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

CHAPTER XXXIV.
 REPENTANCE AND VICTORY.

It was some time after dark that, having till then wandered aimlessly about by himself, Don Scott turned in at the gate of his home, passed up the gravel walk and entered the front door. His heart felt like a stone within him, without life even to give a fluttering start when he found himself face to face with his father, who seemed to be waiting in the hall.

“My son!” cried the doctor, catching him by the arm, “where have you been? When I came home, I expected to find you here to tell me all about it.”

“Oh, I can’t tell you!” groaned Don. “I can’t think about it! How you must loathe me!”

The doctor was astounded. “My boy, my boy!” he exclaimed; “what do you mean? It is you who must shrink from me, for I have heard how Leon Bentley has confessed, clearing you of everything. I can never forgive myself for permitting a suspicion of your possible guilt to creep into my mind. And they say you won the game to-day by a wonderful kick after I was suddenly called to attend a patient. I’m sorry I could not have been there, but I’m proud of you, my son—proud of you!”

Don choked, beginning to tremble in every limb. He suffered then such anguish and remorse as seldom comes to a person more than once in a lifetime.

“You don’t know, father,” he said, hoarsely; “you haven’t heard——”

“They told me all about it,” insisted the doctor. “And you had genuine grit to get up and continue playing after you were stunned. Do you feel your injury much now?”

It was not an injury to his body that was giving the boy such exquisite pain; it was a far deeper wound.

“Oh, I don’t care for that!” he cried, despair in his voice and manner.

“Then you should be happy,” declared his father, wondering and perplexed over the boy’s appearance. “You were not hurt as badly as young Renwood. Why, they had to take him home in a carriage. I met them on the road, and they had me attend him. It was a bad knock on the head, and might have caused concussion of the brain, but he came round all right, and he’ll be well as ever in a day or two.”

The strength went out of Don’s legs, and he dropped heavily on the hall seat. Up to that moment, he had thought Dolph Renwood’s blood was on his hands.

“Father!” he panted, “is it—is it—true? Are you sure I didn’t kill him?”

“Of course it is true; he is not seriously injured. But what are you saying? Do you mean——”

“I struck him after the game was over. That was what ailed him.”

“And they never told me a word! Struck him, Don—with what?”

“A baseball bat,” whispered the unfortunate lad. “Oh, I’m a bad, wicked boy! I’m not fit to be your son! I wish I’d never been born!”

Then he burst into tears, which, more than anything else, were compelled by the relief in learning that he had not the crime of homicide on his soul, and he was shaken by a perfect tempest of emotion.

The doctor lifted his remorseful son and led the boy into his private office, closing the door behind them. And there in the seclusion of that room Don unbosomed himself fully, holding nothing back, and found relief and consolation and forgiveness.

“I know I was all wrong; I see it now,” said Don, when he had ended. “Father, what can I do?”

“You must go to Renwood, confess everything as you have confessed to me, humble yourself and ask his forgiveness. That is the least you can do. In this there is one good feature, at least; Bentley’s story will prove to the other boys that they were wrong in believing you destroyed the football and the suits. Will you go to see Renwood, my son?”

“I’ll go, father—I’ll do anything! And as long as I live I’ll never forget the lesson. I was to blame for everything!”

“You were to blame in letting your temper get the best of you, but you were led into wrong-doing by your bad companion. Now you can see the danger in associating with such a fellow.”

“I’m going to see Renwood to-night—now!” cried Don, springing up. “I can’t sleep unless I see him!”

“Go, my boy; I think he will be in condition to see you. Go!”

Father and son walked to the front door together, the arm of the former across the shoulders of the latter. Then the boy went out into the darkness and hurried away.

Don feared he would not be admitted to see Dolph, but his fears were groundless. There was some delay, and he waited anxiously in the hall; then the maid came and conducted him to Renwood’s room.

Dolph was there, reclining on a Morris chair, wrapped in a dressing-gown. He was pale, and there was a bandage about his head. He looked at his visitor in speechless inquiry, while Don stood with his head bowed and his face flushed with shame.

Renwood was the first to speak. “I’m glad you’ve come,” he said, “for I’m aching to tell you just what I think of you; but I declare I didn’t think you’d have the crust to show yourself here!”

His voice was full of the scorn and contempt which the persistent injustice of his enemy had aroused to its fullest extent. The other lad shrank a bit, lifting one hand.

“That’s right!” he hoarsely exclaimed; “you can’t say anything too mean about me, call me what you like! I deserve it all—and more!”

Renwood was astonished by this altered attitude of his enemy, but fancied it was fear of reprisal that had brought the boy who dealt the blow hurrying to see him. However, before he could say anything further, Don went on:

“I thought I was right in hating you, for I had been led to believe you a sneak and a traitor. I have a nasty temper that it has been impossible for me to govern in the past, but I’ll master it in the future—or die! You have every reason to hate and despise me; but you cannot hate and despise me more than I hate and despise myself. I thought I had killed you, and I suffered just what I merited. But even then I did not know what a miserable wretch I was till I went to see Bentley in the lock-up and heard his confession.”

Renwood’s wonder was growing, for this humility and repentance were so genuine that his doubts were dying.

“Bentley,” he muttered. “They said he had been arrested.”

“Yes, and I want you to hear just what he told me. Will you listen?”

