The Half-Back Part 18

GOOD-BY TO HILLTON.

Joel took the preliminary examination for Harwell University in June, and left cla.s.s day morning for home. He had the satisfaction of seeing his name in the list of honor men for the year, having attained A or B in all studies for the three terms. The parting with Outfield West was shorn of much of its melancholy by reason of the latter's promise to visit Joel in August. The suggestion had been made by Outfield, and Joel had at once warmly pressed him to come.

"Only, you know, Out," Joel had said, "we don't live in much style. And I have to work a good deal, so there won't be much time for fun."

"What do you have to do?" asked West.

"Well, milk, and go to mill, and perhaps there will be thres.h.i.+ng to do before I leave. And then there's lots of other little things around the farm that I generally do when I'm home."

"That's all right," answered West cheerfully. "I'll help. I milked a cow once. Only--Say, what do you hit a cow with when you milk her?"

"I don't hit her at all," laughed Joel. "Do you?"

"I _did_. I hit her with a plank and she up and kicked me eight times before I could move off. Perhaps I riled her. I thought you should always. .h.i.t them before you begin."

Joel had not seen his parents since he had left home in the preceding fall, and naturally a warm welcome awaited him. Mr. March, to Joel's relief, did not appear to regret the loss of the Goodwin scholars.h.i.+p nearly as much as Joel himself had done, and seemed rather proud than otherwise of the lad's first year at the Academy.

In August Outfield West descended at the little station accompanied by two trunks, a golf-bag, a photograph camera, and a dress-suit case; and Farmer March regarded the pile of luggage apprehensively, and undoubtedly thought many unflattering thoughts of West. But as no one could withstand that youth for long, at the end of three days both Joel's father and mother had accepted him unreservedly into their hearts. As for Joel's brother Ezra, and his twelve-year-old sister, they had never hesitated for a single instant.

Mr. March absolutely forbade Joel from doing any of the ch.o.r.es after West arrived at the farm, and sent the boys off on a week's hunting and fis.h.i.+ng excursion with Black Betty and the democrat wagon. West took his camera along, but was prevailed on to leave his golf clubs at the farm; and the two had eight days of ideal fun in the Maine woods, and returned home with marvelous stories of adventure and a goodly store of game and fish.

West was somewhat disappointed in the golfing facilities afforded by the country about Marchdale, but politely refrained from allowing the fact to be known by Joel. Outside of the "pasture" and the "hill-field" the ground was too rocky and broken to make driving a pleasure, and after losing half a dozen b.a.l.l.s Outfield restricted himself to the pasture, where he created intense interest on the part of the cows. He found that he got along much more peaceably with them when he appeared without his red coat.

In September, happy, healthy, and well browned, the two boys returned to Hillton with all the dignity becoming the reverend Senior. West had abandoned his original intention of entering Yates College, and had taken with Joel the preliminary examination for Harwell; and they were full of great plans for the future, and spent whole hours telling each other what marvelous things awaited them at the university.

Joel's Senior year at Hillton was crowded with hard work and filled with incident. But, as it was more or less a repet.i.tion of the preceding year, it must needs be told of briefly. If s.p.a.ce permitted I should like to tell of Joel's first debate in the Senior Debating Society, in which he proved conclusively and to the satisfaction of all present that the Political Privileges of a Citizen of Athens under the Const.i.tution of Cleisthenes were far superior to those of a Citizen of Rome at the Time of the Second Punic War. And I should like to tell of the arduous training on the football field and in the gymnasium, by means of which Joel increased his sphere of usefulness on the Eleven, and learned to run with the ball as well as kick it, so proving the truth of an a.s.sertion made by Stephen Remsen, who had said, "With such long legs as those, March, you should be as fine a runner as you are a kicker."

And I should like to go into tiresome detail over the game with St.

