The Rockspur Eleven: A Fine Football Story for Boys by Burt L. Standish - HTML preview

CHAPTER IV.
 DON LEAVES THE TEAM.

It did not take Don long to get into his football suit. Danny Chatterton met him as he was coming from the dressing-room.

“So you ch-ch-ch-changed your mind?” grinned the little fellow, winking in a taunting manner. “Must have cuc-cuc-cooled off sus-some after I left ye. Or was it Bub-Bentley gug-got you to come along? He-he’ll make a real good ch-ch-chum for you! Tell you what, I’d rather be fuf-friendly with a stuck-up city chap, as you cuc-cuc-call Renwood, than to only have a ch-chum like Bub-Bentley.”

“You mind your own business, Chatterton!” harshly advised Don. “I’m not making a chum of anybody.”

“Well, there’s a pup-pup-pup-pretty good reason for that,” returned the aggravating little rascal, as he sidled away. “If you had a ch-chum, you’d gug-get mad and eat him inside of th-th-three days.”

Scott bit his lip, assailed by a sudden conviction. “That’s the reason I’ve never had a real chum,” he thought. “It’s my temper. I have no one but myself to blame, I suppose.”

He was actually feeling humiliated and humble when he joined the others, who were grouped about Renwood and Sterndale. Dolph and Dick were talking over the code of signals and the simpler plays to be learned.

“Of course,” said Renwood, “when we become familiar with the common and conventional plays, then we can study up new formations and new moves in the game. Until we’ve seen just what kind of material we have and what sort of a team it forms as a whole, we cannot decide upon our general style of playing. If the men prove to be fast and light on their feet, we’ll see what we can do in the way of running and surprise plays. If they are not fast, but are dogged and heavy enough, we’ll see what kind of a bucking team they’ll make. Or it is possible we may find that we have a great kicking team. But, no matter what general style of playing may be decided upon, after getting into a game it may be found expedient to change to another style in order to best assail the weak points of the opposing team.”

This was plain, sensible talk, and the boys, with a single exception, listened to it attentively. The exception was Roger Ford, a deaf-mute, surely a peculiar fellow to have upon a football team. Ford, however, was a real athlete, a great runner and wrestler, and a fellow of nerve, so that, at his own solicitation, he had been given a place on the eleven, Sterndale having decided to try him, for all of the fear that his deafness might prove a serious detriment.

“Mr. Sterndale, your captain,” continued Dolph, “has familiarized himself with the signals and certain plays that we are to try to-day. I presume the rest of you have studied the signal code, so that you will know just what to do on every occasion. If you wish to have the team succeed, you must always do your level best to obey any signal given. The fellow who is looking for individual glory and an opportunity to show off will prove to be a disadvantage and an encumbrance to the eleven.”

As he spoke these words his eyes seemed to rest meaningly on Leon Bentley, whose thin lips curled and who turned away contemptuously.

When Renwood had delivered this little lecture, Sterndale called for the men to line up, which, with some confusion, they proceeded to do at the centre of the field. The line-up was as follows:

Among those selected as possible substitutes was Thad Boland, the laziest boy in town, who, in mockery of his habitual slowness of movement, was generally called “Old Lighting.” Thad was a big fellow, besides being wonderfully strong, and, could he be aroused to action, it was thought he would prove a perfectly irresistible thunder-bolt in the line; but only something of a most remarkable or alarming nature could arouse Thad to display his dormant energies, although he enjoyed watching others indulge in athletic games and contests, and was almost invariably on hand when anything of the kind was going on.

The best runners had been placed in the ends of the line. During the baseball season which had just closed John Smith had shown to his doubting companions that he was a fellow of courage, nerve and coolness, and Sterndale had insisted on giving him a position of prominence on the eleven.

At John’s side was Rob Linton, his former enemy, now his enemy no longer; while next came Jotham Sprout, nicknamed “Bubble,” who was generally regarded as the weakest man in the line, although it was hoped that his blundering might turn to the advantage of the team, as often had been the case in games of baseball.

Danny Chatterton had been placed at centre, where, on the signal, he was to snap the ball back to Renwood, who would pass it according to the pre-arranged plan. Danny was rather quick in his movements, and Sterndale had been convinced that he would be the best man for the position.

On the left of Chatterton was the deaf-mute, Ford, who had been given a position where the plays were nearly all of a simple nature. Bentley, the cigarette-smoker, was left tackle, and Dennis Murphy, a gritty and somewhat beligerant Irish youth, stood on the extreme left end.

Taken all together, the material that composed the team was as good as most small country towns could furnish. It remained to be demonstrated what Sterndale and Renwood could make of the material.

When every player was in position, the ball was placed on the ground between Chatterton’s feet, and the crouching men waited for the signal.

“I want you to form and run forward with the ball ten or fifteen feet, just the same as if you were in a game,” said Dick, now taking command of them. “Ready!”

They crouched in anticipation, and then Dick quickly called off several numbers, whereupon, with a skillful movement, Chatterton snapped the ball into Renwood’s hand and he passed it to Mayfair, who started like a flash, hugging it under one arm and plunging after the men who formed in front of him and rushed forward as interferers.

Jotham Sprout seemed rather bewildered, and, as a result, he blocked Linton and fell over his own feet, while the others surged across his body, giving him several knocks and kicks, which caused him to sit up and howl.

