The Loom of Youth Part 18

Anxiously the House lined up and waited for the kick. Livingstone had converted nearly every goal on the Colts' games the term before. It was a trying moment. He seemed to take hours placing the ball correctly.

There was an absolute hush as he ran up; then a great sigh, half of relief, half of disappointment, burst from the touch-line. The ball rose hardly six feet from the ground, and sailed harmlessly towards the School House line. And then Turner made a mistake that he cursed himself for ever afterwards. All that was necessary to do was to let the ball bounce, and then touch down. But as the ball sailed towards him, Turner was suddenly possessed with the longing to do something brilliant. He was last man on the list, and had only been put into the side at the last moment, owing to another forward stopping out. It was not unnatural. He caught the ball.

"You blasted fool," yelled out Richards, "for G.o.d's sake find touch."

Turner lost his head. He gave a mild punt down field, and before the House had realised what was happening, Wilkinson had caught the ball, and dashed over the line between the posts. This time Livingstone made no mistake. 8-3.

For the next five minutes the House side was entirely demoralised.

Nothing went right. The forwards did not keep together. Gordon cursed foully, and only made matters worse. Lovelace's kicks only found touch a few feet down the line. Richards rushed up and down fuming, and upset everyone. It was due only to a miracle and some fine work by Foster that the School did not score at least three times. Foster did everything during those awful minutes. Rush after rush he stopped, just as Fitzgerald was looking dangerous, and he brought down his fly-half every time. Gordon was amazed at his performance; he had always rather looked down on him before. He had never imagined he was so plucky.

But it takes more than two unexpected tries to throw a School House side off its balance for long. Soon the forwards began to rea.s.sert themselves. Burgess the wing three-quarter, a self-satisfied member of Buller's, who was in VI. B, and whose conceit far excelled his performances, got away and began to look dangerous. But Gordon came up behind him. He loathed Burgess, and flinging aside all the Fernhurst traditions about collaring low, he leapt in the air, and crashed on top of him. Burgess collapsed like paper. A great howl went up from the School House. New life seemed to enter into the side. The grovel flocked round, and Collins, heaving Burgess off the ball with a flying kick, dribbled the ball to the half-way line. A scrum formed up and from the heel Richards got the ball to Lovelace, who broke through the defence and with a clear field ahead made for the line.

"Run like h.e.l.l!" shouted Simonds from the touch-line. He was standing on the masters' side of the ground, just in front of the Chief's wife. But he was past caring about social etiquette. All he wanted was to see the House ahead once more. "Faster, man, run--oh, d.a.m.n!"

Just on the line the ubiquitous Livingstone caught him up, and the pair rolled into touch. If, as some say, there is nothing much finer to watch in football than an uphill fight, then the Thirds of 1913 was most certainly the greatest game ever played on the Lower. Lighter and slower than their opponents, the House kept them on the defensive for the rest of the afternoon. Collins was a splendid sight, his hair fell in a cascade over his eyes, his nose was bleeding, his jersey was torn half off his back, but he did not care. His feet were everywhere, and anyone who got in his light was sorry for it. Turner, with the thought that he was the cause of Wilkinson's try, fought heroically. Once when Williamson, a Claremont's forward, began to dribble, he rushed into him sideways and with a "soccerbarge" knocked him flying into touch, and took the ball back inside the twenty-five. It was a great fight. But no one can strive successfully against the will of the G.o.ds, and certainly the stars in their courses fought against the House. Ten minutes before time Livingstone, who had been systematically starved the whole game, got a pa.s.s about the half-way line. He was the fastest man in the field.

No one could touch him; he made straight for the corner flag, and scored amid the tumultuous applause of Buller's. There could be no doubt about the result now. Before the eyes of Jones-Evans there rose a prospect of eternally treating outhouse men to m.u.f.fins. Mansell swore violently.

"The Bull" walked up and down the touch-line beaming with delight.

Simonds was silent.

"Well, you men," said Richards, "we've been beaten, but by heaven we'll shove them the last few minutes. Go for them, tooth and nail."

The House did so. In hall that night Burgess announced that there was not a single gentleman in the School House, a remark which resulted in a rather unpleasant half-hour with "the Bull" two days later. For these last minutes produced one of the most glorious charges of the day. From the twenty-five right in to the School half, the ball was carried.

Nothing could stop that wild rush. Livingstone and Wilkinson went down before it, but they were pa.s.sed by. Burgess made a half-hearted attempt to fall on the ball, but did not get up for several seconds, and the House was well in the School half when Gordon kicked a little too hard and the School back, fielding the ball, managed to find touch. But the House was still undaunted. From the line out, the ball was flung to Richards, who, putting his head down, literally fought his way through the scrum and tottered out the other side. He handed off Wilkinson, dodged the fly-half, and made for the centre of the ground. Livingstone came across at him. "With you, Richards," yelled Lovelace.

As Livingstone brought Richards cras.h.i.+ng to the ground, the ball was safely in Lovelace's hands. Lovelace was about half-way between mid-field and the twenty-five. He ran a few yards, steadied himself, and took a drop.

In deadly silence the School watched the flight of the ball. It sailed high and straight towards the goal. "It's over," murmured the Chief excitedly. But as the ball neared the posts it travelled slower, a slight breeze caught it, blew it over to the right. It hit the right post and fell back into play. As the full-back returned it to mid-field the whistle blew for no-side.

"School, three cheers for the House!" shouted Livingstone.

"House, three cheers for the School!" responded Richards.

And then everyone poured over the ropes on to the field.