Eustace, in which Joel made no star plays, but worked well and steadily at the position of left half-back, and thereby aided in the decisive victory for Hillton that Remsen had spoken of; for the score at the end of the first half was, Hillton 5, St. Eustace 0; and at the end of the game, Hillton 11, St. Eustace 0.

Joel and Remsen became fast and familiar friends during that term, and when, a few days after the St. Eustace game, Remsen took his departure from the Academy, no more to coach the teams to glorious victory or honorable defeat, Joel of all the school was perhaps the sorriest to have him go. But Remsen spoke hopefully of future meetings at Harwell, and Joel and West waved him farewell from the station platform and walked back to the yard in the manner of chief mourners at a funeral.

Outfield West again emerged triumphant from the golf tournament, and the little pewter mug remained securely upon his mantel, a receptacle for damaged b.a.l.l.s. For some time the two missed the familiar faces of Digbee and Blair and Whipple and some few others. Somers and Cooke still remained, the latter with radiant hopes of graduation the coming June, the former to take advanced courses in several studies. Clausen was a frequent visitor to Number Four Hampton, and both West and Joel had conceived a liking for him which, as the year went by, grew into sincere friends.h.i.+p. Those who had been intimate with Wallace Clausen when he was under the influence of Bartlett Cloud saw a great difference in the lad at this period. He had grown manlier, more earnest in tone and attainments, and had apparently shaken off his old habit of weak carelessness as some insects shed their skins. He, too, was to enter Harwell the coming fall, a fact which strengthened the bond between the three youths.

One resolve was uppermost in Joel's heart when he began his last year at Hillton, and that was to gain the Goodwin scholars.h.i.+p. His failure the year before had only strengthened his determination to win this time; and win he did, and was a very proud and happy lad when the lists were read and the name of "Joel March, Marchdale, Maine," led all the rest.

And it is to be supposed that there was much happiness in the great rambling snow-covered farmhouse up north when Joel's telegram was received; for Joel could not wait for the mail to carry the good news, but must needs run at once to the village and spend a bit of his prospective fortune on a "night message."

Despite this fortune of two hundred and forty dollars, Joel elected to spend his Christmas holidays again at Hillton, and Outfield, when he learned of the intention, declined his uncle's invitation and remained also. The days pa.s.sed quickly and merrily. There was excellent skating on the river, and Joel showed West the methods of ice-fis.h.i.+ng, though with but small results of a finny nature.

Cicero's Orations gave place to De Senectute, the Greek Testament to Herodotus, and Plane Geometry to Solid; and spring found Joel with two honor terms behind him, and as sure as might be of pa.s.sing his final examination for college.

Again in June St. Eustace and Hillton met on the river, and, as though to atone for her defeat on the gridiron, Fate gave the victory to St.

Eustace, the wearers of the blue crossing the finish a full length ahead of the Hillton eight. The baseball team journeyed down to Marshall and won by an overwhelming majority of runs, and journeyed home again in the still of a June evening, bringing another soiled and battered ball to place in the trophy case of the gymnasium.

And finally, one bright day in early summer, Joel put on his best clothes and, accompanied by West and Clausen, took his way to the chapel, where, amid an eloquent silence, Professor Wheeler made his farewell address, and old, gray-haired Dr. Temple preached the Valedictory Sermon. Then the diplomas were presented, and, save for the senior cla.s.s exercises in the school hall in the afternoon, Cla.s.s Day was over, and Joel March's school days were past. Joel was graduated at the head of the cla.s.s, an honor man once more; and Outfield West, greatly to every one's amazement, not excepting his own, was also on the honor list. Cooke pa.s.sed at last, and later confided to West that he didn't know what he'd do now that they wouldn't let him stay longer at Hillton; he was certain he would feel terribly homesick at Harwell. West playfully suggested that he stay at Hillton and take an advanced course, and Cooke seemed quite in the notion until he found that he would be obliged to make the acquaintance of both Livy and Horace.