“Go ahead.”

Then, as well as he could in his excited condition, Don told of the confession Leon had made; and a change came over the face of the injured lad who listened, for Dolph began to see how this repentant boy who stood before him had been misled by his own passions and by the deceptions of an unscrupulous and rascally companion. Don did not spare himself in the least, and he did not try to shoulder all the blame onto Bentley. When he told of the forged letter, he was astounded to find that Dolph knew absolutely nothing about it. Fearing to bring further discord into the team, Sterndale had told Renwood nothing of that letter.

Some moments after this, on her way downstairs, Zadia Renwood passed the door of her brother’s room. That door was ajar, so that, glancing in, she saw two boys standing face to face, the one with his head bandaged having both hands on the shoulders of the other, and she heard her brother saying:

“It was a misunderstanding and a mistake, Scott, that’s all. It’s all right now, and I think we’ll know each other better in the future. Let’s forget it.”

When Don Scott came down from Dolph’s room, his face wore a look of relief that was almost happiness. He found Renwood’s sister in the hall, and she let him out.

“I’m so glad!” she said, giving him a happy smile; “I’m so glad you and Dolph are to be friends now. I’m sure you’ll like each other.”

Alone in the night, Don halted, took off his hat and lifted his throbbing forehead to the cool wind that came off the open sea roaring along the Eastern Shore. The sky was heavily overcast with clouds, but, as he looked upward, they broke and parted in one place, and through the rift he saw a calm, pure white star.

The following is quoted from the Highland Register, published eleven days later:

“The third and final football game of the series between Highland and Rockspur was played last Saturday before a great crowd of spectators in Highland, and the boys from the coast won by a score of 17 to 12. It was a fast and furious battle from start to finish, the youngsters on both sides fighting as if for their very lives and displaying at times such vim, dash and courage that the witnesses were aroused to the greatest enthusiasm and cheered themselves hoarse. Of course, it is greatly regretted that our boys lost after being trained by such a thoroughly experienced and capable coach as Mr. Winston; but Rockspur also had a first-class coach in young Renwood, who played quarter-back on the team, and the improvement of the visitors since their first appearance here this season was something remarkable. Still, it may be justly claimed that luck had much to do with the result of the game, for it was Garrison’s fumble within four minutes of the close of the game that gave Rockspur the ball and enabled the visitors to obtain the final touchdown and goal that cooked Highland’s goose. At the time this accident happened Highland was in the lead, the score standing 12 to 11.

“The first half was a battle of giants. Several times it seemed that one side or the other must make a touchdown, but something happened to prevent anything of the kind taking place, and it was a case of taking a desperate chance after the second down, when Scott tried a drop-kick for a goal from the twenty-five-yard line. He made it beautifully, and the half ended with the points 5 to 0 in favor of the enemy.

“In the second half Highland put some new men on the field, and one of the substitutes, Hardoak, soon found an opportunity to show his mettle by going round Rockspur’s left end for a touchdown that resulted in a goal, giving the home team a lead of one point, 6 to 5. But this simply seemed to awaken eleven tigers from Rockspur, and the way they tore great holes in the right wing of the Highland line was heartrending to witness. Whenever he was given the ball to advance, Scott seemed a perfect demon of fury, and once he actually made fourteen yards with half the home team apparently riding on his back and shoulders. He was finally crushed to the earth by sheer weight of numbers, but even then he managed to squirm along for a foot or two before they could pin him fast. And he finally slammed himself over the line for a touchdown that netted a goal and gave his team the lead once more, 11 to 6.

“At this stage the game was most exciting, for Walker was begging his men to take a brace and win out, and every fellow responded nobly. In a kicking battle Highland got the advantage, and the ball was held in Rockspur’s territory. Then, after several minutes of varying fortune, Morse found a hole between Ford and Carter and got over the goal line of the visitors for another touchdown, from which Walker kicked the handsomest and most difficult goal of the day. That gave Highland 12 points and Rockspur had 11. Not a great margin, but the game was drawing toward the end, and it seemed enough.

“Our boys fought for time, but Sterndale’s men pushed the battle with a sort of mad fury that it was hard to withstand. When the ball came into Highland’s possession she endeavored to retain it till the finish of the game, and there was but four more minutes of play when Garrison fumbled in a scrimmage and Renwood captured the ball and wiggled out of the squirming knot of players. He got a fair start, but even then he could not have made a goal without the assistance of Scott, who was the only interferer that ran with him. Powell had been doing masterly work in the way of tackling, but Scott bowled Jack over and saved Rockspur’s quarter-back from being brought to the turf. Walker came next, and somehow Scott had recovered from the collision with Powell enough to be on hand and block Lee quite as effectively. Then the two men went down a clear field, with all the others stringing after them like a pack of hounds and the Rockspur spectators roaring like mad. Pell had great speed, and it seemed that he was going to overtake the runner for a tackle, but somehow Scott looked over his shoulder and got the range of the pursuer. When Pell leaped Scott sprang sidelong before him, and it was Scott that the tackler brought down, while Renwood ran on and crossed Highland’s goal line with the ball. From that a goal was kicked, with the final result as stated above; but it is to the amazing interference of Scott more than to the run of Renwood that Rockspur must give the glory for winning the game.”

THE END.