JORDAN LOSES HIS TEMPER

Doubtless Tom’s statement was slightly exaggerated, but true it is that Jerry’s name was not among the names of those who were relegated to the second team. Instead, he found himself the next day the object of flattering but disconcerting attention on the part of Coach Thorne. The coach led him apart before practice started and talked to him earnestly. As well as Jerry could recall afterwards what he said, it was something like this: “Benson, you’ve got the making of a good punter, and a good punter is something we can use this year. Of course, you ought to have reported for work three weeks ago, and I can’t understand why you didn’t, but there’s no use going into that now. The season’s half gone and it’s going to be a man’s job to pull you around, but it can be done, I reckon, if you’ll do your share. You’ll have to work hard, boy, mighty hard, and there’s always the bare chance that the time’s too short, but I don’t believe it is. You’ll have to do pretty nearly twice as much work as the others, and stand a lot of bullying and come up smiling every time. You’ll have to forget about everything except football, barring your studies, of course, and bend every energy on making good. How do you feel about it? Seem worth while to you?”

“Golly!” stammered Jerry. “It sure does, sir!”

“All right. You’ve got two, possibly three, good men ahead of you. Left half’s your position and that’s what you’re trying for. That means that you’ve got to learn a heap in the next three weeks. You’re up against two fellows at least, Benson, who are second year players: Omstead and Jordan. Playing half back doesn’t mean just running the ends or bucking the line. It means taking passes, interfering for the runner, following the ends down under punts, plugging holes in your line, catching punts and a dozen other things. And, in your case, it means punting besides. Boy, there’s a lot for you to learn, but you seem to have sense, and I know you’ve got grit, and I think you’ll make good. I’m going to use you hard, Benson, but I’ll make a football player of you if it can be done. You work for me, boy, and I’ll do my best for you. Outside of regular practice hours you’ll get in a full hour of punting every day from now until the Cumbridge game. You may split the hour into two halves if you like, but I want you to give me full time. I’ll see that you have a ball for your own use. Keep it in your locker and don’t let it get away from you. Don’t overdo it at first. Start slowly and rest when you’re tired. But learn something all the time. I’ll watch you and help you all I can, but you’ll have to be your own coach most of the time. Now, can you find a fellow to work with you and get the ball back to you?”

“I reckon I can,” answered Jerry doubtfully.

“See what you can do. If you can’t find any one, let me know and I’ll try. All right now. One thing more, though, Benson. Got any weak spots you know of? Ever sprain an ankle or a wrist or anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Quite sound, are you?”

“Yes, sir, I reckon I am. I――I cut my foot with an ax once, but it ain’t hurting me none now.”

“Cut your foot with an ax? How long ago was that?”

Jerry studied a moment. “’Bout eleven years, sir.”

Mr. Thorne laughed. “Don’t think we need to worry much about that, Benson! All right. Join Sears’ squad over there and get started. You can’t afford to lose one single minute in the next three weeks, boy! Remember that and make every second count!”

Jerry’s heart swelled with joy and a truly desperate enthusiasm possessed him as he hurried across the gridiron. It seemed to him that he had been honored as none had ever been honored before, and all Mr. Thorne’s talk of work and difficulties made no impression on him. With such a goal in sight, no work could be really hard, no difficulty worth considering! And yet, despite his ardor――or perhaps because of it――everything went badly from the first that afternoon. He made inexcusable mistakes in formation drill, missed most of his tackles at the dummy, punted wretchedly and, finally, played a headless game at left half for some eight minutes of the scrimmage until Coach Thorne sent him back to the bench and gave his place to Jordan.

Jerry drew a blanket about his shoulders and hung his head for shame. He had failed already and disgrace instead of honor was his reward! What had got into him he couldn’t imagine. He had tried desperately hard at everything and everything had gone wrong. He recalled standing out there a few minutes before like a stuffed dummy, the ball in his hands, while the second had piled through and overwhelmed him. The play had been his, but he had mixed his signals and, having taken the ball because it was thrust to him, had had no idea what to do with it. Remembering now, his face flooded with color and he ground his teeth! Of course, everything was all over for him. Mr. Thorne would tell him so presently.

And yet when, a few minutes later, the teams came back to the benches Mr. Thorne’s gaze passed Jerry quite casually, and Jerry drew a long breath of relief and dared hope. Yet but a few seconds later he knew that the end had come, for the Coach was calling him. Jerry arose with a sinking heart and walked out to the side line.

“Better go in, Benson,” said Mr. Thorne. “We won’t need you again.”

“Yes, sir.” Yet Jerry hesitated. The coach looked inquiring.

“Well?” he asked.

Jerry gulped. “You mean I ain’t to play any more, sir?” he asked.

“Not to-day, Benson. You’ve worked enough. By the way”――Coach Thorne’s mouth curved in a smile――“there’s such a thing as trying too hard, boy. Try to let down a bit to-morrow. You’ll get along better!”

