Buch lesen: «Dick Merriwell's Trap: or, The Chap Who Bungled», Seite 4

CHAPTER VIII – FARDALE’S WAY

In some respects the first half of the game that day was like the first half in Hudsonville. Franklin had the heavier team, and it kept the ball in Fardale’s territory fully three-fourths of the time. The first touchdown was made by Franklin with such ridiculous ease that the watching cadets groaned in despair. But Dick managed to put enough fight into his team to enable it to withstand the further assaults of the enemy, and the half ended with the ball on Fardale’s ten-yard line.

Chester Arlington was not on hand to witness the game, but the rest of the Wolf Gang, composed of cadets who hated Dick Merriwell – Mark Crauthers, Fred Stark, Sam Hogan, and Bunol, the Spanish boy – were there and rejoiced. These fellows did not dare show their satisfaction openly, but they expressed it to one another.

Sammy of Hudsonville was disappointed, but he kept up his cheering for Fardale and for Dick Merriwell right through to the end of the half.

“What are you yelling for?” asked a man roughly. “Fardale is getting beaten.”

“That’s all right,” said Sammy. “I’ve seen them fellows play before. I saw them play last Saturday, and they crawled out of a worse hole than this. You can’t keep Dick Merriwell from winning.”

“You seem to be stuck on Dick Merriwell?”

“I am. He’s all right, you bet! I’ll bet a hundred dollars he wins this game!”

“I’ll take you,” said the man. “Put up your hundred dollars.”

Sammy gasped.

“I – I ain’t got a hundred dollars,” he said; “but I’ve got a brand-new bike that cost pretty near that, and I’ll bet that.”

The man laughed.

“I don’t want to rob you of your wheel,” he said, “so we won’t bet.”

“Don’t you be afraid of robbing me!” exclaimed the boy. “But I think you need your money, so you hadn’t better bet.”

Dick had looked in vain for June Arlington. She had said she would see him that afternoon, but he was sure she was not in the stand where most of the ladies were assembled.

“Her mother would not let her come,” he decided. “I’m sorry. I believe we could do better if she were here. But we must win this game, anyhow.”

After his usual manner he talked to his men during the intermission, suggesting little things, telling them where the enemy was weak, working up their confidence and courage, and doing everything in his power to get them into proper condition of mind to go in for the game and take it.

“Plover hasn’t made no great stir so far, has he, pard?” said Buckhart. “It was Andrews made that touch-down.”

“Plover?” said Singleton. “Who is Plover?”

“The fellow playing left half-back for them.”

“Why, that’s Gray.”

“That’s the name they have given him,” confessed Brad; “but his right name is Plover, and he’s the chap who got into that bad scrape at Exeter last year.”

“Why, Plover – he’s a professional!” exclaimed big Bob.

“That’s what we’re up against to-day?” nodded Brad. “Rush and Carney, their end-men, are ‘ringers.’ Neither of them is taking a regular course at Franklin. And Wettinger, the left guard, is another. Oh, they’ve got a scabby team!”

The boys were aroused.

“Let’s beat them, hany’ow!” cried Billy Bradley.

“It would be a shame, a measly shame!” said Ted Smart.

“By Jim!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs; “if them fellers is goin’ to play that sort of a team they want to look out! Dern my picter if I don’t sail in hot an’ heavy next half!”

“Everybody sus-sus-sus-sail in!” chattered Chip Jolliby. “We can eat ’em up!”

“Eat ’em! eat ’em!” growled Harry Dare.

So the boys went back on to the field in something of a fierce mood. Franklin had fancied the cadets would be spiritless and easy toward the end of the game, but when they found the home team snappier than ever, they were amazed.

“On your taps every moment, fellows,” said Dick. “Keep them guessing.”

Fardale did keep them guessing, but Franklin seemed to recover from her first surprise and settled down for a stubborn battle. It was hot work. With the ball down for the first time on Franklin’s forty-yard line, the cadets could not make a gain, and were forced to kick. Hickman ran back in anticipation of the kick, which he took prettily, and the Fardale rushers were blocked long enough to give him a start, which he improved.

Down the field came the captain of the visiting team. Two of his men turned in with him as interferers and blocked first one and then another of the Fardale tacklers. Hickman was covering ground handsomely and had reached the middle of the field before Darrell closed with him and dragged him down,

“Great! Great work, Hal!” panted Dick, in admiration. “I was afraid you’d miss him.”

Hal said not a word.

Franklin had done a clever bit of work, and she was determined to improve it now. The ball was snapped and passed to Gray, who went across and plunged into the right wing of Fardale’s line, hitting Jolliby hard and going through for four yards.

Again Darrell was in the play and stopped the runner.

Andrews, the right half-back, took the ball next time and went at the right side of Fardale’s line.

