For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport, Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  THE REVOLT BEGINS

  Wayne lounged down the steps of the Academy Building, a little bundleof books under his arm, and listlessly crossed the grass to the wallthat guarded the river bluff, from where an enticing panorama of streamand meadow and distant mountains lay before him. The day was one ofthose unseasonably warm ones which sometimes creep unexpectedly intothe month of November, and which make every task doubly hard and anysort of idleness attractive. The river was intensely blue, the skyalmost cloudless, and the afternoon sun shone with mellow warmth on thedeep red bricks of the ancient buildings.

  Wayne tossed his books on the sod and perched himself on the top ofthe wall. The last recitation of the day was over and he was at a lossfor something to do. To be sure, he might, in fact ought to study; butstudy didn’t appeal to him. Now and then he turned his head toward thebuilding in hope of seeing some fellow who could be induced to come andtalk with him. Don was doing laboratory work in physics and Dave andPaddy were undoubtedly on the campus. At a little distance a coupleof boys whom Wayne did not know were passing a football back and forthas they loitered along the path. A boy whom he did know ran down thesteps and shouted a salutation to him, but Wayne only waved his handin reply. It was Ferguson, who talked of nothing but postage stamps,and Wayne had outgrown stamps and found no interest in discussingthem. Ferguson went on around the corner of Academy Building towardthe gymnasium, and with a start Wayne recollected that at that momenthe should be making one of a squad of upper middle-class fellows andexercising with the chest weights. He looked doubtfully toward thepoint where Ferguson had disappeared. What right, he asked himself, hada preparatory school, where a fellow goes to learn Greek and Latin andmathematics, and such things, to insist that a fellow shall develophis muscles with chest weights and dumb-bells and single sticks? Noneat all; the whole thing was manifestly unjust. Schools were to makescholars and not athletes, said Wayne, and he, for one, stood readyto protest, to the principal himself if need be, against the mistakensystem.

  The moment for such protest must be drawing near, thought the boy, withsomething between a grin and a scowl, for he had already twice absentedhimself from gymnasium work, and only yesterday a polite but firm notefrom Professor Beck had reminded him of the fact. Well, he was infor it now, and he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Hegathered his books together and started along the river path toward thecampus in search of Paddy or Dave. He wanted to tell some one about it.

  Wayne had been at Hillton two months, and was apparently no nearerbeing reconciled to the discipline and spirit of the Academy thanon the day he entered. He found the studies many and difficult andthe rules onerous. Everything was so different from what he had beenaccustomed to. At home he had attended a small private school wherelaxity of discipline and indifference to study occasioned but scantcomment. The dozen or so scholars studied practically what they pleasedand when they pleased, which in many cases was very little. Wayne’smother had died when he was five years of age; his father, who hadlabored conscientiously at the boy’s upbringing, had erred on the sideof leniency. Wayne had been given most everything for which he hadasked, including his own way on many occasions when a denial would haveworked better results. A boy with less inherent manliness might havebeen spoiled beyond repair. Wayne was--well, perhaps half spoiled; atall events unfitted for his sudden transition to a school like Hillton,where every boy was thrown entirely on his own resources and was judgedby his individual accomplishments.

  Wayne envied Don and Paddy, and even Dave, their ability to conquerlessons with apparent ease. He was not lazy, but was lacking in a veryvaluable thing called application, which is sometimes better thanbrains. And where Don mastered a lesson in thirty minutes Wayne spenttwice that time on a like task. It had required two months of thehardest coaching to fit Wayne for admission into the upper middle classat the Academy, and now he was making a sad muddle of his studies andwas beginning to get discouraged. He wished his father hadn’t sent himto Hillton; or, rather, he would wish that were it not for Don--andPaddy--and Dave--and, yes, for lots of other things. Wayne sighed ashe thought of what a jolly place the Academy would be if it wasn’t forlessons--and chest weights! And this brought him back to his grievance,and, having reached the campus, he looked about to find some one towhom he might confide his perplexities and resolves.

  But both Paddy and Dave were too busy to heed any one else’s troubles.Paddy, in a disreputable suit of football togs, his face streamingwith perspiration, was being pushed and shoved about the gridiron, thecenter of a writhing mass of players, while the coach’s whistle vainlyproclaimed the ball not in play. Dave, his good-natured face red withexertion, was struggling with his beloved hammer amid a little circleof attentive and facetious spectators.

