listened.

"It's Edwards," muttered Norton uneasily. "I suppose he's only trying to
get a rise out of us. He can swim like----"

"Must be," agreed Williams. "Can you see him?"

The cove was dim now and the surface of the water beyond held a sheen of
light that confused the vision.

"I'm not sure," muttered Norton. "I thought I did--for a minute."

"Who was that yelling out there?" shouted one of the fellows in the
boat.

"Must be Edwards," answered Williams. "Can you see him?"

"No. Do you suppose----"

"_Help!_ This way!" The cry came again, fainter now, and someone in the
boat seized the broken oar and began to churn the water with it, sending
the crazy craft circling about in its length.

"He's in trouble!" cried Norton. "Cramps, probably. I'm off, Hath. Will
you come? Where's Hall?"

"He started a minute ago," answered Williams, striking out with long
hard sweeps of legs and arms. "There he is, ahead."

"Come on with that boat, you fellows!" shouted Norton. "And hurry it
up!"

CHAPTER XXV

TOM TO THE RESCUE

"We've only got one oar," answered a desperate voice.

"Put it over the stern and scull it," directed someone on the float.
There was a splash in reply, and Innes, who had promptly vacated his
seat, crawled dripping to the landing. Hatherton, Williams, Norton and
Marvin were already swimming desperately toward the mouth of the cove,
while several fellows on land were running hard to the point, following
the curving shore. The rowboat was at last under way, but making slow
progress. Norton was the best swimmer of the trio, or, at least, the
fastest, and Williams and Marvin were soon hopelessly in the rear. But
Norton, if he could distance the other two, found that he was gaining
but slowly on Tom, who, swimming as he had never swam before, as he
didn't know he could swim, was already well out toward the mouth of the
cove.

His limbs were aching already, and his lungs were hurting as he fought
his way through the water and against a slow-coming tide. But the only
thought that possessed him was that Steve was in trouble out there,
perhaps drowning, and that he must get to him. The water splashed into
his eyes and blinded him, for Tom was not an adept swimmer, and not once
could he so much as sight Steve. Neither was the appeal for help
repeated and Tom's heart sank. Behind him, as he was dimly aware, others
were following, and he wished they would hurry. Once, when he was
opposite the points, he tried to call, but his lungs were too tired to
respond in more than a whisper. Then he was past the gloom of the cove,
the water was alight with the afterglow and little choppy waves dashed
against him. Gasping, he paused an instant, brushed one arm against his
dripping face and looked about him. For a moment nothing met his anxious
gaze. Then a darker spot on the darkening water appeared a dozen yards
away and Tom went on desperately, panic-stricken for fear that when he
reached it it would prove to be only a bit of driftwood.

[Illustration: It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and
shoulders above the water]

But it wasn't. It was Steve, Steve on his back, with only his head and
shoulders above the water, eyes closed in a dead-white face and his arms
weakly moving now and then as though in an unconscious endeavour to keep
the helpless body afloat. A great wave of relief and joy almost stopped
Tom's heart for an instant. Then his hand went out and caught one of
Steve's wrists.

"It's all right, Steve," he gasped weakly. "Don't grab me. They're
coming with the boat."

There was no reply from Steve, and Tom, pulling the arm over his
shoulder, as he had seen Steve himself do so many times in the tank when
illustrating the way to rescue a drowning person, felt the weight of the
inert form on his back as he turned and strove to swim slowly back
toward the cove. To swim with one arm, even to keep himself afloat so,
was no light task for Tom, and now, with the weight of Steve's body
bearing him down, he found the struggle too much for him. He
relinquished all attempts to swim and centred his efforts in keeping
afloat. If only Norton and the rest would come! He listened. There was a
splashing somewhere nearby, but it was too dark now to see a dozen feet
away. Tom drew all the breath he could find into his lungs and let it
out in a weak shout.

"Help!" he gasped. "Here!"

Then there was an answering hail from close by, a mighty churning of the
water and a dim form plunged alongside.

"Have you got him?" cried Norton. "Give him to me, Hall. Hath! Over
here!"