A lad can not stay two years at a school without becoming deeply attached to it, and both Joel and West took their departures from Hillton feeling very melancholy as the wooded hill, crowned by the sun-lit tower, faded from sight. West went directly to his home, although Joel had tried to persuade him to visit at Marchdale for a few weeks. In July Joel received a letter from Outfield asking him to visit him in Iowa, and, at the solicitation of his parents, he decided to accept the invitation. The West was terra incognita to Joel, and he found much to interest and puzzle him. The methods of farming were so different from those to which he had been accustomed that he spent the first week of his stay in trying to revolutionize them, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of both Outfield and his father. He at length learned that Eastern ways are not Western ways, and so became content to see wheat harvested by machinery and corn cultivated with strange, new implements.

He received one day a letter forwarded from Marchdale which bore the signature of the captain of the Harwell Varsity Football Eleven. It asked him to keep in practice during the summer, and, if convenient, to report on the field two days before the commencement of the term.

Remsen's name was mentioned and Joel knew that he had him to thank for the letter.

The friends had decided to take a room together, and had applied for one in the spring. Much to their gratification they were given a third floor room in Mayer, one of the best of the older college dormitories. When the time came for going East both West and Joel were impatient to be on the way. Mrs. West accompanied the boys, and the little party reached the old, elm-embowered college town four days before the opening of the term. Agreeably to the request of the football captain, Joel reported on the field in football togs the day after reaching town, and was given a cordial welcome. Captain b.u.t.ton was not there, but returned with the Varsity squad from a week's practice at a neighboring village two days later.

Mrs. West meanwhile toiled ceaselessly at furnis.h.i.+ng the boys' room, and the result was a revelation to Joel, to whom luxurious lounges and chairs, and attractive engravings, were things. .h.i.therto admired and longed for from a distance. And then, bidding a farewell to the lads, Outfield's mother took her departure for home, and they were left practically rulers of all they surveyed, and, if the truth were told, a trifle sobered by the suddenness of their plunge into independence.

And one warm September day the college bell rang for chapel and the two lads had begun a new, important, and to them exciting chapter of their lives.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SACRED ORDER OF HULLABALOOLOO.

Picture a mild, golden afternoon in early October, the yellowing green of Sailors' Field mellow and warm in the sunlight, the river winding its sluggish way through the broad level marshes like a ribbon of molten gold, and the few great fleecy bundles of white clouds sailing across the deep blue of the sky like froth upon some placid stream. Imagine a sound of fresh voices, mellowed by a little distance, from where, to and fro, walking, trotting, darting, but ever moving like the particles in a kaleidoscope, many squads of players were practicing on the football field. Such, then, is the picture that would have rewarded your gaze had you pa.s.sed through the gate and stood near the simple granite shaft which rises under the shade of the trees to commemorate the little handful of names it bears.

Had you gone on across the intervening turf until the lengthened shadow of the nearest goal post was reached you would have seen first a squad--a veritable awkward squad--arranged in a ragged circle and pa.s.sing a football with much mishandling and many fumbles. Further along you would have seen a long line of youths standing. Their general expression was one of alertness bordering on alarm. The casual observer would have thought each and every one insane, as, suddenly darting from the line, one after another, they flung themselves upon the ground, rolled frantically about as though in spasms, and then arose and went back into the rank. But had you observed carefully you would have noticed that each spasm was caused by a rolling ball, wobbling its erratic way across the turf before them.

Around about, in and out, forms darted after descending spheroids, or seized a ball from outstretched hands, started desperately into motion, charged a few yards, and then, as though reconsidering, turned and trotted back, only to repeat the performance the next moment. And footb.a.l.l.s banged against broad backs with hollow sounds, or rolled about between stoutly clad feet, or ascended into the air in great arching flights. And a babel of voices was on all sides, cries of warning, sharp commands, scathing denouncements.

