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Dick Prescott's Third Year at West Point, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 11. Brayton Makes A Big Appeal |
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_ CHAPTER XI. BRAYTON MAKES A BIG APPEAL For a moment or two Dick stood looking out of his window, across the far-stretching plain that included the parade ground and the athletic field. In the near distance the football squad was finishing up its practice in the last moments of daylight. Brayton was captain of the Army eleven, and was a good deal discouraged. "Queer idea Haynes had!" muttered Dick to himself. Then he turned back to his desk and to the neglected chapter on "Sound" in natural philosophy. Dick, however, was not fated to study much. First of all, back came Greg, opening the door and looking in inquiringly. "Haynes has gone, I see," murmured Cadet Holmes. "Yes." "To stay away?" "I rather think so," nodded Cadet Prescott, without looking up from the pages of his textbook. "Then there'll be some show for a poor, hard-working goat," muttered Greg, closing the door behind him and falling into his chair. "The goat," at West Point, is one who is in the lowest section or two of his class. Greg was not yet a "goat," this year, though he lived in dread of becoming one. Hearing a yell from the plain beyond, however, Holmes went over to the window and looked out. "Dick, old ramrod," exclaimed Cadet Holmes wistfully, "I wish we stood well enough to be out on the football grill." "So do I," muttered Dick. "But what's the with the goat section overtaking us at double time?" Greg sighed, then went back to his books. For fifteen or twenty minutes both young men read on, trying to fasten something of natural philosophy in their minds. Now there came a quick knock, immediately after which the door was flung open and Brayton marched in. "See here, you coldfeet," began the captain of the Army eleven sternly, "what do you two mean by staying in here and boning dry facts?" "Just to avoid being drowned in goat's milk," smiled Dick, turning a page and looking up. Brayton, regardless of these heroic efforts to study, threw one leg across the corner of the study table. "You two fellows came out, in the first work of the squad, and did stunts that filled us all with hope," pursued Brayton severely. "Then, suddenly, you failed to show up any more. And all this, despite the fact that we have the poorest eleven the Army has shown in six years." "Only men well up in their academic work are allowed to play on the eleven, replied Dick. "You fellows are well enough up to make the team." "But we're nervous about our studies," rejoined Prescott. "Nervous about your studies!" cried Brayton sharply. "Yet not a whit anxious for the honor of the Army that you hope to serve in all your lives. Now, you fellows know, as well as any of us, that we don't much mind being walked over by a crack college eleven. But we want to beat the Navy, year in and year out. Why, fellows, this year the Navy has one of the best elevens in its history. All the signs are that the middies are going to walk roughshod over us. And yet you two fellows, whom we need, are sulking in quarters, poring over books---nervous about your studies!" Scorn rang in Brayton's heavy tones. "If I really thought you needed me-----" began Dick. "Of course, if you did actually need two duffers like-----" broke in Cadet Holmes. "Need you!" retorted Brayton. "I'm almost ashamed to be sitting here with two such cold-blooded duffers. But do you know why I'm here? Because Lieutenant Carney, our coach, told me to come here and actually beg you to turn out---if I had to beg. Now, am I going to be submitted to that humiliation by two fellows I've always liked and considered my friends?" "Is the football situation as bad as that?", asked Dick seriously. "Bad?" repeated Brayton gloomily. "Man, it's _rotten_! Today is Thursday. Saturday we have to meet Lehigh. That's a team we can usually beat. Lieutenant Carney is so blue that I believe he'd like to compromise by giving Lehigh the game at a score of twelve to nothing! And the Navy! Think of the fun of having Annapolis strutting around with the Army scalp tied to an anchor!" "If you really mean what you've been saying," said Dick slowly, "then we're going tomorrow afternoon. I'm taking the liberty of speaking for Greg." "That's straight and correct," affirmed Holmes hastily. "But I'm not sure, Brayton, that you'll find us such bang-up material as you appear to think." "Oh, bother that!" cried the Football captain jubilantly. "I know what Lieutenant Carney can do with you. So, for the glory the Army, then, you'll come out, after this, and stand by us for the rest of the season?" "For the glory of the Army, if we have anything to do with it," cried Dick heartily, "we'll 'fess' cold in every confounded study on the third-year list. For the glory of the Army we'll consent to being 'found' and kicked out of the service!" "Hear, hear!" came rousingly from Cadet Holmes. "Fellows---thank you!" gasped Brayton, grasping both their hands and shaking them hard. "Lieutenant Carney will be delighted. So will all the fellows. Mr. Carney has had a hard, up-hill time of it as couch this year. But now---!" There could be no question that Brayton's joy was real. He was a keen judge of football material, and he had been deeply chagrined when Dick and Greg had withdrawn from the early training work of the squad. "It has been fearful work trying get the interest up this year," continued Brayton with a reminiscent sigh. "So many good man have been dodging the squad! Even Haynes, who is the best we have at left end, ducked this afternoon. Caesar's ghost may know what Haynes was doing with his time---I don't. But I don't believe he was boning." Prescott smiled quietly