LEFT BEHIND

Summer lingers late in Maryland, and all through the week following the West Shore game the weather was warm, too warm, in truth, for those who pursued the elusive football. The early mornings might be gray with fog from the Chesapeake, but by the time breakfast was over an ardent sun had burned the mist away, and when half-past three arrived those who sought fame on the gridiron found woolen jerseys and stockings and padded trousers very unsympathetic. Jerry experienced less discomfort than many others, for he was not overburdened with flesh. He felt rather sorry for Pete Norris, the first-choice center. Pete’s nickname of “Fat” tells you why! Norris, by the time scrimmage arrived, fairly exuded moisture. Still, you are not to conclude that Norris was especially soft, for much of what looked to be fat was pretty firm flesh and muscle. Otherwise he would never have been able to play the game he did play in the middle of the North Bank line. But those mid-October days were hard on him, and he complained to Jerry one afternoon that if the weather didn’t get cooler mighty soon no one would be able to tell them apart. That amused Jerry considerably, for he could have seated himself twice in the space on the bench occupied――and fully occupied――by Fat!

By Thursday of that week Andy Jackson was relieved of his duty of coach to the awkward squad. In fact, the awkward squad ceased to be. Some of the awkwardness doubtless remained, but the squad vanished and the nine members――there had been additions from day to day during the preceding week, and one or two members had disappeared――became parts of the four squads. Jerry found himself with Squad C, and Pentland was with him. Being placed on Squad C, however, was no greater honor than assignment to D, or less than going to B. Outside Squad A all candidates were theoretically on an equal footing, and good players and mediocre players mingled. The squad arrangement was only for the purpose of formation drill, and when that was finished the players were classed according to the position they were trying for: backs, ends, tackles, guards and centers. For perhaps a half hour each day Jerry followed around behind Cleary and walked or trotted through simple plays from a balanced formation. Then with most of the other back-field candidates he caught and punted for awhile. Some time during the afternoon he went with a dozen or so others and hurled himself at the swaying dummy as it rattled back and forth on its cable. There were few idle moments between three-thirty and five, or later, and few dull ones. Pentland assured Jerry pessimistically――Pentland seemed to be a born pessimist――that when the weather got cooler and the season advanced they would have to stay out until nearly six; that Thorne was a whale for working his men. About a quarter to five Jerry went to the bench, drew a blanket about his shoulders, no matter how warm the day, and watched Squad A do battle with an opposing team composed of remaining aspirants. Both teams, especially that designated as B, changed their line-ups frequently and it was no uncommon thing for as many as thirty fellows to play on B during a twenty-minute scrimmage. Of course Jerry was likely to be called on to play half on B Team any afternoon now, but for some reason he wasn’t. Others came and went, but Jerry sweltered under his blue blanket and almost grew fast to the bench!

On Friday, a full week later than usual, a second team was formed and took possession of the practice gridiron. Caspar Trumbull was made captain and, a few days later, a small, bullet-headed graduate came down from Baltimore and took charge as coach. His name was Tibbs and he was called “Jump” because “Jump!” was his favorite exclamation during practice. That exhortation was added to his slightest command, as: “Johnson, move that water pail off the field! Jump!” or “Clemson, find Riordan and get a pair of laces! Jump!” Most of this Jerry knew only by hearsay, for, to his disappointment, he was not delegated to the second. There was a cut imminent, and he knew it, and it seemed to him that his one chance of continuing as a football player lay in getting placed on the second. But the second came into being and Jerry still adorned the substitute’s bench during scrimmage and tried to think of a graceful way of telling Tom some day soon that he had been dropped! Sixteen players went with the second team and about thirty remained with the first, and, since Jerry had learned from several sources that the first team squad was always eventually diminished to no more than twenty-six, he was certain that his gridiron career was about to end. He tried to be philosophical, but he did wish that they had judged him good enough for the second. He didn’t appraise his abilities very highly, but he thought himself able to play half back as well as some of the second team chaps.

On Saturday the team went off to play Severn School, and, as he had expected, Jerry was not among those taken. He and several other discarded ones went to Annapolis and saw the Navy play North Carolina. Jerry’s sympathies were with the husky, long-legged team from the south, and he cheered for the honor of his native state long after all others had ceased and the Blue-and-Gold had piled up a safe lead. In spite of a one-sided score, the game was interesting all through, with the visitors never ceasing their threats and, toward the end, opening up a quite remarkable passing game. North Carolina’s forward passes made a good deal of an impression on the North Bank group, and on the way back to school――after they had partaken of the enticing concoction known as fruit salad at the corner confectioner’s――they discussed Coach Thorne’s neglect of the aërial game and became quite impassioned in their denunciation of that gentleman’s disregard of its possibilities. All, that is to say, save Jerry. Jerry didn’t do any criticizing, first because he was rather ignorant of the subject, and second because he had a conviction that Coach Thorne knew his business. He did venture an observation to that effect, but Furchgott, who was, perhaps, a bit disgruntled at not having been taken along that day with the squad, took issue. Coach Thorne, he declared positively, was old-fashioned and taught football as it had been taught to him ten years ago.