Tom didn't relinquish quite all his burden, though. He still had one of
Steve's arms around his neck when, a minute later, Marvin and Williams
having reached them meanwhile, the rowboat appeared out of the darkness.
It was no light task to get Steve into the boat, but it was accomplished
somehow, and then, Tom dragging astern, hands clutching the gunwale
grimly, and the others, too, claiming at least partial support from the
boat, the rescuers turned shoreward. Wisely, Churchill, who handled the
oar, headed the boat toward the nearer point, and when the keel
grounded, eager hands were waiting to lift Steve out and hurry him back
to the hotel. Tom crawled out of the water and subsided on the bank,
still fighting for breath and feeling rather sick at his stomach.
Between Fowler and Milton he was lifted and half carried, weakly
protesting that he could walk all right and promptly crumpling up when
they allowed him to try.

Steve had been taken up to the room he was occupying, and Danny Moore
was administering to him when Tom was brought in and laid on his bed.
Steve was already talking weakly and Danny was telling him to keep
still.

"Don't be talking," he said. "Fit that bottle to your back and keep
covered up. You'll be fine in an hour. An' who've you got there? Well,
if it ain't my old friend Jim Hall!"

Tom smiled faintly as Danny bent over him.

"An' so you been tryin' to drown yourself too, have you?" continued
Danny. "Well, well,'tis queer tastes you have, the two of you! Drink a
bit o' this, Jim, and lie still."

Mr. Robey came in and Danny nodded reassuringly to him. "They'll be fine
as fiddles in an hour, Coach. Now you boys scatter out o' here an' leave
them have a bit nap."

Tom didn't remember much for awhile after that, for he must have fallen
promptly to sleep. When he awoke, the light was turned low and Steve was
sitting on the edge of the bed. On a chair beside him was a tray from
which appetizing odours curled toward him. Tom blinked sleepily.

"Hello," he murmured. "What's up?"

"I am and you're not," answered Steve. "I've brought you some supper.
Are you hungry?"

Recollection returned then and Tom observed his chum anxiously.

"Are you all right!" he demanded. "Did they say you could get up?"

"Of course. You can too after you eat. But you were asleep and Danny
said you might as well have it out. How are you feeling?"

Tom sat up experimentally and took a deep breath. "All right," he
answered stoutly, although as a matter of fact he was full of stiff
spots and queer aches. "And--and I'm hungry."

"Good stuff!" laughed Steve. He lifted the tray to Tom's lap and took
the covers from the dishes. "There isn't an awful lot here," he added
apologetically, "but Danny said you'd be better if you didn't eat such a
big supper. Do you mind?"

"No, I guess there's enough. That soup smells good. What's that there?
Roast beef? Fine!" And Tom fell diligently to work.

Steve watched in silence a moment. Then,

"I say, Tom," he said.

"Huh?" asked the other, his mouth full.

"You know I--I'm much obliged."

Tom nodded carelessly. "All right," he said in a gruff voice. "It wasn't
anything. Norton and Williams and those others did it."

"You got there first," said Steve. "I guess if you hadn't I--I wouldn't
have waited for the rest. It was mighty plucky, and--and I----"

"Oh, cut it," growled Tom. "It wasn't anything, you ass. What the
dickens did you go away out there for anyway?" Tom became indignant.
"Haven't you got any sense?"

"Not much," laughed Steve. Then, soberly, "It's the first time I ever
had cramps, and I don't ever want them again! I thought I was a goner
there for a while, Tom. They caught me right across the small of my back
and I couldn't any more move my legs than I could fly. All I could do
was shout and wiggle my arms a bit, and the pain was just as though
something--say a swordfish--was cutting me in two!" Steve shook his head
soberly. "It--it was fierce, Tom!"

"Serves you right! You had no business swimming way out there in water
like that and scaring us all to pieces!" Tom was very severe as to
language, but the effect was somewhat marred by the fact that he had
filled his mouth with food. Nevertheless, Steve took the rebuke quite
meekly. All he said was:

"And think of you rescuing me, Tom! Why, you aren't any sort of a
swimmer! But it certainly was mighty pluck----"

Tom pointed a fork at Steve and interrupted indignantly. It was
necessary to head Steve off from further expressions of gratitude. "I
like your cheek!" said Tom. "Can't swim! How do you suppose I got out
there to you, you silly chump? You didn't see any water-wings or
life-preservers floating around, did you? Or do you think I walked?
Can't swim! Well, of all the----"

"You know what I mean, Tom. I meant you couldn't swim--er--well, that
you weren't a wonder at it!"