to himself as he recalled how Cadet Haynes had been employing his leisure in this very room. "Well, I'm happy, and Lieutenant Carney will be," muttered Brayton, turning to go. "A whole lot of us will feel easier." "Any idea where you'll try to play us?" asked Dick, as the captain of the Army eleven rested his hand on the knob. "Not much; we'll find out during tomorrow afternoon's practice. Be sharp on time, won't you?" "If we're able to walk," promised Dick. Just after Brayton had gone the orderly came through with mail. "You got something, eh?" asked Greg. "Yes; a letter from grand old Dave Darrin," cried Dick, as he broke the seal of the envelope. "Let me know the news," begged Holmes. "Whoop! Dave is on the Navy football team. So is Dan Dalzell! Both have gone in at the eleventh hour." "Great Scott!" breathed Greg, rising to his feet. "I wonder if we're going to be placed on the line where we'll have to bump 'em in the Army-Navy game?" "We may be, if we get on the line," uttered Prescott, as he finished the epistle. "Here, Greg, read it for yourself. That will be quicker than waiting for me to tell you the news from our old chums." The next afternoon both Prescott and Holmes turned out on the gridiron practice work. Both proved to be in fine form. Lieutenant Carney, the Army coach, devoted most of his attention to them. After some preliminary work the Army eleven was lined up against a "scrub" team of cadets. "Mr. Prescott, go to left end on the team," directed Coach Carney. "Mr. Haynes, take the right end on scrub. Mr. Holmes, you will be left tackle on the Army team for this bit of work. The captains of both teams will now line their men up. Scrub will have the ball and make the kick-off. Make all the play brisk and snappy. Work for speed and strategy, not impact." With that, Lieutenant Carney ran over to the edge of the gridiron, leaving another officer, of the coaching force, to officiate as referee. The ball was placed in play. At the kick-off the ball came to Greg, who passed it to Dick. The interference formed, backed by Brayton. "Put it around their right end!" growled Brayton, the word passing swiftly to Prescott. Haynes was darting in, blood in his eye, backed the whole right flank of scrub. Greg and the rest of the available interference got swiftly and squarely in the way of Haynes and the others. There was a scrimmage. Out of it, somehow---none looking on could tell just how it was done---Prescott emerged from the mix-up, darting swiftly to the left and around. He had made twenty-five yards with the ball Before he was nailed and downed. Lieutenant Carney looked, as he felt, delighted. The spectators, all of them crazy for the Army's success, broke into yells of joy. Dick had done the spectacular part of the trick, but he could not have succeeded without the swift, intelligent help that Holmes had given. Playing together, they had sprung one of the clever ruses that both had perfected back in the old Gridley days. Haynes was furious. He was panting. There was an angry flash in his eyes as both teams lined up for the snap-back. "That fellow has come out into the field just to spite me," snarled Haynes to himself. At the signal, the ball was snapped back, and passed swiftly to Dick. Haynes fairly leaped into the scrimmage, as though it were deadly hand-to-hand conflict. But Dick and Greg, with the backing of their comrades on the Army eleven, bore Haynes down to earth in the mad stampede that passed over him. Fifteen yards more were gained, and scrub's half-backs were feeling sore in body. "That man Prescott is a wonder," muttered Lieutenant Carney to a brother officer of the Army. "Or else Holmes is. It's hard to say which of the pair is doing the trick. I think both of them are." "How on earth, Carney, did you come to overlook that pair until now?" "I didn't overlook them," retorted the Army coach. "I had them spotted when the training first began. But both dropped out on the claim that they feared for their standing in academy work." "A pair like that," muttered Captain Courteney, "ought to be excused for any kind of recitations during the football season. Jove! Look at that---Prescott has made a touchdown" "Prescott carried the ball," amended Lieutenant Barney, "but Holmes certainly had as much to do with the touchdown as Prescott did." "They're wonders!" cried Captain Courteney joyously. "And to think that you didn't have that pair out last year." "Both refused even to think of going into training last year," retorted the Army coach. "Both were keen on the bone. But, bone or no bone, we've got to have them on the eleven the rest of this season." By the time that the afternoon's practice was over fully fifty Army officers were on the sides, watching the work, for word had traveled by 'phone and the gathering had been a quick one. "Prescott! Holmes!" called Brayton sharply, after the practice was over. "You'll play on the Army team tomorrow. Lieutenant Carney says so. Prescott, yours is left end; Holmesy, you'll expend your energies as left tackle. Haynes, you'll be in reserve, as a sub." The message to Cadet Haynes was delivered without the suspicion of a snub in it. Almost any other man in the battalion would have accepted this wise decision without a murmur, delighted that the Army had found a better man. Not so with Cadet Haynes. He turned cold all over. Not a word of reply did he offer, but turned on his heal, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands. "Now, what do you think of that?" demanded Haynes to himself. "Turned down for that fellow Prescott---that shifty dodger and cheap bootlick! And I shook hands with you yesterday, Prescott! I never will again! Confound you, you turned out in togs at this late hour, just to put me out of the running!" _ |
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