“Y-yes, sir!” Jerry blinked rapidly, turned on his heel, tried to thrust his hands into his pockets and found he had none and set off for the gymnasium. Somewhere on the way the trailing blanket parted company with him, but Jerry didn’t know it.

Things went much better on Wednesday. In the morning he sought the trainer and came away with a battle-stained and much scuffed football, and for more than an hour, between two recitations, he punted on the second team gridiron. Most of the time he had to go after the ball himself, but toward the end of the time a small fourth class boy performed that task for him, finding his reward in the privilege of being allowed to kick it back. As the younger chap knew little of kicking there were long pauses, but Jerry was weary enough by then to welcome them. In the afternoon he showed possibilities during the ten-minute period in which he displaced Jordan, and managed the one punt that he was called on to make very creditably. And he showed up rather well on defense, considering his inexperience. Yet he received his full share of criticism from the coach. It was: “Benson, get in position! You’re too far out!” “Where were you then, Benson? Don’t you know that play?” “Left half, that was rotten! You missed your man entirely! You’ve got to watch the play!” However, as about every other player was similarly criticized, Jerry wasn’t disheartened.

During the second period he sat on the bench, conscious that Purves Jordan was glowering at him from further along, while Omstead performed. Jerry forgot Jordan in watching Omstead, noting how he stood and started and seemed to know instinctively where the play was coming. Omstead, though, was not called on to punt and so Jerry was not able to get any points from his rival there. Jerry wondered often whether he would ever develop that kind of machine-like smoothness that marked the playing of Omstead and Ashley and Duveen. Purves Jordan’s rivalry worried Jerry but little. Jordan was not especially experienced and could not punt. He played a rather clever running game, but, like Jerry, he lacked the weight necessary to a formidable plunger. If, however, Jordan didn’t worry Jerry greatly, the reverse was not so. Jerry’s sudden and unlooked for appearance troubled Jordan a good deal. The latter had not, it is true, stood more than a very slender chance of getting placed in the first team back-field, but he had been fairly certain of getting into a few of the major games for short periods and of capturing his letters in the final contest of all. Now, however, with Ashley, Benson and, perhaps, Gray ahead of him, the blue “N. B.” looked far less distinct to his imagination. He had never liked Benson, anyhow, right from the first, and nothing that had happened since had changed his sentiments. Now he liked him less than ever. And, noting Mr. Thorne’s solicitude for Jerry’s football welfare and progress, he began to develop a very healthy grouch against the coach. He had always more or less resented Mr. Thorne’s authority and what he called his dictatorial ways, although this season he had done it secretly. Now his resentment found fresh fuel and became audible that evening. He made a mistake, however, in choosing Hal Mansfield for an audience.

The captain, though he was beginning to suspect the coach of usurping more authority than was necessary, and had once or twice shown restiveness, was of no mind for treason. And so Jordan learned quickly enough. Mansfield descended verbally on his roommate like a ton of bricks and reduced him to glowering silence. But, the next evening, Jordan found a more sympathetic audience over in Ellicot House, where Gus Ashley and Furchgott roomed. There his resentment was given rein and his remarks were applauded. Furchgott, a disgruntled critic of the coach and the system in general, egged him on and agreed with all he said. Ashley, who had nothing to be disgruntled about, was nevertheless sympathetic. He had been one of the leading malcontents last season and he made no pretense this year of any loyalty to the coach. He played a good game at right half, just good enough, it seemed, to make him certain of the position. He could be brilliant at times, and had done excellent work in the Cumbridge contest last fall, but so far this season he had failed to show anything exceptional. He had a very good idea of his importance to the team and managed to impress others with it, not a difficult task, perhaps, for the reason that he was a large, well-built, good-looking fellow who fairly radiated health and capability.

“What makes me mad,” said Jordan finally, “is his taking a rank outsider like Benson, a fellow who never saw a football until a month ago, I reckon, and making all this fuss about him. Maybe he can kick a ball fairly well, but so can two or three others. What’s the big idea in pulling Benson in and trying to teach him all about football in a couple of weeks? It’s unfair to the rest of us. Gee, I’ve worked hard all season, haven’t I? Sure, I have! And all I get for it is the bench now that this towhead tarheel takes Thorne’s fancy! It’s sickening!”

“Sure is,” agreed Ashley.

“Oh, Thorne’s like that,” said Furchgott. “He goes off half-cocked every little while, and always did. Look at last year and the rotten mess he got into about McMeens.”

Ashley laughed. “Yes, but he won out, just the same. Omstead made good in the end. I think Thorne’s a pill, but I’ll say he usually knows his business. Might as well be fair when it doesn’t cost anything.”

“That sounds funny from you,” objected Jordan. “You’re always running Thorne down.”

“Sure. That’s all right. He makes me tired. I don’t like him, and I reckon he knows it. He’d have me off in no time if there was any one else to put in my place.” Ashley chuckled. “There isn’t, though, and I’ll bet it makes him good and sore sometimes!”

“Better watch out he doesn’t give your job to Benson,” growled Jordan. “Any one can see that he means to get Benson in somewhere.”

