The Rushton Boys at Rally Hall: or, Great Days in School and Out

CHAPTER XX
A RATTLING GAME

The lights went out in a second.

“Great Scott!” whispered Melvin. “It’s Beansey. I didn’t think it was anywhere near time for him to be around again.”

Again came the knock, a little more impatient and imperative this time.

“Open the door,” came a voice that they had no difficulty in recognizing as that of “Beansey” Walton.

The boys huddled together, scarcely venturing to breathe.

“Who is there?” drawled out Melvin, in a voice that he tried to make as sleepy as possible.

“It’s me, Mr. Walton,” was the response.

Melvin had an inspiration.

“Not on your life!” he shouted. “You’re one of those lowbrows from Number Two trying to play a trick on us. Mr. Walton wouldn’t say: ‘It’s me.’ He’d have said, ‘It is I.’ Now, go ’way and let us sleep. We’re on to you, all right.”

There was a moment of awful silence and then they heard the steps of their visitor going softly and swiftly down the hall.

The boys were nearly bursting with laughter at Melvin’s audacity, and when they felt sure that it had really succeeded, they broke out in a roar.

“And it worked!” shrieked Slim, rolling over and over. “By jiminy, it really worked! Mel, you’re a genius. I take off my hat to you.”

“You covered yourself with glory that time, old man,” said Fred, as soon as he could speak for laughter. “Beansey will never get over it. Can’t you see his face, as he faded away down the hall? The fellows in the other dormitories will be green with envy when they hear about it.”

“It was nip and tuck,” grinned Melvin. “I just took a chance that Beansey would rather let us go than to own up that he’d made a slip in grammar. But even now, we’re not safe. He might think it over and come back. Let’s get a hustle on and remove these evidences of crime.”

In three minutes more, everything was set to rights, and the boys slipped in between their covers, theoretically to sleep, but actually to lie awake and chuckle for a long time, at the way they had “put one over” on the monitor.

The day for the football game with Lake Forest was rapidly drawing nearer. Under the steady practice and hard work through which Granger put his team, it was swiftly rounding into shape.

Although at first the other boys had the advantage over Fred of having played a long time together, and of knowing just what to expect from one another in any crisis of the game, his quick mind and keen ambition soon put him on a level with them in that respect, and he had developed into one of the mainstays of the team.

None had appreciated this more than Tom Eldridge, whose place Fred had taken at fullback, but there was not a trace of envy in the way he stood around the side lines, leaning on a stick, and applauding every brilliant play of his successor.

“You’re a star, Fred,” he said to him one day after an especially sparkling bit of strategy. “You can play rings around the Lake Forest fullback. And he’s no slouch, either.”

“You must put me on to his style,” said Fred; and together they worked out a scheme of offence and defence that they hoped would bring victory to Rally Hall.

There was a good deal of anxiety as the day of the game drew near. The last time the elevens had met, Lake Forest had won by two touchdowns, and it was reported that they were fully as fast this year.

“They’ve got a cracking good team and no mistake,” admitted Melvin. “They’re a bit heavier than we are in the line, but I think we have it on them in the back field. But it’ll be a fight for blood from the first kickoff, and I don’t look for a big score, whichever side wins.”

Professor Raymond, who himself had been a crack player on his own college eleven, worked hard to get the team into first-class shape. He had been much worried by the accident to Tom, but, as he watched the work of Fred, he soon reached the conclusion that the team had been strengthened rather than weakened.

So that it was with strong hopes of a successful outcome that Rally Hall went into the fight on the day of the great game.

It was a beautiful day, with just enough snap and coolness in the air to make it perfect for football. The game was to take place on the Rally Hall grounds, and Big Sluper, the janitor, with his assistants, had outdone themselves in getting the gridiron into fine condition.

Long before the time set for the game, a great crowd had gathered. Of course, every member of the school was there, ready to yell for his favorites, and, in addition, everybody in Green Haven who had a drop of sporting blood in his veins had journeyed out to see the gridiron battle.

Lake Forest had sent down a large crowd of rooters with the team, and while, of course, they were in the minority, they were chock full of enthusiasm, and prepared to make up in noise what they lacked in numbers.

