Left End Edwards

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"Twenty-five! Why, they're worth a dollar!"

"All right, you keep them."

Durkin hesitated and sighed. Finally, as the boys showed a strong
inclination to seek the stairway, "Give me a dollar for the lot," he
said. Steve questioned Tom with his eyes and Tom nodded.

"All right," said Tom, "but it's more than they're worth."

"You'd have to pay a dollar and a half if you bought them new," said
Durkin. "Honest! Now, about that chair----"

"Nothing doing!" interrupted Steve decisively.

"It's a good chair, and comfortable--say, sit down and just try it, will
you?" Durkin removed the cushions and Steve, with a shrug, seated
himself. When he got out Tom took his place. It _was_ comfortable.

"How much?" asked Steve carelessly.

"Three-fifty, and dirt----"

"Give you a dollar and a half."

Durkin looked so pained that Tom quite pitied him. But he only said
patiently: "You don't want to buy, you fellows; you're looking for
gifts. That chair at three dollars is a real, genuine bargain, and----"

"You said three and a half before," Tom corrected.

"Did I? Well, it ought to be three and a half, but you may have it for
three, even if I lose money on it."

"No fear," grunted Steve. "We'll split the difference and call it two."

"Make it two-fifty and it's yours."

"Couldn't do it. Two or nothing."

"All right," said Durkin placidly. "Take it along. Now let me show
you----"

"No, sir!" laughed Steve. "You don't show us another thing, Durkin. Pile
the cushions on here, Tom, and take hold."

"Wait till I lock this door and I'll give you a lift," said Durkin.

Between them they got the chair upstairs and outdoors. Then Steve paid
three dollars to Durkin and the transaction was completed.

"Thank you," said Durkin. "And, say, if you want anything else, you come
and see me. I've got a lot of good stuff down there. And if you want to
sell anything any time I'm your man. I'll pay you good prices, fellows.
So long."

The two boys felt rather conscious as they carried the chair along the
Row, but although they passed a good many fellows on the way, no one
viewed their performance with more than mild interest. As they were
about to lift their burden through the entrance of Billings, however,
the door opened from inside and a tall boy with a 'varsity football cap
on the back of his head almost ran into them. Drawing aside to avoid
them, his eyes fell on the chair and he stopped short.

"Back again!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Good old article. Where'd you
find it, fellows?"

"Bought it from a fellow named Durkin, in Torrence," replied Steve.

"So 'Penny' had it?" The chap lifted the cushions heaped on the seat of
the chair and viewed it interestedly. "Well, you got a chair with a
history," he said. "That belonged to me three years ago. I bought it
from a fellow named Lansing, and he got it second-hand from a shop in
White Plains. I sold it to Spencer Morris and I suppose Penny got it
from him. And the old article looks 'most as good as new! Do you mind
telling me how much you paid for it?"

"Two dollars," said Steve. "He wanted three at first."

The tall chap laughed. "Two dollars! What do you know about that? I paid
a dollar and a half for it and sold it to Morris for a dollar. I'll bet
Penny didn't give Spencer more than fifty cents for it. He's a wonder,
he is! Those cushions aren't bad. I'll give you a half for the red one."

"We don't want to sell, thanks," said Steve.

"Well, if you do, let me know. I'm in 4. My name's Fowler." And he
nodded and went on. Up in their room, when they had set the arm-chair
down and placed it to their liking, Steve said:

"Think of that long-haired idiot getting two dollars out of us for this
thing. I've a good mind to go back and tell him what I think of him."

"What's the difference?" asked Tom. "It's a perfectly good chair, and if
we hadn't met that Fowler chap we'd never known we'd been stung. It's
worth two dollars, anyway, no matter what Durkin paid for it."

"I suppose it is," granted Steve. "And it _is_ comfortable. Look here;
we'll have to have another one now, or we'll be scrapping to see who
gets this!"

"Not if we can find a cushion for the window-seat," said Tom. "We might
see some more of those fellows you have on your list."

"To-morrow," said Steve. "It's almost supper time. I guess we didn't do
so badly for three dollars. Wasn't it funny, though, we should have run
into a fellow who used to own it? Wonder who Fowler is."

"I saw him at the field this afternoon," replied Tom. "I guess he's on
the first team. We could have made sixteen cents if we'd sold him the
cushion he wanted."

"You're as bad as Durkin!" laughed Steve. "Wonder why he called him
'Penny,' by the way. The fellow had a regular second-hand shop down
there, didn't he? Do you suppose all that truck in there belonged to
him?"