"Straighten your arm, man; that's not a baseball!" "Faster, faster! Put some ginger into it!" "Get on your toes, Smith. Start when you see the ball coming. This isn't a funeral!" "Don't stoop for the ball; fall on it! The ground will catch you!" "Jones, what _are_ you doing? Wake up."

"No, _no_, NO! Great Scott, the ball won't _bite_ you!"

The period was that exasperating one known as "the first two weeks,"

when coaches are continually upon the border of insanity and players wonder dumbly if the game is worth the candle. To-day Joel, one of a squad of unfortunates, was relearning the art of tackling. It was Joel's first experience with that marvelous contrivance, "the dummy." One after another the squad was sent at a sharp spurt to grapple the inanimate canvas-covered bag hanging inoffensively there, like a body from a gallows, between the uprights.

There are supposed to be two ways to tackle, but the coach who was conducting the operations to-day undoubtedly believed in the existence of at least thrice that number; for each candidate for Varsity honors tackled the dummy in a totally different style. The lift tackle is performed by seizing the opponent around the legs below the hips, bringing his knees together so that further locomotion is an impossibility to him, and lifting him upward off the ground and depositing him as far backward toward his own goal as circ.u.mstances and ability will permit. The lift tackle is the easiest to make. The dive tackle pertains to swimming and suicide. Running toward the opponent, the tackler leaves the ground when at a distance of a length and a half and dives at the runner, aiming to tackle a few inches below the hips. A dive tackle well done always accomplishes a well-defined pause in the runner's progress.

Joel was having hard work of it. Time and again he launched himself at the swaying legs, bringing the canvas man to earth, but always picking himself up to find the coach observing him very, very coldly, and to hear that exasperating gentleman ask sarcastically if he (Joel) thinks he is playing "squat tag." And then the dummy would swing back into place, harboring no malice or resentment for the rough handling, and Joel would take his place once more and watch the next man's attempt, finding, I fear, some consolation in the "roast" accorded to the latter.

It was toward the latter part of the second week of college. Joel had practiced every day except Sundays, and had just arrived at the conclusion that football as played at Harwell was no relation, not even a distant cousin to the game of a similar name played at Hillton. Of course he was wrong, since intercollegiate football, whether played by schoolboys or college students, is still intercollegiate football. The difference lies only in the state of development. At Hillton the game, very properly, was restricted to its more primary methods; at Harwell it is developed to its uttermost limits. It is the difference between whist over the library table and whist at the whist club.

But all things come to an end, and at length the coach rather ungraciously declared he could stand no more and bade them join the rest of the candidates for the run. That run was two miles, and Joel finally stumbled into the gymnasium tuckered out and in no very good temper just as the five o'clock whistle on the great printing house sounded.

After dinner in the dining hall that evening Joel confided his doubts and vexations to Outfield as they walked back to their room. "I wouldn't care if I thought I was making any progress," he wailed, "but each day it gets worse. To-day I couldn't seem to do a start right, and as for tackling that old dummy, why--"

"Well, you did as well as the other chaps, didn't you?" asked Outfield.

"I suppose so. He gave it to us all impartially."

"Well, there you are. He can't tell you you're the finest young tacklers that ever happened, because you'd all get swelled craniums and not do another lick of work. I know the sort of fellow he is. He'll never tell you that you are doing well; only when he's satisfied with you he'll pa.s.s you on. You see. And don't you care what he says. Just go on and do the best you know how. Blair told me to-day that if you tried you could make the Varsity before the season is over. What do you think of that?

He says the coaches are puzzling their brains to find a man that's fit to take the place of Dangfield, who was left-half last year."

"I dare say," answered Joel despondently, "but Durston will never let me stop tackling that dummy arrangement. I'll be taking falls out of it all by myself when the Yates game is going on. Who invented that thing, anyhow?"

But, nevertheless, Joel's spirits were very much better when the two lads reached the room and West had turned on the soft light of the argand. And taking their books in hand, and settling comfortably back in the two great cozy armchairs, they were soon busily reading.