The forwards ripped open a hole for him and he slipped through, but Dick Merriwell hooked on to his legs and pulled him down. This time, however, full five yards had been made.

“Got to stop it, fellows!” breathed Dick.

Franklin was full of confidence.

“Get ’em going, boys!” said Hickman. “They’ll never be able to stop us.”

But an attempted end run resulted in a loss of three yards, as the runner tried to dodge back to avoid a tackler. Dick was certain a plunge into the line would follow.

“20 – 23 – 2,” called Quaile, the quarter-back.

Dick was not mistaken. Hickman came plunging right into the line, and he was met and held in handsome manner. Now something must be done.

The cadet band was playing “Fardale’s Way,” and a great mass of cadets took up the song. The words seemed sufficient to encourage the desperately fighting lads.

 
“It’s no use groaning, it’s no use moaning,
It’s no use feeling sore;
Keep on staying, keep on playing,
As you’ve done before;
Fight, you sinner, you’re a winner
If you stick and stay;
Never give in while you’re living —
That is Fardale’s way.”
 

It was a song to stiffen the backs of those lads. It seemed to do its work, for again Franklin was held fast without a gain.

Singleton ran back in anticipation of a kick, which the visitors apparently prepared for. But the preparation was made to deceive, and Gray was sent with a rush into the line, which it was hoped to take unprepared.

What a roar of delight went up from the bleachers when the line held and Gray was actually flung back for a loss! The ball was Fardale’s on downs.

The cadets struck into another stanza of the song:

 
“It’s no use trying, it’s no use crying,
It’s no use raising Cain;
We don’t fear you, we’ll be near you
When you come again.
When you bump us, what a rumpus!
We are here to stay;
Then we’ll ram you, buck and slam you —
Good old Fardale’s way.”
 

“100 – 13 – 88.” It was Fardale’s signal, and the tackles’ back formation was made. The ball went to Jolliby, who tried center. Knowing what was coming, Obediah Tubbs actually butted the Franklin center over, and Jolliby went through for seven yards. This was the kind of stuff!

“20 – 102 – 21 – 44.” It was the signal for the same formation, but Kent was to take the ball this time. Kent went into center and made three yards, but Selden, Franklin’s snap-back, stood up against Tubbs in far better style.

There was a slight pause, as one of the visitors was hurt a bit. In that pause Dick glanced hopelessly toward the grand stand. He could see nothing of June.

“She will not come,” he thought. “Her mother has refused to let her.” Then he went into the game again with all the energy he could command. He was wearing her locket. If she was not there, he had her picture, and that was the next best thing.

Fardale played fiercely for a time, actually pushing the ball down the field to within twenty-five yards of Franklin’s goal, but there it was lost on a forward pass.

Franklin went into Fardale savagely, but at the very outset was set back for holding, a thing which delighted the watching cadets. But they made it up quickly by a clever crisscross and a run round Fardale’s left end, securing twelve yards.

Franklin realized that it had no snap, and the visitors strained every nerve. After that run round the end the gains were small, but Fardale was steadily pushed back to the center of the field. There something happened.

Franklin lost the ball on a fumble, and Darrell got through and caught it up like a flash. He managed to squirm out of the tangle and started for the enemy’s goal.

How it was that Dick Merriwell got through also and joined Hal no one could say, but he bobbed up just as Captain Hickman came down on Darrell with a rush.

Dick hurled himself before Hickman, who pulled him down, and Hal ran on with a clear field before him. The crowd rose up and roared like mad.

Darrell ran as if his life depended on it. Behind him the players strung out in pursuit, but they could not catch him.

Dick Merriwell had made the run and touchdown possible by blocking Hickman.

Over the line went Darrell for a touch-down. This was the stuff to thrill every watcher! Somehow Dick seemed to close behind Darrell, for all that he had been hurled to the ground, and he was laughing.

“Great!” he said again. “Now we’re in the game good and hard!”

“You blocked Hickman handsomely,” said Hal, relaxing a little. “I thought he had me. Where did you come from?”

“Oh, it was a lucky stab for me, that’s all,” said Dick, modestly declining to take credit for special cleverness.

The ball was brought out. Darrell was willing to let Dick or Singleton try the kick, but Dick declined to take the privilege away from him. So Dick held the ball, and Darrell lifted it over the bar, which tied the game.

“They can’t beat us now!” declared Dick.

Hickman was growling like a dog with a sore ear.

“Talk about rotten luck!” he said. “That was it. Why, we had them skinned to death!”

He kicked off and Singleton returned the ball with a handsome drive. There was some volleying of this sort, and then Fardale attempted a run, but the runner was pulled down promptly, and the teams lined up for the concluding struggles of the game.