"I don't know. I know one thing, though, and that is that I'm mighty
glad I don't room with Durkin and have to listen to that fiddling of
his!"

"That's not much worse than your snoring," replied Steve unkindly.

The next day further search revealed a cushion which just fitted the
window-seat, not surprising in view of the fact that the window-seats
throughout the dormitories were fairly uniform in size. The cushion cost
them two dollars. It was covered with faded green corduroy and in places
was pretty well flattened out by much service. But it answered their
purpose and really looked quite fine when in place. Tom cast doubts on
the positive assertion of the seller that it was filled with genuine
hair, but Steve said that didn't matter as long as it was comfortable.
They piled their three pillows on it and stretched themselves out on it,
one at a time, and voted it good enough for anyone. There was a good
deal of dust in it, but, as Steve said, if they were careful about
getting up and down they wouldn't disturb it! By this time Number 12
began to look quite sumptuous. They had placed several framed pictures
and many photographs and trinkets against the walls and had draped the
tops of the chiffoniers with towels. They had also made up a list of
things to bring back with them after the Christmas holidays, a list that
included all sorts of articles from a waste-basket to an electric
drop-light. The latter they had not been able to find in their
bargain-hunting and could not purchase in the village even if they had
sufficient money. Their pocketbooks were pretty lean by the time they
had been there a week, for, beside the expenditures for furnishings,
they had, between them, paid two dollars for a year's subscription to
the school monthly, and had made quite an outlay for stationery. Tom, in
fact, was practically bankrupt and had sent an "S. O. S.," as he called
it, to his father.

Meanwhile, every afternoon save Sunday they donned their togs and toiled
on the gridiron. Mr. Robey was already bringing order out of chaos and
the sixty-odd candidates now formed a first, second and third squad.
Steve and Tom both remained in the latter for the present, nor did Tom
entertain much hope of getting out of it until he was dropped for good.
Steve had made something of a reputation as a player at home, and his
former team-mates there firmly expected to hear that he had made the
Brimfield 'varsity without difficulty and was showing the preparatory
school fellows how the game ought to be played. Tom, too, expected no
less for him, and perhaps, if the truth were known, Steve entertained
some such expectations himself! But Tom wasn't deceived as to his own
football ability and was already wondering whether, when he was dropped
from the 'varsity squad, he would be so fortunate as to make his hall
team.

But there was a surprise in store for both of them. The first cut came
about ten days after the opening of school, and the candidates dwindled
from sixty-odd to a scant fifty. Steve's surprise lay in the fact that
he was not promoted to the second squad, Tom's to the even more
startling circumstance that he survived the cut!

Eric Sawyer had been relieved from his superintendence of the awkward
squad and had gone to his old position of right guard on the first team.
The third squad was now under the care of a youth named Marvin, a
substitute quarter-back on last year's second team. He was a cheerful,
hardworking little chap and the "rookies" took to him at once. He was
quick to find fault, but equally quick to applaud good work, and under
his charge the third squad, composed now of some fourteen candidates,
began to smooth out. A half-hour session with the tackling dummy was now
part of the daily routine and many a fellow who had thought rather well
of himself suffered humiliation in the pit. Steve was one of these.
Tackling proved to be a weak point with him. Even Tom got better results
than he did, and every afternoon Steve would scramble to his feet and
wipe the earth from his face to hear Marvin's patient voice saying: "Not
a bit like it, Edwards. Don't shut your eyes when you jump. Keep them
open and see what you're doing. Once more, now; and tackle below the
knees." And then, when the stuffed figure had been drawn, swaying
crazily, across the square of spaded turf once more, and Steve had
leaped upon it and twisted his arms desperately and convulsively about
it, "That's a little better," Marvin might say, "but you'd never stop
your man that way."

Steve was getting discouraged about his tackling and a little bit
incensed with Marvin. "He takes it out on me every time," he confided to
Tom one afternoon after practice. "Lots of the fellows don't do it a bit
better and he just says 'Fair, Jones' or 'That's better, Freer,' and
that's all there is to it. When it comes my turn, he just makes up his
mind I'm not going to do it right and then rags me. Didn't I do it just
as well as you did to-day, Tom?"

Tom, intensely loyal though he was, had to shake his head. "Maybe you
did, Steve; I don't do it very well myself, but you--you don't seem to
get the hang of it yet. You will, of course, in a day or two. I don't
believe Marvin means to rag you, though; he's an awfully decent fellow."

