The Rushton Boys at Rally Hall Part 18

"It sure wouldn't have needed many to hold Andy back," chuckled Slim.

As the days pa.s.sed on, however, the affair simmered down and perhaps would have died a natural death, if a bit of mischief on Teddy's part had not revived it.

Andy, one day, brought out on the campus a placard, on which was written "Kick me." A bent pin at the top enabled him to fasten it to the coat of some unsuspecting boy. Then Andy would give him a vigorous kick, and when the victim protested, would show him the invitation.

Under ordinary conditions it would only have been a harmless joke, and would have been taken in good part. But Andy's vicious nature and love for causing pain made him kick so hard and cruelly that his victims felt rage and resentment. But as he carefully chose only the smaller boys, they did not dare to retaliate.

But after a while they were all on their guard, and the brave Andy, seeing no more worlds to conquer, laid the placard on a bench and forgot it.

Teddy caught sight of it, and the impulse seized him to give the bully a taste of his own medicine. He slipped up behind him and fastened the card to his coat amid the awestruck silence of those who saw him.

Bill Garwood, who had seen with indignation what Andy had been doing, promptly accepted the invitation. He swung his foot and it landed fair on Shanks, who turned with a roar of rage.

"What did you do that for?" he howled.

"Because you asked me to," said Bill, deftly unhooking the placard and showing it to him.

"Ted Rushton put that on you," shrilled Sid Wilton, who came hurrying up. "I saw him do it."

Bill was husky, while Teddy was smaller, and Shanks, true to his nature, reached for what seemed to him the easier game. Teddy stoutly stood his ground, but before the bully could reach him, Bill Garwood's hand was on his collar, his knuckles boring deep into his neck.

"No, you don't," he said, as he yanked him back. "What kind of a sport are you, anyway? You've been kicking these fellows twice as hard as I kicked you, but the minute you get a taste of it, you go off the handle.

And anyway, if you want to do any fighting why don't you pick out a fellow of your size? I'm about your size. Do you get me?"

There was no doubt of his meaning, and his perfect readiness to stand by his meaning was so evident, that Andy concluded discretion to be the better part of valor. He turned away sourly, shooting a look at Teddy, which, if looks could kill, would have left him dead upon the spot.

For both Fred and Teddy a storm was brewing.

CHAPTER XVIII

KICKING THE PIGSKIN

Letters kept coming every week to the Rushton boys from the family at home. Mr. Rushton's, although less frequent than his wife's, were always bright and jolly, and seldom came without enclosing a check, which helped to cover the cost of many a midnight spread in the dormitory, when the boys were supposed to be in bed. Their friends were a unit in declaring that Mr. Rushton was a "real sport."

Those of Mrs. Rushton came oftener, and were full of loving expressions and anxious advice to wear proper clothing and avoid rough sports and be careful about getting their feet wet. Although her chicks were no longer under her maternal wings, she brooded over them every moment, and was counting the days till they returned to her.

She often referred to Uncle Aaron, and the boys were sorry to learn that there was still no trace of the missing watch and papers. He had offered a reward and advertised widely, but had never received even a hint of their whereabouts.

"Old Hi Vickers is a swell detective--I don't think," sighed Teddy, after reading the latest letter.

"I blame myself, partly, for the loss of the watch," remarked Fred regretfully. "I ought to have told somebody right away about those tramps hanging around. Then they might have been rounded up and chased out of town before they had a chance to break into the store."

"You're not to blame for anything," said Teddy bitterly. "I'm the person that caused all the trouble. If I'd only had sense enough not to plug Jed's horse that day, this whole thing wouldn't have happened. If a prize were offered for ivory domes, I'd win it, sure."

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these--it might have been,"

quoted Tom Eldridge, who usually had something pat in the poetical line for all occasions.

"Lay off on the spouting stuff, Tom," said Ned Wayland, "and you fellows stop your grizzling and come down to the football field. It's a dandy afternoon for practice."

It was a wonderful October day, with a crisp breeze coming from the lake that moderated the warmth of the sun, and the boys were stirred by the thrill of youth and life that ran through every vein.

It was too much for Tom, despite the sarcasm with which his previous effort had been greeted, and he burst out:

"There is that nameless splendor everywhere, That wild exhilaration in the air----"

He dodged a pa.s.s that Ned made at him.

"Let me alone," he chortled. "Don't you see that I can't help it?"

"The lyric joys that in me throng, Seek to express themselves in song."

The other lads gave it up.

"A hopeless case," murmured Ned, shaking his head sadly.

"Yes," mourned Fred. "And he used to be such a nice fellow, too, before he went bughouse."

"You rough necks are jealous," grinned Tom. "You'd have tried to discourage Shakespeare, if you'd been living then.

"Lucky for the world, you weren't living then," he went on. "For that matter you're not living now. You're dead ones, but you don't know it."

They were still trying to think up a sufficiently cutting response when they came in sight of the football field.

It was an animated scene. A dozen or more boys in their football togs were running over the field, while many more crowded round the side lines as spectators. There was a dummy, at which some of the players were throwing themselves in turn to get tackling practice. Others were running down under punts, and still others were getting instructions in the forward pa.s.s.

The game with the Lake Forest School, one of their princ.i.p.al rivals, was now only two weeks off, and the boys were working for dear life to get into form. They had a good team, although three of their best players of the year before had not returned to school this fall.

Teddy was a little too light for the heavy work required in football, although he would have made a good quarter-back, where quickness is more necessary than weight. But that position was already filled by Billy Burton, who was doing capital work, so that there seemed no opening for Teddy. He consoled himself by the determination to make the shortstop position on the baseball team the following spring.

But Fred was husky enough to fill any position, either in the line or the back field, and he had been picked out by Melvin Granger as a "comer."

Melvin was the captain of the team and played centre. He was always on the lookout for any one who could strengthen the team, and had promptly spotted Fred as first-cla.s.s material.

"Ever play football?" he had asked him, the day after his arrival at Rally Hall.

"A little," answered Fred modestly. He was averse to boasting and did not add, as he might have done truthfully, that he had been, far and away, the best player in his school league.

"What position have you played?" asked Melvin, interested at once.

"Oh, I've played left end and right tackle at different times, but I've had more experience at fullback than anywhere else."

"Great!" exclaimed Melvin. "Welcome to our fair city. We've got a lot of good players for almost every other position on the team, and, if one gets hurt, we don't have much trouble in finding a subst.i.tute from the scrubs, which is almost as good as the regular. But in the fullback job there's only one first-cla.s.s fellow, and that's Tom Eldridge, who's playing it now. Tom's a dandy, but he might get hurt at any time, and we'd have hard work to find any one who could fill his shoes.