Fardale fought earnestly, but the visitors were desperate, and but four yards could be made on three downs. Singleton kicked, and the ball went out of bounds, where Gray fell upon it. It was brought in for a scrimmage, and Franklin came back at the cadets. Fardale’s line seemed made of stone, and Franklin was compelled to kick.

Singleton rushed the ball back eighteen yards before being dragged to the turf. They piled upon him like a lot of tigers, and when the mass untangled big Bob lay still and stiff.

Dick advanced anxiously when he caught a sly wink from Singleton and understood that Bob was playing for time in order to give the boys a chance to freshen up for the attack. That gave Dick another opportunity to turn his eyes toward the grand stand. She was not there.

But now, at one side of the field, he saw a carriage, and standing in that carriage, waving the Fardale colors, was – June! How his heart leaped as he saw her there!

“She has kept her word! We’ll win!”

But little time was left, and he knew it. In order to win, some fast work must be done.

Dick spoke to Smart as big Bob slowly rose to his feet. Ted called for the center-back play, which was a surprise to the enemy, as Smart looked “easy fruit” when he stepped in to fill the place of the fat boy.

Singleton was behind Ted, however, and he held Selden until Tubbs came like a rushing mountain and crashed into the line. Behind Obediah were Merriwell and Darrell, pushing him on. Ahead of him were others, pulling him ahead. They seized him and sought to drag him down, but he kept on going, making full ten yards.

Three times Tubbs did this, gaining twenty-one yards in all. But the fourth attempt resulted in no gain.

Franklin had discovered how to meet the attack and check it. Dick knew it was time for something else, and so did Smart. The funnel-play was tried, and Dick was sent into the left wing of the visitors, making a gain of three yards. It was repeated, and Dick dodged out through the side of the funnel, striking right-guard and making four yards more. A third attempt was stopped with no gain.

Fardale was resorting to every stratagem. A wedge was hurled into center, Singleton carrying the ball. As the wedge went to pieces Dick caught the ball when Bob tossed it out to him. He darted to the right, to the left, bowled one man over, and on he went clean to Franklin’s thirty-yard line.

“It’s Darrell’s turn,” thought Dick. “He ought to get through for a gain. If we can only keep it up!”

But Darrell was stopped and tackled by Wettinger, who carried him back for a loss of three yards. He tried again, but lost two yards more. Then somebody gave Dick the tip that the half was almost up. It seemed that the game would end in a tie.

A word from Dick. What was going to happen? The cadets were breathless. They stood up and stared in silence. Even the band was still.

“A field-kick!” cried some one.

That was it! Franklin was preparing for it. They saw Dick Merriwell was going to try to kick a goal from the thirty-five-yard line.

“Right through there!” grated Hickman, as the Franklin players crouched and prepared to leap forward like tigers. “Spoil it! spoil it!”

The ball was snapped and passed to Dick, and the enemy slammed into Fardale’s line with the fury of so many famished wolves.

It took nerve to kick that goal, but Dick was cool as an ice-cake in the midst of the excitement. He caught the ball, turned it in his hands so it could be dropped just right, and with those ravenous wolves breaking through and coming down on him he kicked.

Hundreds of necks were craned, hundreds of hearts seemed to stop beating, twice as many eyes watched the flight of the yellow ball. On and on it went, sailing gracefully over the bar, and a noise like breakers on a lee shore rose to heaven as Fardale realized the game was won.

CHAPTER IX – DICK WINS AGAIN

Grim, dirty, triumphant, Dick sought the carriage in which he had seen June standing. She stripped off her glove as she saw him coming and held out her warm, shapely hand.

“I’m covered with dirt,” he said.

But she would shake his hand, and she gave it a squeeze that he could not mistake.

“You did it!” she said.

“No,” he answered; “it was Darrell. Did you see his wonderful run?”

“I had not reached the ground, but I heard several say that you made it possible for him to get the touchdown. I was determined to see part of the game,” she went on hurriedly. “I’m glad you did not send that locket back. You know mother compelled me to write that note.”

“I thought so.”

“I hoped you would keep the locket. You must come to the hotel this evening and see her. There is no way out of it.”

“But how am I to keep the locket and remain a gentleman? She has even threatened to have me arrested.”

“She won’t do that. Come to the hotel to-night. She will see you, and I am expected to demand the return of the locket.”

“What will you do?”

“I am going to say that I gave it to you and that I want you to keep it.”

There was no time for further talk. Dick promised to come to the hotel at a certain hour, so while Fardale Military Academy was rejoicing that evening he slipped away and set out for the village.

He was well satisfied with what the day had brought forth. Franklin had departed crestfallen, knowing that Dick would keep his word and investigate the charge of professionalism against several of her team. Had she been victorious she would not have cared so much, but now she knew a close investigation would result in the breaking off of athletic contests between the two schools, and she would be left with the bitter taste of defeat in her mouth.