Ashley smiled derisively. “He knows better,” he said. “I’ll tell you what he wants Benson for. We’re shy on punters, and that’s no joke. Duveen’s rotten and Keller’s not much better. Tub’s all right on a short kick, but he can’t get any distance. Jim can get distance but he kicks too low and he never knows where the old ball’s going to land. No more does any one else! Well, this chap Benson’s got the legs: you can see that; and he’s easy-going and good-natured and Thorne can work him like a mule. He’s gone and promised Benson all sorts of things, I reckon: told him he can have a place and get his letters and all that if he will try hard. And Benson believes him and will work his silly head off. Well, all Thorne wants of him is a few good punts in the big game. Oh, he will get his letters all right, I reckon, but that’s all he will get. He won’t get placed. Thorne’ll just jolly him along. Why, shucks, you know mighty well he isn’t going to let Jack Omstead go. And you know he wouldn’t dare let me go. And there you are!”

“That’s all right,” said Jordan, “but it doesn’t do me much good to be told that you and Omstead are sure of your places! Where do I get off? No one takes me out and gives me private instruction! Why, they say he’s got Benson practicing punting at all hours! Corben says he was out this forenoon over on the second team gridiron punting for more than an hour!” Jordan’s scowl changed to a crafty and ill-natured grin. “If I was you, Gus, I wouldn’t be so plumb sure of my job!”

Ashley frowned. “Oh, forget it, Peevish! Trouble with you is you can’t stand seeing any one else get anything. As a matter of fact, this guy Benson plays as good a game as you do this minute. Put that in your pipe, old dear, and smoke it!”

Jordan choked and sputtered. “Is that so? Well, it isn’t! Benson’s a dub, that’s all he is! He falls over his own feet! You’re sore because I told you something to make you think. Benson’ll get either your place or Omstead’s before the season’s over, and I wouldn’t be so awfully surprised if it was yours! I don’t see you setting the world on fire, either, Ashley! You’ve been soldiering all fall and Thorne’s on to you, if you want to know the truth! Take a tip from me and get a hump on!”

Ashley only laughed exasperatingly. “You’ll never get anywhere, Peevish, until you learn to control that rotten temper of yours,” he drawled. “Don’t trouble about me and my position. I’ll look out for that. Better buckle down to your own job, son, and then you won’t have to worry over Benson or come around here shooting off your mouth about Thorne. Why don’t you go and say some of the things to him? No one here can help you.”

“I will mighty quick if he keeps on――――”

“Yes, you will!”

“Cut out the yapping, you fellows,” said Furchgott. “If a lot of us fellows stood together instead of squabbling we could show Thorne where to get off.”

“How do you mean?” asked Jordan.

“Well, now, suppose Gus wanted to help you a bit. And suppose this fellow Benson gets in with him some day. Mean to tell me Gus couldn’t show him up? Sure he could?”

“Sort of sabotage idea?” laughed Ashley, his good humor restored. “Gum his plays and all that?”

“Sure. Why not? Who’s going to know?”

“Thorne, for one, and Benson for another,” drawled Ashley. “You’re sick in the head, Furchy!”

“You don’t need to do it when it’ll show, Gus. Bet you I could make him wish he had never butted in! And Thorne wouldn’t be any the wiser. Why, say, take a novice like Benson and you can make him look like a goat in five minutes! Take the double pass, for instance. You pass him the ball a second too soon or too late, and see where he comes out. Thorne lays him wide open!”

“And Benson says ‘Ashley didn’t pass the ball right!’ Oh, yes, that’s a brilliant scheme, I think not!”

“Benson wouldn’t,” said Jordan eagerly. “He isn’t the sort. He wouldn’t know enough to, either.”

“That’s right,” agreed Furchgott. “And there are lots of ways of making him look like a piker, Gus, slathers of them!”

Ashley chuckled. “Sounds amusing,” he said. “Don’t know why I should, though, because Peevish isn’t any friend of mine.” He grinned across at Jordan. “He says rude things to me.”

Jordan scowled. “You began it,” he muttered.

“Oh, well, we’re only talking,” said Ashley. “After all, Benson isn’t dangerous. I’ll give him a week to show it. Just as soon as Thorne sees that he can’t do anything except punt you’ll get back into favor, Peevish. Of course, I don’t say that if he and I were to work together some day――――” Ashley paused and smiled gently. “Well, it isn’t easy for backs to work together at first. Benson might make a mess of it, and that’s a fact.”

Furchgott grinned. “If you don’t want him playing alongside you, Gus, I’ll bet you can fix it so he won’t! I know I could!”

“Don’t you fellows get away with the idea that I’d do anything underhanded,” said Ashley sternly. “And don’t go out of here and do a lot of talking. Somebody like Thorne might hear and believe it. Anyway, he might get to looking for――for something queer, and if he did”――Ashley shrugged――“why, there wouldn’t be anything, naturally. And poor old Peevish would just go right on keeping the bench warm. Get me?” Both Jordan and Furchgott assured him that they did.