“How do you feel, Fred?” asked Melvin, as they were getting into their togs.

“Like a fighting cock,” replied Fred, doing an impromptu jig. “If I felt any better, I’d be afraid of myself.”

“Great!” said Melvin. “I feel the same way myself. We’ll sure bring home the bacon.”

“Here they come!”

There was a roar of greeting, when the Lake Forest team trotted out and began passing and falling on the ball. But the roar became thunderous when the Rally Hall boys came into view.

“They’re sure giving us a royal send off,” commented Billy Burton, “and it won’t do to disappoint them. We’ve simply got to win.”

The Lake Forest captain won the choice of goals, and Rally Hall therefore had the kickoff. Amid a breathless silence, Fred measured the distance, gave a mighty swing and sent the ball sailing down toward the enemy’s goal. Adams, their left end, made a good catch, but before he could run back with it, Billy Burton downed him in his tracks. The team lined up for the scrimmage on Lake Forest’s forty-yard line, and the game was fairly on.

It soon became apparent that the teams were very evenly matched, and that neither would have a walkover. Back and forth they surged, neither able to make a definite gain, though most of the time it was in Lake Forest’s territory. Each of the teams had the ball in turn, only to lose it before the fourth down could be made, so stubborn was the resistance.

Melvin, at centre, stood like a rock against the enemy’s charges, while Billy, at quarter, reeled off the signals as steadily as a clock. Slim Haley, with his great bulk, was a tower of strength at right guard, and Madison and Ames did some savage tackling. Fred, at full, did the work of two ordinary players, and was ably helped by Thompson and Wayland, the two halfbacks. But neither side scored, and it began to look like a goose egg for each, for the first quarter.

It was two minutes from the end of the quarter, and the ball was within thirty yards of the Lake Forest goal. Ensley, the enemy’s left halfback, had the ball, but in his eagerness to advance it, he fumbled it, and Billy Burton pounced upon it like a hawk. Like lightning, he passed it to Fred, who dropped back for a kick. The enemy’s line bore down upon him, but too late. He lifted the ball into the air, and it soared like a bird above the bar between the posts. The Lake Forest rooters looked glum, and the home team’s supporters went wild with joy.

Just then, the whistle blew, and the quarter ended, with the score three to none, in favor of Rally Hall.

“Some class to that kick, Fred!” cried Melvin, while the rest of the team gathered around and patted him on the shoulders. “I never saw a cleaner goal from field.”

“All we’ve got to do now is to hold them down, and the game is ours,” exulted Ned Wayland.

But “holding them down” was no easy task. The lead they had gained put their opponents on their mettle, and they fairly ran amuck in the second quarter. By successive rushes, they worked the ball down the field. At the ten-yard line, the Rally Hall boys braced, and the enemy lost the ball on downs. A fake forward pass, splendidly engineered by Billy and Fred, would have saved the day, but Ned, who received it, slipped, just as he turned to run. The ball dropped from his hands, and Burns, of the Lake Forests, grabbed it on the bound and went over the line for a touchdown.

“Five points for Lake Forest!” yelled one of their rooters.

“Six points, you mean,” shouted his neighbor. “Wake up.”

“Why, I thought a touchdown counted five,” was the answer.

“It used to, but under the new rules it counts for six.”

“So much the better! We need every point we can get,” the other chuckled. “See, there’s another one to the good,” as Burns kicked the goal.

“Hurrah! That’s the way to do it!”

“Now keep it up, Lake Forest!”

“Hurrah! hurrah!”

It was now the visitors’ turn to cheer. They shook their rattles, blew their horns, danced up and down and yelled like madmen.

CHAPTER XXI
A DESPERATE STRUGGLE

“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” said Melvin grimly, as, after their brief rest, the teams lined up for the third quarter.

“Don’t worry, Mel, we’ve just begun to fight,” was Fred’s reassuring answer.

The fighting blood of both teams was up now, and they scrapped like wildcats for the slightest advantage. Twice during the period, Fortune seemed about to smile on the home team, but each time the smile faded into a frown, and the hearts of their supporters went down into their boots.