“Why, look at the plays he gives us,” invited the substitute guard. “Last year the team learned exactly fifteen, and all from one formation! How are you going to fool the other fellow when every play starts from the same back-field arrangement? And how long is it going to take him to learn as few plays as that? Why, gosh, one western college had thirty-four plays on her list last season! Thirty-four! And we had fifteen! Can you beat it? No wonder we got licked by Cumbridge. And I’ll bet you anything we get licked to-day, too. The team’s got twelve plays and all of them are as old as the hills!”

“It doesn’t make any difference how old a play is,” demurred Dimond, “if it goes. If the other fellow doesn’t size the play up in time to meet it an old one’s as good as a new one. Besides, there aren’t any new plays. What they call new ones are old ones revamped. Take that ‘twist play’ of Cumbridge’s last fall. It wasn’t anything but the old crisscross with a new name. The only difference was that Cumbridge put her full back up in the line to hold the opposing tackle in.”

“That’s all right,” replied Furchgott, “but it was new enough to fool us every time it was tried.”

“But that wasn’t because there was anything novel about it, it was because they worked it well and we couldn’t see it coming. We did get onto it finally and stopped it.”

“All the same, Thorne’s an old fogy when it comes to new stuff,” insisted the guard. “The only forward passes he gives us are short tosses over the line, and they won’t go for anything when we run up against a real smart team. Long passes are what we ought to have. Look at some of those heaves North Carolina made to-day. Why, gosh, one of them was forty yards if it was an inch!”

“But the Navy got it,” remarked Jerry mildly. “It don’t look to me like it was much help to the University.”

“Maybe Navy did get that one, but she mightn’t have, and if she hadn’t, that end would have been across her goal in a wink. You’ve got to take some chances!”

“That’s right,” agreed another member of the party. “And those kind of plays worry the enemy, let me tell you. He never knows when you’re going to spring something and he plays his backs deep and that weakens his line.”

“Of course it does,” said Furchgott. “Bet you we won’t get away with a single forward pass to-day. That short heave’s no good. It’s just as likely to go to the opponent as to your own men, a sight likelier! Severn will eat that baby stuff up, believe me!”

“Think we’ll get licked, do you?” asked Dimond.

“Sure of it. You wait and see.”

By waiting they did see, and Furchgott was proved a good prophet. North Bank returned in a chastened mood, having been defeated 11 to 3. Severn’s unusual score had been secured by a touchdown, a field goal and a safety, the latter when a forward had broken through and tackled Duveen in the act of getting off a punt just short of his goal line and borne him back for two points. North Bank had saved herself from an empty slate when, in the final period, one of the short passes ridiculed by Furchgott had paved the way for an advance to the enemy’s twenty-three yards, from where Omstead had put the pigskin over the crossbar very neatly. But Severn had a good team that fall and North Bank had missed the services of Tub Keller, still on the injured list, and so, while the squad came back chastened, it was by no means apologetic. Indeed, Jerry, listening to the alibis offered by Joe Kirkham and Billy Conger in Number 7 that evening after supper, wondered that Severn had not run up several hundred points on a weak and unfortunate opponent! Anyhow, that was the last beating of the season. Joe said so, and said so so emphatically that Jerry believed it, even when Billy drew attention to the fact that St. John’s College, across the river in Annapolis, was on the North Bank schedule. Joe snapped his fingers at St. John’s. “They licked us last year, but that’s not saying they’ll do it this year, Billy. We’ve got twice the team we had then――――”

Billy expressed incredulity by throwing his hands in the air.

“That’s all right!” declared Joe. “We sure have just the same. I don’t say the players are any better, but the――the morale is just about three times what it was last fall. And that’s going to see us through.”

Jerry hesitatingly inquired whether Coach Thorne knew he was courting disaster by not paying more attention to forward passing, and quoted Furchgott on the subject. Both Joe and Billy broke into speech at once and overwhelmed Jerry with assurances that Coach Thorne knew forward passing from A to Izzard, that the short pass was the best, that long heaves were too uncertain except against weak opponents and that Furchgott didn’t know what he was talking about! All of which comforted Jerry in a measure and vindicated his opinion of the coach’s wisdom. You see, Jerry had made rather a hero of Mr. Thorne, and one doesn’t like to hear one’s heroes belittled.

There was another picnic supper at the Cabin Sunday evening, Tom, Joe and Billy being the distinguished guests, and on Monday, having survived a Latin review, Jerry appeared at the field cheerfully reconciled to his impending dismissal. Instead of dismissal, however, he found another and far different fate awaiting him.