"Huh!" grunted Tom. "Don't you talk about swimming after this. You
weren't doing much of it when I got to you!"

"No one can swim when he has cramps," responded Steve meekly. "How was
the supper?"

Tom gazed at the empty dishes. "All right--as far as it went. I'm going
to get up. What time is it and what's going on downstairs?"

"Nothing much just now. We just got through supper. They're taking the
chairs and tables out of the dining-room so we can have signal drill at
eight. Mr. Robey said you were to get into it if you felt all right.
There's someone else downstairs who wants to see you too." And Steve
grinned wickedly. "I told him I'd try to arrange an interview."

"Who is it?" asked Tom suspiciously.

"His name is Murray."

"I don't know any Murray. What is this, a joke?"

"Far from it, Tom. Mr. Murray is a newspaper man. He came over to get
the line-up for to-morrow's game from Mr. Robey and got here just as
they were talking about that silly stunt of mine. He laid around and
waited for me and got it all out before I knew he was a newspaper chap.
Now he wants to see you. I _think_ he wants your photograph, Tom!"

"You were a silly ass to talk to him, Steve. He will go and put it in
the paper, I suppose."

"Wouldn't be surprised," agreed Steve, smiling. "He seemed to think he
had a fine yarn. Of course I laid it on pretty thick about your heroism
and all that."

Tom viewed him darkly as he got into his coat. "If you did
I'll--I'll----"

"Take me back to the Sound and drop me in again! No, I didn't, Tom, but
he does know all about it and of course he will put it in the papers.
'Boots' says the--the Something-or-Other Press will get hold of it and
send it all over the country. I've been wondering whether we ought to
telegraph the folks so they won't have a fit if they read about it
to-morrow."

"What's the use? They'll know you're all right. Bet you that Mr.
Newspaper Man doesn't catch me, though! Who's that hitting the ivories?"

"Gleason, I guess. He was playing before supper. He's fine, too. Knows a
whole bunch of college songs and stuff from the musical shows. We're
going to have a concert after practice. They say Danny Moore can sing
like a bird. Andy was telling me that last year they had a regular
vaudeville show here. Everybody did something, you know; sang or danced
or spoke a piece. It must have been lots of fun. I wish----"

Steve, who had been wandering around the room, hands in pockets, paused
as he caught the expression on Tom's face. "What's the matter?" he
asked.

"That's what I want to know," replied Tom. "Seems to me you're mighty
chatty all of a sudden. Is it the effect of the bath?"

Steve smiled, sighed and shook his head. "Tom," he said, "I've just got
to talk or do something this evening. I--I'm as nervous as a--a cat!
Ever feel that way?"

Tom viewed him scornfully as he patted his tie into place. "Have I? Why,
you silly chump, I'm scared to death this minute! Whenever I think
about--about to-morrow I want to run down to the ocean and swim straight
across to Africa!"

"Honest?" Steve brightened perceptibly. "But you don't show it, Tom."

"What's the good of showing it? All I hope is that the barge will make
so much noise going back to-morrow that you won't hear my knees knocking
together!"

CHAPTER XXVI

AT THE END OF THE FIRST HALF

Saturday dawned clear and crisp, with a little westerly breeze stirring
the tops of the leafless trees and fluttering the big maroon flag with
the grey B that hung from the staff at the back of the grand stand. That
was not the only flag displayed, for here and there all along the Row
small banners hung from windows, while to add to the patriotic effect
all the red and grey cushions in school were piled against the casements
to lend their colour. There were few recitations that morning and there
might just as well have been none, I fancy. The squad got back from
Oakdale at one-thirty, after an early dinner, and were driven directly
to the gymnasium, pursued by the school at large with vociferous
greetings.

Claflin began to put in an appearance soon after that. Hitherto
Brimfield had travelled to Westplains to meet her rival, and this was
the first time that the Blue had invaded the Maroon-and-Grey fastness.
Hoskins did a rushing business that day, for Claflin had sent nearly her
entire population with the team, and many of the visitors were forced
to walk from the station. There was an insouciant, self-confident air
about the Claflin fellows that impressed Brimfield and irritated her
too. "You'd think," remarked Benson, watching from a window in the gym
the visitors passing toward the field, "that they had the game already
won! A stuck-up lot of dudes, that's what I call them!" But Benson was
not in the best of tempers to-day and possibly his judgment was warped!