Once, on the Lake Forest thirty-yard line, the home boys tried out a trick play that Professor Raymond had taught them. The ball was passed to Fred, apparently for him to make a drop kick. But instead of doing this, he started to skirt the end. The opposing halfback thought that this was a fake to draw in the end. He hesitated to come in, therefore, and in the meantime Fred kept on running behind the scrimmage line, until the halfback did not dare to wait any longer, as it seemed to be a dead sure thing that Fred was going to circle the end. In the meantime, Melvin had had time to get down the field, and Fred turned about swiftly, just as the halfback reached out for him, and sent the ball like a shot to Melvin. It was a pretty play, and nine times out of ten would have got by, but just as it had almost reached Melvin’s outstretched hands, Barton, the opposing left tackle, touched it with the tips of his fingers, just enough to deflect it from its course. Ensley grabbed it, and it was Lake Forest’s ball.

“What do you think of that for luck?” growled Slim disgustedly.

“They’re sure getting all the breaks,” agreed Billy.

“Never mind, fellows!” sang out Melvin. “Buck up. We’ll beat them yet.”

But the gloom of the Rally Hall rooters became still deeper a few minutes later, when a beautiful drop kick of Fred’s that was going straight for the goal was blown by a puff of wind just enough to graze the post on the wrong side.

There was no more scoring in that period, and the quarter ended with Lake Forest still in the lead.

“Now, fellows,” said Melvin, as they came out to do or die in the last quarter, “it’s our last chance. Go at them and rip up their line. Go through them like a prairie fire. We won’t try drop kicking. Even if we got a goal from the field, they’d still be ahead, and the time’s too short to make two of them. The only thing that’ll do us any good is a touchdown. We must win! Hammer the heart out of them! Tear them to pieces!”

And the boys responded nobly. They charged hard and played fast. They plunged into the lines of their opponents like so many wild men. Every member of the team played as though the victory depended on him alone. Down the field they went, in one desperate raging charge that carried all before it. Only once did they fail to make their distance, and even then they got the ball back promptly.

But time was on the enemy’s side. They fought back savagely and contested every inch. Six, eight, ten minutes went by, while the ball was traveling down the field, and when the teams faced each other, pale, panting, covered with dust and sweat, on Lake Forest’s ten-yard line, only three minutes of playing time remained.

All the spectators now were on their feet, yelling wildly, and the tumult was fearful.

“Brace, fellows, brace!” screamed Eggleston, the Lake Forest captain. “Throw ’em back! Don’t give an inch!”

Melvin selected Fred for the final plunge.

“Go to it, old scout,” he said. “This is the third down. For heaven’s sake, make it.”

Fred’s eyes were blazing.

“Watch me,” he said.

Billy made a perfect snap to Melvin, who passed the ball to Fred like a flash. Haley and Ames made a hole between left guard and tackle, and Fred, with lowered head, plunged in like a battering ram. The whole team piled in after him, and when at last he was downed, he had gained six yards of the coveted space.

Dizzy and bruised, he rose to his feet.

“We’ve got ’em going!” yelled Melvin. “One more does it!”

“Hold ’em, boys, hold ’em!” shouted Eggleston. “This is their last down.”

“Rushton! Rushton! Rushton!” the stands were shouting.

“They’re counting on you, you see,” said Melvin.

Fred’s muscles grew taut, and he braced for one final effort.

Once more the ball was passed, and, like a thunderbolt, he went into the line between centre and guard.

The whole Lake Forest team threw themselves upon him, but there was no stopping him. Ploughing, raging, tearing, he went through them and over the line for a touchdown!

“Look at that!”

“Great work! Hurrah!”

Rally Hall had won the game in the last minute of play!

The stands went crazy, and after the goal had been kicked, making the final score ten to seven, the crowd swept down over the field, hoisted Fred upon their shoulders and marched up and down yelling like Indians. It was all he could do to get away from them and to the shower baths and dressing rooms of the gymnasium.

Here he met with another ovation from the team itself. They were all in a state of the highest delight and excitement at winning the game that had seemed so surely lost, and they insisted on giving him the chief credit for the victory.