"Never mind, you men," said Simonds; "it was a d.a.m.ned fine show and better than fifty wins."

The House was proud of its side. As the Fifteen trooped across the courts on the way to the changing-room the House lined up by the chains of the Sixth Form green, and cheered them.

"Well played, Caruthers!" shouted someone.

It was Gordon's first taste of real success.

That night there was a big feed in No. 19. They were all out of training for three days; and they made the most of it. During the last fortnight they had been allowed only fruit between meals.

"It's the finest performance since I've been in the House," Mansell declared. "Meredith's Two c.o.c.k wasn't in it. Their side was twice as strong on paper, and my Lord, we gave it them."

"Yes," said Lovelace, "and you wait till this side is the Three c.o.c.k; there'll be a bit of a change then."

"You're right there," shouted Mansell. "We sha'n't pull it off this year, nor the year after that; but you wait and see what'll happen in 1915. That's the year when the House will revive the great days of Ross.

My lads, we sha'n't regret the lean years when the years of plenty come; and the Three c.o.c.k Cup is back on the old oak sideboard. Our day will come."

That night Gordon dreamt of the great future that was opening out for the House; and he was thankful that he would see it. Like the runners in the torch race many would have prepared the way for victory; but it was to him and his friends that the glory of the final triumph would belong.

For he would win the race: he would carry home the torch.

CHAPTER III: TIN G.o.dS

After this match a new phase in Gordon's life may be said to have begun.

He had for the first time felt what it was to be really successful. When he had got his Colts' cap the world had seemed at his feet; but it was nothing to what he experienced now. For he had borne the brunt of the House's battle. He had played a princ.i.p.al part in a wonderful achievement. The House looked on him as one of its chosen defenders. He was in the limelight, and he had no intention of ever drifting out of it. When we have experienced the really great, the things that pleased once charm no more. After basking in the blaze of a summer afternoon there is something poignantly pathetic in watching the amber beams of a December sun filter through the trees. Gordon had his fingers on the pedestal of fame, and he intended never to loose his grasp. His position had been obtained by brilliant football, and if he had been able to retain it in the same way all would have been well. But the G.o.ds willed it otherwise.

It was generally admitted that the House stood no chance of winning the Two c.o.c.k, and when the House agreed on its own defeat, prospects were certainly very gloomy. So Gordon only interested himself in his own performances. He began to wonder if there was any chance of his getting a place in the Three c.o.c.k. Simonds was undoubtedly pleased with him, and Henry, the only forward senior to him, had been doing rather badly lately. In the trial games he played with a mad enthusiasm. On the Friday evening the Two c.o.c.k side was posted. He was above Lovelace and Richards. Henry was only one above him.

Just before lunch on the day of the match Mansell came up to him.

"I say, I have got some good news for you."

"What is it?" Gordon was feverish with impatience.

"Well, I don't think I had better tell you."

"Oh, I say, do; don't be a swine."

"No, I don't think I shall; it would make you too bucked with life."

Mansell smiled at him kindly. Gordon was rather annoyed.

But on the way down to hall, he overheard Mansell talking to Tester in the door of the changing-room.

"Simonds is going to play Caruthers in the Three c.o.c.k instead of Henry, if he plays at all decently to-day," Mansell was saying.

"Oh, I am glad of that," Tester answered. "He's a good kid."

The earth swayed dizzily as Gordon made his way down to hall. He did not feel at all nervous. He was quite certain of himself. The day was bound to end with him a member of the House Fifteen. All he had to do was to play his average game. Mansell had said so.

As he stepped on to the field, he was perfectly aware of his own personality. He did not feel a sort of spectator, as he had done in the Thirds. It was all so clear. He even smiled at Tester as he lined up.

But a Two c.o.c.k is very different from a Thirds. Men from Christy's were playing who were s.h.i.+ning lights on Senior Leagues, and who would easily have got their Seconds if they had tried, but who, because they were in Christy's, did not take the trouble. Christy's should have beaten Buller's, but they were too slack to go into proper training, and in spite of the brilliance of d.y.k.e and Pemberton, Buller's won by six points after being ten points behind at half-time. As individuals, however, Christy's were a formidable lot, and when combined with Buller's formed a much heavier and larger side than any Gordon had played against before. He was not very large, and was used to Junior Leagues. For an hour he was swept off his feet. He could not keep pace with the game. He was flung from one position into another; he followed after the scrum; he felt like a new boy playing for the first time. At half-time Simonds came up thoroughly fed up with life. The score was fifteen-nothing.

"For heaven's sake, Caruthers, get in and shove, if you can't do anything better. You haven't done a thing the whole game."

The game was a nightmare. Mansell looked at him curiously that evening at tea.

Gordon muttered something about a kick on the head, and being unable to see anything.

On Sunday evening a list of those in training for the Three c.o.c.k was put up. There were ten forwards down. Gordon was bottom on the list; both Henry and Collins were above him. In the football world his claim to fame for the moment faded away. If he was to remain in the public gaze, he would have to attract attention some other way.

And so, at the most critical point in the development of his character, Gordon began all unconsciously to seek for new ways of making himself conspicuous. He did not know what he was doing. If someone had told him that he was doing absurd things merely to get talked about, he would have laughed. But all the same, it would have been true. His preparatory schoolmaster said of him once: "There is some danger of his becoming the school buffoon." At his prep, the boys were too closely looked after and kept down for any one person to become pre-eminent at anything. And so a subconscious love of notoriety drove Gordon on to play the fool for a whole term most d.a.m.nably.