EXIT JERRY, SINGING

On the field the spectators were finding their seats again and cheer leaders were watching the end of the stand around which the returning warriors would soon appear. The drizzle still fell gently, inexorably, and the stands were fairly roofed with umbrellas. But on one side of the gridiron at least no amount of drizzle would have quenched the high spirits. Even an equinoctial gale would not have brought dismay to the Light Blue. Until a few minutes since her supporters had sung and cheered uninterruptedly throughout the intermission. Nor had Cumbridge refused the challenge. North Bank’s songs had not been the only ones to float up toward the leaden sky, nor had North Bank’s cheers gone unanswered. In spite of the score board’s story the Dark Blue was undismayed.

Suddenly a shout started at the farther end of the visitors’ stand and passed along it, growing in volume and finally merging into “a regular cheer for North Bank, fellows, and make it good!” Around the corner trotted the Light Blue team, muffled in blankets, and crossed the gridiron to the benches while flags waved, and cheer leaders motioned and many throats shouted acclaim. The rival team followed a few moments later and the other stand broke into a thunderous welcome. Then, while a few belated ones scampered to their places and umbrellas disappeared again, the teams took the field and the last half began.

Cumbridge gave the kick-off to North Bank, and Conger, having teed the ball to his liking, sent it off, arching lazily, toward the east goal. Cumbridge captured it near her twenty and it was down close to the twenty-five. Then began a desperate advance by the Dark Blue. All she had been taught was turned to account, every one of her eleven warriors fought as he had not fought before and every ounce of weight and brawn was thrown into the plays. For a few minutes North Bank fairly wilted before the attack. Cumbridge seemed to have found a new speed, and a hitherto unused play in which full back and one half, starting from close behind the line, hammered the guard and tackle positions, made gain after gain until North Bank’s necessity fashioned a defense against it. Its success lay in its speed, and to meet it Keller shifted an extra guard to that side of the line and played him a yard back. When gains no longer came from that play, the Dark Blue returned to her regular formation but without any let-up of her determination. Past the middle of the field she went, slamming and banging at the opposing line, making her distance time and again; frequently by inches only, but always making it.

James went in for Conger――Billy was pretty well battered by then――Hickson for Lee, and Cleary for Kirkham. On North Bank’s forty-three the advance slowed up. Three tries netted but six yards. Cumbridge threatened a punt, but it developed into an end run by full back, and Mansfield, refusing to be drawn in, ran the enemy across the field and finally laid him low for a four-yard loss, while from the Light Blue stand came a roar of relief and delight.

Jerry had not started the half, after all, but now Coach Thorne called him along the bench and he bent his head and listened to the instructions. Then he was off, hand upraised, across the muddy, trodden field.

“Left half back, Mr. Referee! Toss me your head guard, Jack!”

Keller eyed him questionably, but Jerry met his look blankly. The stands were cheering Omstead as he trudged off the field to the bench. North Bank lined up on her forty-one yards, her face toward the distant goal. One plunge into the line by Duveen and a two-yard gain, and then came the “22” signal. Left end fell back, took the pass and ran up the field. The backs raced to the left. Butterfield was clear and well into Cumbridge territory when Mansfield turned and threw. Yet, at the last moment, the pass was spoiled. A dark-blue arm shot into its path and the ball bounded aside and went to earth. The teams went back to the forty-one and Keller’s voice sounded again, undismayed.

“Kick formation! Benson back!”

Then came the signals. Jerry, every nerve tense, his heart racing, steadied himself for the pass. Back came the ball, he stepped forward, swung his leg and heard and felt the impact. Then the lines merged, forms jostled and swayed and, eluding a plunging Cumbridge forward, he sprang away in the wake of the ball. That was a punt that made North Bank gasp before it broke into loud applause. Even the enemy voiced approval, though unwillingly. High and far and straight went the pigskin, corkscrewing in its flight. Down there, almost under the shadow of his goal, the Dark Blue’s quarter was edging back and back. Near the ten yards he was when his arms closed about the ball, and near the twenty when he was thrown by Butterfield!

Courageously, Cumbridge started again on her journey, yet now she was less assured and her attack was slower. Once only she made her distance. Then she punted. But the Dark Blue’s punter was no fifty-yard man, though no mean kicker. The ball was caught on North Bank’s forty-seven and the Light Blue sprang again to the assault. Two tries at the left of the line and the ball was on the enemy’s forty-six. Then again came the call for “22,” this time reversed, and the ball traveled almost twenty yards straight into Captain Mansfield’s arms for a gain of twelve.