“Nonsense,” he protested, “I didn’t do a thing more than any one else. It takes eleven men to win a football game.”

Professor Raymond was warm in his congratulations, and even Dr. Rally, who had seen the game from a portion of the stand reserved for the teaching staff, so far unbent as to stop for a moment and tell him that he had done “very well, very well indeed.”

“Say,” murmured Slim, after the doctor had passed on, “even Hardtack is human. He’s got something beside ice water in his veins.”

“Sure!” assented Billy, “I’ll bet the old chap’s tickled to death to see Rally Hall put one over on Lake Forest.”

Eggleston, the captain of the Lake Forest team, who had a few minutes before train time, also was generous enough to come in and shake hands with his conquerors. He was a fine, manly fellow, and took his beating like a gentleman.

“You sure have a dandy fullback,” he said to Melvin. “You’ve been pretty foxy in keeping him under cover. We hadn’t any idea what we were going up against.”

“Isn’t he a pippin?” said Melvin enthusiastically. “You’d have copped the game all right, if it hadn’t been for him.”

“He’s some line bucker,” assented Eggleston. “I got in his way once, and he stood me on my head. You might as well try to stop an express train.”

“It’s hard to flag that kind of a train,” laughed Melvin.

“Sure thing,” grinned Eggleston. “Well, so long. I’ll just have time to get to the station. We’ll try to even things up next year.”

As the boys were strolling back to the Hall, they passed Andy Shanks and Sid Wilton talking earnestly together. They were so absorbed that they did not see Fred and his companion.

“Wonder what they’re hatching up now?” laughed Fred.

“Some mischief, I’ll be bound,” answered Granger. “It isn’t the first time I’ve seen them putting their heads together lately, and somehow or other, I rather think it has to do with you.”

“Nonsense!” said Fred lightly.

“Maybe it’s nonsense and maybe it’s not,” replied Melvin soberly. “I know Andy pretty well, and I’m dead sure he’ll never forget the show you made of him before the other fellows. At any rate keep your eyes wide open and look out for squalls.”

“I’ll take a chance,” laughed Fred.

“Don’t take too many,” Melvin warned him. “Of course, I may be wrong, but I have a feeling that he’s out to do you.”

Melvin was a better prophet than he knew.

CHAPTER XXII
ANDY SHANKS GETS BUSY

There were great times on the campus that night. By a special decree of Dr. Rally, the regular study period was omitted, and after supper the boys had full liberty to do as they pleased until bedtime, provided they did not stray beyond the limits of the grounds.

They built a bonfire and paraded about it, carrying brooms to indicate the clean sweep they had made of the game. They cheered the team in general, and then cheered each separate member in particular. They cheered the final touchdown and the boy who had made it. They cheered Professor Raymond, and even raised a doubtful cheer for Dr. Rally. They were ready to cheer for anything or anybody that offered them the slightest excuse. They yelled for speeches from Granger, the captain, and from Fred, the hero of the day.

Tony Dirocco brought out his violin and played a series of rollicking tunes that set their feet to jigging and their hands to clapping. Billy was made to sing his choicest songs until he was hoarse. Then they all gathered on the broad steps, and lifted up their young voices in the old school songs that swelled out into the night. And it was a tired, but thoroughly happy crowd that scattered at last and went reluctantly to their rooms.

Altogether, it had been one of the greatest days and nights that Rally Hall had ever known. Fred had won his spurs and established his footing firmly in the school. He had been popular from the first in his own dormitory, but now he was known and liked by all the boys at the Hall.

Except, of course, by Andy Shanks, Sid Wilton, and a few of their stripe. Andy, if possible, hated him now worse than ever. It had been gall and wormwood for him when Fred had made the touchdown.

He, himself, had had an ambition to play on the team. He was big and heavy enough for a place in the line. But he was stupid in getting the signals and slow in running down under kicks. Besides, he was a trouble maker on the team, disobeying the captain and quarreling with the other members. They had tried him for a while, but he was of no use, and both Granger and Professor Raymond had ruled him out.