  “Say, Dave, you ought to stop, really you had,” one of the onlookerswas saying as Wayne joined the circle. “If you keep at it much longeryou won’t be able to throw that thing out of the circle.”

  “Three feet four inches short of the first mark,” said a youth with atape as he rose from measuring the last flight of the weight. “Betterrest a bit.”

  “Why don’t you take the hammer off, Dave, and throw the handle?” askeda third boy.

  “Well, I wish you’d step up here and have a try at it,” answered Davegood-naturedly.

  “Oh, but I’m not a strong man like you. If I was half as big I’d throwthe old thing twice as far as that.”

  “Well, perhaps you’ll grow in time, Tommy. Hello, Wayne,” he continued,as he caught sight of that youth, “why don’t you say something funny? Idon’t mind; go on.”

  “Can’t think of anything right now,” answered Wayne. “The funniestthing I know of is tossing an iron ball around when it’s too warm tomove. You look like a roast of beef, Dave.”

  “Do I? Well, I’ve been roasted enough; I’m going to knock off. Besides,I’m in poor form to-day. Let’s go over and watch Paddy, poor dub. Iguess he’s having a hard time of it, too.”

  Dave picked up his sweater and hammer and the two strolled over tothe side-line and sat down. The first and second elevens, the latteraugmented by several extra players, were putting in a hard practice.Less than a fortnight remained ere the game of the season would beplayed with St. Eustace Academy, and hard work was the order of theday. The head coach, an old Hillton graduate named Gardiner, was farfrom satisfied with the team’s showing. As Paddy had pointed out,he and Greene were the only members of the first eleven who had theexperience that participation in a big game brings. Greene was thecaptain and played right end, and to-day he was visibly worried andnervous, and was rapidly working his men into much the same state whenGardiner called time and allowed the almost breathless players to strewthemselves over the field on their backs and pant away to their heart’scontent. Paddy caught sight of the two boys on the side-line andcrawled dejectedly over to them on all fours, his tongue hanging out,in ludicrous imitation of a dog.

  “It’s awful, my brethren, simply awful. We are probably the worst lotof football players in the world. Greene will tell you so--and glad ofthe chance, bad luck to him! He’s got the ‘springums.’”

  “What are those?” asked Wayne.

  “Oh, those are nerves; when you can’t keep still, you know. That’swhat’s the matter with Greene to-day. And I don’t much blame him; theweather’s unfit for practice, and every chap on the team feels like asausage, and the St. Eustace game’s a week from Thursday. I heard Marchtell Gardiner----”

  “Is Joel March here?” asked Dave.

  “Yes; see him over there talking to ‘Pigeon’ Wallace? He said toGardiner a few minutes ago, ‘There’s one great trouble with thateleven, Mr. Gardiner, and that is that it’s not the kind that wins.’He didn’t know I could hear. Of course I wouldn’t tell Greene for ahouse and farm. But March is right; I’ve felt that way all the fall.And if March says we can’t win, we’re not going to.” Paddy sigheddolefully.

  “Tommyrot, Paddy!” answered Dave. “Joel March
isn’t infallible, and theteam may take a big brace before Thanksgiving.”

  “Who’s Joel March, anyway?” asked Wayne.

  “Joel March? Why, Joel March is--is-- Say, haven’t you ever heard ofMarch?” exclaimed Dave, in deep disgust. Wayne shook his head.

  “I reckon not; if I have I’ve forgotten it. What did he do--run a milein eighteen and three-fourth seconds or throw an iron ball over AcademyBuilding?”

  “Neither, my sarcastic and ignorant young friend from the Sunny South,”answered Paddy, with asperity. “But he’s the finest half-back in college;and if you knew anything about the important affairs of the day youwould know that he made the only score in the Harwell-Pennsylvania gamelast Saturday, and that he ran over fifty-five yards to do it! Also, andlikewise, and moreover,” continued Paddy, with great severity, “when Iwas a little green junior, two years ago, I sat just about here andwatched Joel March kick a goal from the field that tied the St. Eustacegame after they had us beaten. And I yelled myself hoarse and couldn’tspeak loud enough at dinner to ask for the turkey, and Dave ate my sharebefore my eyes! That’s who Joel March is.”

  “You don’t say,” responded Wayne, without displaying the least bit ofawe. “And who’s the swell with him?”