But Tom's day or two stretched into a week or two, and one by one
fellows disappeared from the awkward squad, some to the private walks of
life and the consolation of hall football and some, fewer in number
these, to the squad ahead. Brimfield played its first game of the year
one Saturday afternoon with Thacher School, and came through with flying
colours. But Thacher presented a line-up considerably younger and
lighter than Brimfield's, and the victory brought no great glory to the
Maroon-and-Grey. Steve and Tom watched that contest from the side-line,
Tom with absorbed interest and Steve rather disgruntedly. His visions
had not included any such situation as this!

That evening Steve made his first big mistake.

CHAPTER XI

"HOLD 'EM, THIRD!"

The term was a fortnight old when Thacher went down in defeat, 10 to 3,
and by that time both Steve and Tom had made acquaintances here and
there, and so when, after study hour that Saturday night, Steve
announced carelessly that he was "going around to Hensey to see a
fellow," Tom took it for granted that his chum was off to look up some
new friend. Perhaps, since they usually made calls together, he wondered
a little that Steve didn't ask him along, but he didn't mind being left
out on this particular occasion since he was having a good deal of
trouble just then with trigonometry and wanted to put in more time on
Monday's lesson.

When Steve entered Hensey he passed into the first corridor and knocked
on the door of Number 7. The card there held the names: "Andrew Loring
Miller--Hatherton Williams." A voice bade him enter and Steve walked in.
Andy Miller and his room-mate were both in, Andy sprawled on the
window-seat, which was much too short for his long body, and Williams
seated at the study table. Andy jumped up as the visitor entered.

"Glad to see you, Edwards," he said cordially. "Shake hands with
Williams. Hat, this is Edwards of the fourth. Sit down, won't you?"

Williams, who was a heavy, dark-complexioned youth of eighteen with a
flat nose and a broad mouth, shook hands politely, murmuring something
that Steve took to mean that he was pleased to meet him, and sank back
to his seat. Steve took the easy-chair that Andy pushed forward.

"Well, how are you?" asked the football captain genially. "Haven't run
across any more confidence-men, I hope."

Steve smiled none too heartily and cast a glance toward Williams. But
the latter's blank expression showed that the allusion meant nothing to
him and proved that, as far as Williams was concerned, Miller had kept
his promise of secrecy.

"No, not yet," answered Steve. "I thought I'd just drop in a minute and
call."

"Of course. Glad you did. How's your friend?"

"Tom! He's fine, thanks. I--he wasn't through studying, so I didn't wait
for him."

"And how's football going?" asked Andy. "Getting on pretty well?"

"I think so. Not so very well, though. I--I don't seem to please Marvin
very well with tackling."

"Oh, you'll get onto that all right," said Andy cheerfully. "Fact is, I
don't think a fellow ever really learns much at the dummy. It's dumping
a chap in real playing that shows you what's wanted. Don't you think so,
Hat?"

"Dummy practice is a good thing," answered Williams morosely.

He sat tilted back on the chair, hands in pockets, staring at the floor.
He seemed a gloomy sort of fellow, Steve thought, and was relieved when
Williams added: "Guess I'll run over to Johnny's for a minute," and,
muttering something about being glad to have met the visitor, found a
cap and wandered out.

"I suppose," said Steve, when the door had closed, "it's necessary for a
fellow to learn how to tackle, but it seems to me that if you aren't
awfully good at it you might get a chance to show what you can do
besides that."

"I guess I don't quite understand what you mean," responded Andy.

"I mean that if I can't tackle the dummy well enough to please Marvin,"
answered Steve a trifle bitterly, "I do as well as lots of other
fellows, and--and it doesn't seem fair to keep me back just for that.
Lots of fellows have been taken on to the second squad that can't play
as well as I can, Miller."

"Oh! I see." Andy's eyes narrowed a little and he looked at Steve more
intently. "You mean that you aren't getting a fair show, Edwards?"

"It doesn't seem so to me. I played with my high school team for two
years at left end and--and did pretty well. Of course, I don't say that
I'm as good as some of the fellows here, but I do think that I'm as good
as--as a lot of them; and a heap better than three or four that have
gone to the second squad lately. I don't get a chance to show what I can
do where I am now, Miller. Marvin doesn't even let me into signal drill
more than half the time, and then he puts me at half or tackle and I've
never played either of those places. And when I told him so the other
day he just laughed and said that one place was as good as another on
the third! And he rags me every day about my tackling and--and I don't
think it's fair! If he will give me a chance I'll pick up tackling all
right. You say yourself that a fellow learns it more from playing than
from dummy work."