The Claflin team arrived in one of Hoskins' barges and took possession
of the meeting-room upstairs to change into their togs. They were a
fine-looking lot of fellows, and they, too, had that same air of
confidence that Benson had found annoying. By a quarter past two the
stage was set. The grand stand was filled to overflowing, the settees
and chairs, which had been brought out to supplement the permanent
seats, were all occupied, and many spectators were standing along the
ropes. Over the stand the big maroon-and-grey banner floated lazily in
the breeze. The field had been newly marked out and the cream-white
lines shone dazzlingly in the sharp sunlight. It was a day for light
wraps and sweaters, but many visitors, arriving in motor cars that were
now parked behind the gymnasium, were clad in furs. It was distinctly a
social occasion, for fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts and
uncles had descended upon the school in numbers and half the fellows
were parading around before the hour set for the game with admiring
relatives or friends, showing their rooms and the dining-hall and the
gymnasium, and looking all the time a bit bored at the fuss and secretly
enjoying it. Harry Westcott was seen with his father and sister in tow,
while Roy Draper was surrounded by an enthusiastic flock of female
relatives.

Overhead a clear blue sky, scarcely so much as flecked with a cloud,
arched radiantly. The breeze was much too light to place a handicap on
either goal, and when, at a quarter after two, the visiting team trotted
across from the gymnasium, ducked under the rope at the end of the grand
stand and started to warm up it was seen that the long punts she sent
away showed scarcely any influence from the wind. Of course Claflin,
banked at the east end of the stand, greeted her warriors royally, and,
of course, Brimfield gave them a hearty cheer, too. But that acclaim was
nothing to the burst of applause that went up when the home team, twenty
strong, led by Andy Miller, romped on. Then Brimfield shouted herself
hoarse and made such a clamour that the cheer which the Claflin leaders
evoked a moment later sounded like a whisper by comparison.

Ten minutes of brisk signal work, punting, catching and goal-kicking
followed, and then, while along the road an occasional screech from a
belated automobile sounded, the teams retired to opposite sides of the
field, the maroon-and-grey megaphones, which had been keeping time to a
song sung by some hundred and thirty youths, died away and the
comparative quiet that precedes the beginning of battle fell over the
field. The officials met on the side line and then, accompanied by
Captain Miller, walked to the centre of the field. From the farther side
a blue-sleeved and blue-stockinged youth advanced to meet them. A coin
spun, glittering, in the air, fell, rolled and was recovered. Heads bent
above it, the group broke up and Andy Miller waved to his players. Then
blankets and sweaters were cast aside and ten maroon-sleeved youths
gathered about their leader. There was a low-voiced conference and the
team scattered over the east end of the field. Brimfield had won the
toss, had given the kick-off to Claflin and Captain Burrage had chosen
the west goal and what slight advantage might come from a breeze at his
back.

Andy Miller and the two coaches had arranged the line-up the evening
before. There had been some indecision as to filling one or two
positions for the start of the game, and the line-up as it was presented
when the whistle blew held several surprises for the school. Here it is,
and the Claflin list as well:

BRIMFIELD. CLAFLIN.

Roberts, l. e. r. e., Chester
Lacey, l. t. r. t., Mears
Fowler, l. g. r. g., Colwell
Innes, c. c., Kenney
Hall, r. g. l. g., Johnson
Williams, r. t. l. t., Bentley
Miller, r. e. l. e., Mumford
Milton, q. b. q. b., Ainsmith
Harris, l. h. b. r. h. b., Burrage
Kendall, r. h. b. l. h. b., Whittemore
Norton, f. b. f. b., Atkinson

"Are you ready, Brimfield? Ready, Claflin?"

The whistle piped, a Claflin linesman stepped forward, swung a long leg
and the battle was on. Williams caught the ball on the thirty-yard line.
On a fake kick play Miller tried Claflin's right tackle and made but two
yards. Norton punted to Claflin's thirty, where Burrage fumbled the
ball and Ainsmith recovered it. Claflin at once punted out of bounds to
Brimfield's forty-five-yard mark. Kendall made three yards around the
enemy's right end and then, on the next play, failed at the line. Milton
tried a forward pass to Miller, but the ball grounded and Norton kicked
to Claflin's twenty-yard line.

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