  “That’s West, his chum. West is the father of golf here at Hillton,”answered Dave, with becoming reverence. “I used to follow him when hewent around and wish that I could drive the way he could. He was amember of the team that Harwell sent to the intercollegiate tournamentlast month. Is March going to coach the backs, Paddy?”

  “Don’t know; but they could stand it. There’s going to be a shake-upnext half, I’ll bet. Gardiner says if the second scores on us againbefore Thanksgiving he’ll send it to Marshall instead of the first.Gardiner’s a great jollier. Here we go again like lambs to theslaughter,” added Paddy as the whistle blew.

  “You remind me of a lamb,” said Dave; “you’re so different.”

  Paddy playfully pommeled the other’s ribs and then cantered off to thecenter of the gridiron, where Gardiner, Greene, and March, the oldHillton half-back, were assembled in deep converse.

  “Want to go back,” asked Dave, “or shall we stay and see the rest ofthe practice?”

  “Let’s stay,” said Wayne. “I suppose Paddy is sure of his place, isn’the? I mean they won’t put him off, will they?”

  “No; I guess Paddy’s all right for center. But the big chap next tohim, at left-guard, is sure to go on the second, I think. They ought tohave made Paddy captain last fall. Greene’s an awfully decent fellow,but he’s liable to get what Paddy calls the ‘springums.’ He’s toohigh-strung for the place. Watch Gardiner now; he’s doing things.”

  The head coach was a big, broad-shouldered man, with a face so freckledand homely as to be attractive. Many years before he had been a guardon the Hillton eleven and his name stood high on the Academy’s rollof honor. As Dave had said, he was “doing things.” Four of the firsteleven players were relegated in disgrace to the ranks of the second,their positions being filled by so many happy youths from the opposingteam. Wayne noted with satisfaction that Paddy’s broad bulk stillremained in the center of the first eleven’s line when the two teamsfaced each other for the last twenty minutes of play. Joel March,with coat and vest discarded, took up a position behind quarter-backand from there coached the two halfs with much hand-clapping and manycheery commands. Greene appeared to have recovered his equanimity, andthe first eleven successfully withstood the onslaught of the opponentsuntil the ball went to Paddy and a spirited advance down the fieldbrought the pigskin to the second’s forty-yard line and gave Grow, thefull-back, an opportunity to try a goal from a placement. The attemptfailed and the ball went back to the second, but the first’s lineagain held well, and a kick up the field sent the players scurrying tothe thirty-five-yard line, where, coached by March, Grow secured theball and recovered ten yards ere he was downed. Later the first workedthe ball over for a touch-down, from which no goal was tried, and thepractice game ended without the dreaded scoring by the second eleven,much to Paddy’s relief.

  The three boys hurried back together, and Wayne, parting from hiscompanions at the gymnasium, sought his room, reflecting on theathletic mania that seemed to possess every fellow at the school.

  “I’ll have to do something that way myself,” he thought ruefully, “orI’ll be a sort of--what-yer-call-it?--social outcast.”

  Then he recollected that he had forgotten to consult Dave regardinghis proposed declaration of right, and was rather glad that he had;because, after all, he told himself, Dave Merton was not a chap thatwould sympathize with a protest against gymnastics and such things. Butthat evening, as the two sat studying in their room after supper, Waynetold his plans to Don and asked for an opinion. And Don looked up fromhis Greek text-book and said briefly and succinctly:

  “Don’t do it!”

  “But, I say, Don, I’ve got some voice in the business, haven’t I? Whatright has Professor Beck or Professor Wheeler or--or any of them gotto make me develop my muscles if I don’t want my muscles developed?When it comes to study, you know, why, that’s another----”

  “Well, if you’ll take my advice you’ll stop worrying about your rightsand obey the rules.”

  “But----”

  “Because if you don’t, Wayne, you’d much better have stayed at home.I--I tried asserting my rights once and it didn’t pay. And since thenI’ve tended to my own affairs and let the faculty make the laws.”

  “Just the same,” answered Wayne, with immense dignity, “I don’t intendto put up with injustice, although you may. I shall tell ProfessorWheeler just what I’ve told you, and----”

  Don looked up from his book with a frown.

  “Wayne, _will_ you shut up?”

  “But I’m telling you----”

  “But I don’t want to hear. It’s all nonsense. And, besides, if you’regoing to say it all to ‘Wheels’ what’s the good of boring me with it?Talk about injustice,” groaned Don, “look at the length of this lesson!”

  Wayne opened his book and, as a silent protest against his friend’sheartlessness, began to study.