“Say, what in time do you fellers take me for? Ev’ry dinged one of you kicked me or stepped on me! I bet a dollar my wish-bone is dislocated!” he moaned, rubbing his fat stomach.

“You’ll have to keep awake if you’re going to play this game,” sharply declared Renwood. “Better try that over again, Captain Sterndale.”

“Line up again,” ordered Dick. “Now mind your p’s and q’s. You’ll have to start quicker, Bubble.”

“I can’t start as quick as Chat,” confessed Jotham; “but it’s going to take more to stop me when I get going.”

When the men were lined up again, the signal was repeated and the play was carried out in a far more satisfactory manner. Then the signal was changed so the ball was passed to Scott for practically the same kind of a play.

It is possible that Don was nervous, for he fumbled the pass the very first time, and the ball quite escaped from his clutch. This made him so angry that he sprang after it and gave it a fierce kick. In a moment Sterndale was at his side.

“That won’t do, old man,” said Dick. “Any of us is liable to make a fumble, so don’t——”

“Mayfair didn’t!” panted Don, his face flushed and his eyes flashing. “It wasn’t my fault! I don’t propose to be made a show of!” He gave Renwood a savage look.

“Steady!” warned Dick. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do! It was the same way yesterday. Put another fellow in Renwood’s place and I’ll guarantee to get the passes all right.”

This was enough to arouse Dolph, who promptly said:

“Don’t try to blame any one else for your own fault, Mr. Scott. I passed you the ball in exactly the same manner that I passed it to Mayfair. He took the pass cleanly.”

“And by that you call me a fumbler, do you? All right! I knew what would happen!” He took three steps toward Renwood. “I knew you meant me when you said there were some men on the team who were no earthly good,” he went on, his anger blazing forth unrestrained. “You don’t like me, because I won’t bow down and let you walk on my neck. I’m not one of the bowing kind, Mr. Renwood, and I’m just as good as you are, if you have played football in Boston. You come down here with your airs and expect to overawe us because we live in the country, but you are nothing but a stuck-up——”

Sterndale grasped with crushing force the arm of the angry and excited speaker, and he sternly said:

“Stop right where you are, Scott! You are making a spectacle of yourself by letting your unreasonable anger run away with your judgment. Renwood is our coach, accepted by unanimous consent, and as such he has a right to instruct and criticize us. We should feel under obligations to him for his kindness, and——”

“His kindness!” snarled Don. “Bah! He has found an opportunity to show off, and he’s making the most of it. It is my opinion that we might do better without his instructions and without him on the team. If we’ve got to have him, let him go up into the line and take his chance with the others. He chose his own position, where he’ll always have something important to do, yet where there is little danger of being hurt, for he never runs with the ball and he’s not in the front with the interference. I can see through him, if the rest of you do not.”

He would have said more, but Dick stopped him again.

“Not another word of this, Scott!” he cried. “You’ve lost your head entirely, and you’d better——”

“Oh, I’ll get out!” grated Scott. “Hands off me, Sterndale! You are not my master! You can keep your city cad on the team, and I’ll leave! That will settle it.”

He tore himself from Sterndale and strode away. Renwood was angry now and would have followed him, but the boys stopped him.

“Let him go,” said the captain. “No one can reason with him when he gets that way.”

“I don’t want to reason with him,” muttered Dolph, who was pale round his mouth; “I want to hit him!”

But Dick used his influence, and Don was permitted to walk away, while Thad Boland was called in to make up the eleven. Boland was given Smith’s position on the end, Smith being brought back to the place made vacant by Don.

Sitting alone on the bleachers, Don Scott saw the boys line up again and continue practice without him. He saw them try a number and variety of plays from signals, and he heard Renwood give them instructions in forming a wedge and in mass-play. He ground his white teeth together as he watched them, and the hot fury within him seemed burning and consuming his very heart. He noted that they seemed to get along quite well without him, and it was plain that they were beginning to understand some of the difficult strategy of the game, even if they could not execute it rapidly. The formation for sending a runner round the end was tried several times, and then the “criss-cross,” or double-pass, was essayed until Smith and Mayfair, working together, seemed to have obtained some skill at it.

It was gall-and-wormwood for the fiery-tempered youth, who, having put aside all desire to restrain and control his anger, now entertained the most bitter and revengeful thoughts. He was angry toward Bentley, too, for not speaking out and siding with him in his outburst against Renwood.

There was quite a gathering of spectators who watched the practice, but Don noticed them very little, failing to observe that among them were three girls who were much interested.

At last the practice was over, Sterndale announcing that they had done enough for one day. Then, as Renwood was giving them some instructions about dieting and getting into good condition, Don leaped down from the bleachers and strode out upon the field. When the group broke up, the coach found himself face to face with the lad who had withdrawn from the team.

The rather handsome face of Don Scott was sullen and scowling, and there seemed to be a gleam in his black eyes.

“I have a few more words I want to say to you, Renwood!” he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady.

“And I have something I want to say to you!” Dolph flung back instantly. “A fellow with such a beastly temper as you have isn’t fit to play football, and the team will be better off without you.”

With a cry, Don sprang forward and drew back his clenched fist, intending to strike Renwood full in the face; but a pretty girl with gold-brown eyes stepped between them, and he saw before him the sister of the fellow he hated.