"So I did," said Andy thoughtfully. Then, after a moment: "Look here,
Edwards, I think you've got a wrong idea in your head. If Marvin isn't
satisfied with your tackling, it's because you don't do it right.
Marvin's a good man and he knows football. Now, if you expect to play
end you ought to know how to tackle, Edwards. What's the good of getting
down the field, no matter how fast you may be, if you can't stop the man
with the ball when you get there?"

"I can stop him! I've played for two years and----"

"What you've done before, Edwards, isn't any criterion with us. You may
have been a regular wonder in--what's the place? Tannerstown----"

"Tannersville. I don't say I was a wonder, but----"

"Just a minute! You may have been a star on your high school team and
yet not worth a copper cent to us, Edwards. I never saw your team play,
but it's pretty likely that their brand of football and ours are
different."

"I think we play as good football as you fellows played to-day," said
Steve.

"Maybe. I'm not especially proud of the game we put up this afternoon.
But that isn't the sort of football we play in mid-season, my friend.
I'm sorry you think you aren't getting a fair deal, Edwards, but you
mustn't expect me to interfere with Marvin. I couldn't do it. The most I
can do is give you a little piece of advice which you won't care for
probably. It's this: Do as you're told to do, Edwards, and do it as hard
as you know how! Just as soon as you show Marvin that you are ready to
go into the second squad, you'll get there. And don't get it into your
head that Marvin has it in for you or doesn't know what he is doing.
Marvin's a particularly bright young man. If he wasn't he wouldn't have
the third squad to weed out, for that's a job that requires a whole lot
more patience and brains than any other job I know of on a football
field."

Andy paused, and Steve, who was gloomily regarding a scarred knuckle,
made no reply.

"Use your head, man," continued the captain in a lighter tone. "You
don't suppose, do you, that we are letting anything good get by us as
long as we've got eyes to see with? Not much! You probably have an idea
that Marvin is keeping you off the second. He isn't. You're keeping
yourself off. Mull that over, Edwards. And don't--don't do this again."

Steve looked a question.

"I mean don't come to me or to Mr. Robey with any hard-luck stories. It
isn't done. If I didn't know you a little, Edwards, I'd think you were
pretty poor stuff. But I guess you didn't stop to consider how it would
look. As you have done it, I'm glad you came to me instead of Mr. Robey.
He wouldn't have liked it a bit." After a pause: "How's Hall getting
on?"

"Pretty well, I guess," replied Steve. He stood up and frowned at the
green globe of the reading lamp for a moment. Then, "I'm sorry I said
anything, Miller," he remarked. "I guess it wasn't quite a fair thing to
do. Only I thought--maybe----"

"You thought," said Andy cheerfully, "that perhaps I'd give you a lift.
Didn't you, Edwards?"

"I suppose so."

"In other words, you wanted me to advance you over the next man on the
strength of our acquaintance. Sounds as though you had rather a punk
impression of me, Edwards."

"I haven't! I--I suppose, though, I didn't stop to figure it out much.
It seemed to me that Marvin wasn't giving me a fair show, and here it is
the last of September already, and I'm just where I started----"

"That's your fault, not Marvin's," responded Andy with a smile. He
walked over and laid a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Brace up,
Edwards," he said kindly. "Don't waste your time looking for favours.
Don't want them. Buckle down and grit your teeth and just show Marvin
and the rest of us that you're so good he can't keep you on the third!
That's your line, old man. And now, just as a bit of encouragement, I'll
tell you that Robey and I have noticed your work in the field and we've
liked it. You carry yourself like a veteran and you follow the ball
well, and we both expect big things from you some day. Perhaps you won't
make good this year, but there's next year and the year after. Put your
nose back on the grindstone, Edwards, grin hard and tell Marvin to turn
faster!"

"All right," laughed Steve. "Thanks. I guess you're right. And--and I'm
not sorry now I came."

"Good! Now sit down again and let's have a chin. How do you like the
school? Have you met many of the fellows yet?"

"You're making the same mistake, Edwards," said Marvin the next Monday
afternoon. He spoke a trifle wearily. "Get your body in _front_ of the
runner and not at one side. Bind his legs together with your arms, then
block him with your body and lift him back. If you do that he's _got_
to stop, and when he falls he will fall towards his own goal and not
yours. Try it over now."