Cumbridge began to throw in her reserves now. Two new back-field men appeared and a new left end. Duveen went through for four yards outside left tackle and Jerry got two past left guard. Ashley made one at the right of center. On fourth down, with three to go, Keller again elected to punt, and again the command came:

“Kick formation! Benson back!”

Cumbridge tried heroically to block that kick, but, although she did trickle through dangerously, Jerry got the ball away clean and hard. The punt was not so long as the first one, for it didn’t need to be. Mansfield was waiting when the Cumbridge left half caught and spilled him on his six yards. Cumbridge punted on second down to her forty-one. So the duel went on, North Bank gaining from five to ten yards at each exchange, Cumbridge trying all her tricks to hold ground and failing. The quarter ended with the pigskin on the Dark Blue’s thirty-two.

There seemed now no doubt of another score for North Bank, nor was it long delayed when the fourth period opened. One more punt by Jerry from his thirty-yard line to the corner of the field, and then two brave attempts to run the ends and a forward pass that grounded, and Cumbridge punted again. This time Keller caught it on the twenty-six and, Ashley interfering, sprang across three white lines before he was pulled to earth. From the enemy’s fourteen to her nine yards the ball went in two tries by Duveen and Ashley. Then came the signal for Number 23!

The backs lined up as usual in straight three-abreast formation. Keller turned and stepped to his right and shot the ball back to Jerry. Duveen sprang to the left, Ashley and Keller to the right. Alone and unthreatened, Jerry poised the ball on upstretched hand and waited. Then Butterfield’s hand waved from well beyond the scrimmage and Jerry threw. Too late Cumbridge saw what had happened. Butterfield sprang into the air, caught the pigskin, turned and fairly fell across the line!

Keller tried the goal but failed.

On the board the score stood 13, and the North Bank stand was a howling, swaying mob.

Eleven minutes remained, however, and Cumbridge, faced by certain defeat, strove to save her honor by scoring. Taking North Bank’s kick-off, she fought back nobly, but her former “punch” was gone and long forward passes, despairing efforts none too well executed, formed the bulk of her attack. Only once did she threaten, and then, having reached North Bank’s thirty-six yards, she tried a placement kick that was foredoomed to failure.

Just before the end came North Bank added her third score. Jerry had punted from his forty, Cumbridge had fumbled and Crook, at left end, one of many substitutes sent in at the last, had fallen on the ball on the Dark Blue’s twenty-four. Cleary again called for “23” and again the play triumphed.

To Jerry fell the task of converting the added 6 into a 7, but goal kicking was not his forte and he failed miserably. Yet no one seemed to care when, a moment later, the final whistle blew. For 19 to 0 was a stupendous score, and North Bank scarcely dared believe it true! Down onto the field surged her supporters and formed into a procession, and, cheering and singing, dancing and waving, weaved a sinuous length about the sodden, battle-scarred gridiron. Over the crossbars of the goals, first one and then the other, sailed hats and caps, sweaters and megaphones, and even an occasional umbrella! Shouting filled the air. Cumbridge, on her stand, chanted the school anthem and looked down gamely if dazedly.

At length the marchers congregated before the Dark Blue cheering section and comparative quiet fell, through which boomed the hoarse voice of Tom Hartley, cheer leader: “Regular cheer for Cumbridge, fellows! All together! Make it good!”

And it was good. And Cumbridge answered valiantly, and as the last note died away a strange vision took shape before her. Below on the field a tow-haired youth, hoisted to the shoulders of four proud companions, held to her gaze a football. It was not the ball just captured, but another. On its dark blue field it displayed the legend:

C. H. 10 N. B. 0

Then slowly it turned, and on its other side, against a faded gold background, was the inscription:

1915 N. B. 24 C. H. 2

Cumbridge gazed for a long moment in silence and amazement. Then understanding came and a low growl of wrath started and deepened as it traveled over the stand. But even as it grew in volume it was punctured by laughter, and then laughter and cheers mingled! North Bank laughed, too, and howled back her triumph long and loudly!

Then the procession was formed again and, cheering steadily, the victors marched away, Jerry and the stolen football still aloft!

It was a very happy Jerry who, swaying there, looked down over the sea of bobbing heads, happy in spite of the fact that the drizzle had again turned into a downpour and that he was tired and lame, wet and dirty. For North Bank had won gloriously from her ancient rival and he had helped! And so, still clasping the stolen ball, he joined his voice to the voices of all the others as the procession drew up in front of the gymnasium and sang as lustily as any:

Old North Bank, to you our allegiance we pledge, To you we will ever be true; Though far we may wander, our hearts still will be Back here ’neath your banner of blue! We’ll cherish the Light Blue, the bright blue, the right hue, Unfold it, uphold it, and fight for it, too!

THE END

Transcriber’s Notes:

――Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).

――Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.

――Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

――Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.