So that he was doubly angered at Fred for having made a brilliant success where he had scored a dismal failure. He had hoped to put Fred in bad repute with the boys by giving him a beating. But since that day on the campus when Fred had defied him and dared him to come on, he had lost all ambition in that direction.

But he was more determined than ever to crush him by hook or by crook, and he cudgeled his slow brain to find a way that would be safe for himself and disastrous to Fred.

As the weeks went by, however, and nothing occurred to him, he began almost to despair.

But the Evil One is said to “look after his own,” and as the Christmas holidays drew nearer, Andy had an inspiration.

The winter weather set in unusually early, and the air was sharp and stinging. A score or more of the boys were down in the gymnasium, chinning the bar and swinging in the rings.

“If this kind of weather keeps up,” said Melvin, “it won’t be long before we have skating. There’s ice forming on the lake now, down near the edges.”

“Over the ice-bound lake we fly,

Swift as the wind and free,”

chanted Tom Eldridge, as he made a flying leap from one horizontal bar to the next.

“‘Swift’ all right, but it won’t be ‘free,’” grumbled Billy Burton. “I won’t feel ‘free,’ till I get those awful examinations off my mind. They’ll be here now in less than a week, and I can’t think of anything else.”

“They’ll be pretty tough, do you think?” asked Fred.

“Tough!” broke in Slim, “they’ll be as tough as a pine knot. Professor Raymond is a shark on algebra. He’d rather solve a problem than eat. And because it’s so easy for him, he thinks it ought to be easy for us, too. He puts down corkers for us to do, and then looks at us in pained surprise if we think they’re hard. If I get through this time, it’ll be due to a special providence.”

“I wish we knew what he was going to ask, beforehand,” sighed Billy. “Couldn’t we bone up on them then? I’d get a hundred per cent. sure.”

“Wouldn’t it be bully, if we were mind readers, and knew just what questions he was going to put on that printed list?” laughed Fred.

“The first glimpse we’ll get of that printed list will be when they’re plumped down on the desk in front of us the day of the examination,” said Ned Wayland. “They’ll be kept snug under lock and key until then.”

“Yes,” chimed in Tom, “and the prof’s so foxy that he doesn’t even have them printed in town, for fear that some copy might get into some of the fellows’ hands. He sends them away to some city to be printed, and they’re sent back to him by registered mail.”

“I’ll bet that was the package I saw him putting away in his desk yesterday!” exclaimed Fred. “It was a long manila envelope, stuffed with something that crackled, and it had a lot of sealing wax on it. I noticed that he seemed to be very careful of it, and put it away under a lot of other papers before he locked his desk.”

“Likely enough, those were the examination slips,” said Billy.

“We’ll see them soon enough, but then it’ll be too late to do any good,” remarked Melvin.

The conversation took another turn and the subject was forgotten for the time.

Andy, busy at one of the rings, had overheard the talk, although he had not joined in it because of the terms on which he was with Fred and his friends. He had pricked up his ears at Fred’s laughing remark about mind reading, and from then on he had followed closely all that had been said about the papers. An idea had suddenly come into his mind, and a slow, evil smile spread over his face as he turned it over and over.

Two nights later, Fred woke from his sleep about midnight, conscious that something was bothering him. He found that it was the moon, which was just then at the full, and was shining in his face. He rose, and went to the window to draw down the shade.

The campus was flooded with light and Fred stood for a moment, enjoying the beauty of the scene.

Suddenly, something moving beneath him attracted his attention.

The buildings threw a heavy shadow, made all the deeper by contrast with the moonlight beyond. But Fred could just make out a moving figure coming down the steps swiftly, and crouching as though to avoid detection.

At first he thought it was the dog belonging to Big Sluper, the janitor. But as the figure turned around the corner of the building, he saw that it was a boy, rather slight in figure. His hat was drawn over his eyes and his coat over the lower part of his face, so that it was impossible to recognize him.

“That’s queer,” mused Fred. “I wonder who he was and what he was doing at this time of night.”

But the floor was cold and his eyes were heavy with sleep, and he did not debate the problem long. He crept back into the warm bed, drew the covers over him, and in a few minutes was fast asleep.