And when Steve had tried it over, Marvin glanced at him sharply. It
seemed to him that for almost the first time the candidate had really
tried! He hadn't made a clean tackle, but he had profited by the
instruction that had been heaped upon him for two weeks, and little
Marvin mentally patted himself on the back and was very pleased with
himself, for Marvin, although he would probably never play through a big
game, and knew it, was as unselfishly devoted to the interests of the
team as any fellow there.

"That's a heap better, Edwards," he said eagerly. "Now see if you can't
do it just right the next time."

After that it seemed to Marvin that Steve tried harder and it seemed to
Steve that the little quarter-back was more appreciative. On Tuesday, as
the squad jogged away from the tackling pit, Marvin said:

"Edwards, let me see you after practice, will you?"

Steve, assenting, examined Marvin's face doubtfully. A week ago he would
have expected trouble from such a request, but to-day Marvin's face held
only good-will and a sort of eager friendliness, and while Steve
wondered more than once during the remainder of practice what Marvin
wanted of him he had no unpleasant forebodings.

There was to be a game on the morrow, the only mid-week contest of the
season, and the first squad was released early. That gave Coach Robey a
chance to give undivided attention to the second and third and he made
the most of it. He and Andy Miller, the latter trailing a grey blanket
after him, joined the third squad when the first team and substitutes
had trotted away to the gymnasium and at once displayed a flattering but
embarrassing interest. The Third was practising signals, eleven men in
the line-up and two or three more following and watching. Marvin was
driving them from a position at the rear, occasionally darting into the
line, to correct a fault or illustrate a play. Unfortunately, Carmine,
who was at quarter, noticed the coach's advent and immediately got
flustered. When two plays had gone wrong Mr. Robey said:

"Marvin, you get in there and play quarter for a minute and give that
man a chance to remember his signals. You come back here and look on,
son."

After that the squad ran through plays with vim and snap. Now and then
there was a mix-up, but the signals went pretty well. After each play
the coach or Captain Miller, or sometimes both, criticised and
explained. The plays were few and simple; straight plunges by the backs
with an occasional forward pass; but almost every time the critics found
some fault to correct. Steve was playing at left tackle, fighting
valiantly against an imaginary opponent, and once, trotting back to his
position after a short charge over the turf, he caught the eyes of Andy
and Mr. Robey fixed on him speculatively. He hoped as he settled down
again and listened for the signals that Captain Miller had not told the
coach of that visit on Saturday night! He wanted to forget that himself
and he wanted Andy Miller to forget it.

"That'll be all, Marvin," said Mr. Robey presently. He clapped his
hands. "Everyone in, please!" he called. The players flocked to the
bench and picked up sweaters and blankets, while Mr. Robey and Andy
conversed over the coach's little black book. Finally: "We'll have a
short scrimmage, fellows," he announced. "Second squad take the east
goal and kick off to the third. Pick out your men, Brownell. You too,
Marvin. Who do you want to start?"

It was the first scrimmage for the third squad fellows and they raced on
eagerly. Steve was sent in as left tackle again and Tom beside him at
guard. The pigskin soared away from the toe of a second squad forward,
was gathered in by a third squad half-back near the twenty-yard line and
was down five yards further on. "Line up, Third!" piped Carmine shrilly.
"Give it to 'em hard now!"

There wasn't the finished skill displayed by the 'varsity team, but
there was enough enthusiasm to almost make up for the lack of science.
Back came the ball, the forwards sprang together, a half darted past
right tackle, spinning like a top, faltered, went on, was stopped short
by the Second's backs and borne back, grunting "Down! Down!" with all
the breath left in his body.

"Second down!" proclaimed Joe Lawrence, the manager, jumping into the
melee. "Six to go."

Mr. Robey and Andy Miller followed the teams closely, watching and
shouting directions, the coach on the third squad side and Andy behind
the second.

"Good work, you fellow!" applauded Andy, darting up to slap the half on
the back and send him back to his place breathless but grinning. "That's
the way to do it! Now, then, once more. You've got six to go. Let me see
you get it. Play lower, you fellows in the line! Get down there! Lift
'em and throw 'em back! That's the ticket!"

But the gain was scant and Carmine walked back to kick.

"Get through and block this!" panted the second's quarter, dodging back
and forth for a likely opening.

"You fellow on the end there!" cried Andy. "Play back further and stop
that tackle!"

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