Dick arrived at the hotel and had his card taken to Mrs. Arlington. There was some delay, following which the lady came sweeping haughtily into the parlor where Dick waited.

“I presume, sir,” she said frigidly, “you have come to your senses and decided to return that locket.”

“I concluded to come here and talk the matter over with you, Mrs. Arlington,” said Dick, perfectly at his ease.

“Have you brought the locket?”

“I keep it with me all the time.”

“I will take it.”

“If you wish to when you hear what I have to say. The locket was given me by your daughter. She gave it to me on the night of her second visit to this place. She attended a mask-party that night and discovered a plot to ruin my arm so that I could take no further part in football this season. It was to be done by means of a poison ring with a cutting point, which was to be worn on the hand of one of my disguised enemies. A scratch from the ring would cause something like blood-poison to set in.”

“Of what interest is this to me, sir? I – ”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Arlington; possibly you will be interested in a moment. Three of my enemies in school were concerned in the plot, and your son was one of them – your son, who is my bitterest enemy!”

“I will not believe it!”

“I can prove it if necessary. Your daughter begged me not to expose her brother, for she knew exposure would mean disgrace and expulsion of her brother from Fardale Academy. I promised not to expose him. She gave me the charm for luck. I have kept it, and it seemed to give me luck. If you take it from me, if you compel me to give it up, I shall consider that there is no further reason why I should not expose your son.”

“Sir,” said the woman angrily, “I do not believe a word of your preposterous story! My son is a gentleman, and – ”

“Ask your daughter.”

“It is true, mother,” said June, entering the room. “Mr. Merriwell might have disgraced Chester, but he declined to do so. I gave him the locket, and – ”

There was a sudden cry that caused her to stop. It had a most alarming sound. Then came other cries and a rush of feet.

“Fire! fire!”

Dick sprang to the parlor door. Above he saw rolling smoke and a gleam of flames.

“The hotel is afire!” he cried.

“My brother!” screamed June. “He is up there in Room 42!”

“My son!” cried Mrs. Arlington, in horror, and swayed as if about to faint. “Oh, Heaven, my son! Save him!”

Dick waited to hear no more. Up the stairs he leaped. Guests were rushing downward through the smoke. One of them struck him and nearly knocked him down. They were screaming with fear. Pandemonium reigned in the hotel. Outside the fire-whistle set up a dull, awful call to the village firemen.

“Room 42!” muttered Dick. The smoke got into his mouth and nose and nearly choked him.

A kerosene-lamp had exploded, and the fire was spreading with appalling swiftness. It was on the second floor, and Dick knew Room 42 was on the third. The fire might cut him off, but he did not hesitate to rush up the second flight of stairs, down which a screaming woman and two cursing men tumbled recklessly.

“Room 42!” he thought. “I believe I know where it is.”

There was a light in the corridor, but the upward rolling smoke made it impossible to see the numbers on the doors. He reached the front of the house and flung a door open. In the middle of the room, attired in a nightdress, stood Chester Arlington, weak and trembling.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is the hotel afire?”

“That’s what!” said Dick. “Come on lively if you want to get out alive!”

Chester started, but his knees seemed to buckle beneath him and he fell in a heap.

“I can’t walk!” he cried feebly. “My legs!”

Dick caught him up and rushed to the door. Up the stairs came a flash of fire, and it seemed that the staircase leaped into flames as he looked.

“Trapped!” he gasped, “No chance of getting down that way!”

He fell back and closed the door to stop the draft and keep out the smoke. With Arlington still in his arms, he rushed to a window at the front of the house and flung it up, calling for help.

Down the street came the village hook-and-ladder company. The truck had long ladders upon it.

“Right here!” cried Dick. “Run one of those ladders up here!”

It seemed that the men worked very slowly and awkwardly. The fire-engine came smoking and stringing sparks along the street. A crowd had gathered below. Their faces were upturned and they waved their arms.

“Don’t jump!” they cried.

Higher and higher the ladders were run. Dick watched them coolly. He was supporting Arlington, who showed nerve and waited without agitation.

At last the ladder reached the window. The young athlete lifted Chester in his arms and stepped through the window on to the ladder. Below the flames burst through a window and he gasped as smoke and heat threatened to topple him from the ladder. Still he held on and made his way downward. The crowd began to cheer.

“Who is it?”

“A cadet!”

“Why, it’s Frank Merriwell’s brother! It’s Dick Merriwell! Hurrah for Dick Merriwell!”

Down to the ground Dick bore Chester Arlington in safety. Chester’s mother was there and clasped her son in her arms. June was there, too, and she whispered in Dick’s ear:

“I think you may keep the locket now!”