Ten to ten!
A tied score and victory for neither team!
When the outburst that acclaimed Le Gette’s goal had finally died down a strange silence descended over the stands. Near midfield the teams were cheering each other, but the cheers sounded faint and perfunctory. The groups broke up and the players turned toward the benches and then, mingling with the throng, hurried off the field. The cheering section on the Manning side found its voice and broke into measured sound; a long cheer for the Team, a regular cheer for Pearsall—“and make it good!”—and another long cheer for Manning. The remnants of the Pearsall cheering section returned the compliment, and then the stands emptied.
It was a very quiet throng that flowed over the turf toward the campus. There is something woefully flat about a tied football game, and speculation and argument as to what might have happened bring small comfort. Many of the visitors felt cheated because there had been no subsequent spectacle, no snake dance with caps and brightly hued megaphones tossing over the crossbars, no triumphant cheering and singing. Some departed firm in the conviction that that amusement should have been provided for them irrespective of the game’s outcome!
In the gymnasium there was plenty of talk, but it flowed levelly, with no crescendos. Many remarks began with “If” and “But” and ended in the air. The general atmosphere was one of resentment rather than of regret, as though Fate had played a sorry trick. Later on, perspective came to the aid and a more philosophic mood prevailed, but just now there were moody faces aplenty in the locker room. Outside, the fellows were gathered before the entrance responding faithfully to Stearns Wilson’s every demand. Players and substitutes, coaches and managers, trainer and assistants were cheered loudly, but the sound, booming down to the wearied warriors, failed to dispel their gloom.
At supper time the entrance of every football fellow was, as usual, warmly applauded, and cheerfulness was more apparent. Stuart, coming in a few minutes late, with Neil, was met with a salvo such as had been accorded only Jack Brewton. Stuart, drawing his chair out, looked back to see who had followed him into the hall, and was surprised to discover that the long-continued chorus of “A-a-ay!” was in his honor. He felt an odd sense of pleasant confusion and tried to hide it by drinking from an empty water glass. A crowd that included Stuart and Jack and Neil invaded the moving picture house after supper and, finding a really humorous comedy to laugh at, returned to school in better spirits.
But in Stuart’s case the spirits didn’t outlast the night, and when he awoke nearly an hour before he needed to on Sunday morning and found the world gray and soggy under a drizzling rain he became horribly depressed. He couldn’t get to sleep again, but lay listening to the patter of the drops on the window ledge and faced a blank future. There didn’t seem to be anything to get up for! Nothing this morning nor any other morning! Life looked frightfully drab and dull. No more football! Nothing ahead but lessons! He groaned and pulled a sheet over his head. Of course, he might go in for basketball. That was pretty good fun. Or hockey. Either one would at least keep him in training. But for what? More basketball or hockey! Just now he was in a martyrlike mood and told himself that he’d never try football again; anyhow, not at Manning. He had made a dismal failure of it and self-respect at least forbade his going back to it. They’d elect Howdy Tasker captain next Saturday evening, probably. Well, Howdy was all right, but he had had enough of working under some one else. And Haynes would be coaching again, he supposed. Well, Haynes had been pretty decent lately, he’d say that, but if he went back to the team next year there’d be the same old rows! No, he was through with football; plumb, everlastingly through!
Neil awoke with a prodigious yawn and a backward stretch that knocked his knuckles resoundingly against the wall. Neil always awoke that way. Then he sat up and, as Stuart thrust the sheets from his face, blinked across smilingly. “Hello,” he said. “What time is it?”
“About a quarter to eight,” answered Stuart morosely. “Go to sleep again.”
“I’m slept out. Gee, it’s raining, isn’t it?”
“No, some fellow’s cleaning his teeth out the window,” said Stuart sarcastically. Neil brushed the remaining sleep from his eyes and studied his roommate for a moment in silence. Then:
“Whence the grouch, son?” he asked sympathetically.
“Oh, what’s the good?” asked the other vaguely. “Nothing to look forward to now but just a lot of beastly studying!”
“Cheer up, Christmas vacation’s only a month away!”
“We-ell,” acknowledged Stuart grudgingly. Then, with triumphant pessimism: “And after vacation come exams!”
Neil laughed. “I guess you’re beyond human aid this morning! Been awake long?”
“Half an hour, I suppose. I’ve been thinking.”
“That explains it. Thinking always did have a bad effect on you, Stuart. What have you been thinking about?”
“Lots of things. About football, for one. I’m going to quit.”
“Why not? The season’s over.”
Stuart scowled. “I mean for good. I’m through.”
Neil digested that startling information a moment. Then he asked carelessly: “Did it ever occur to you that you might be elected captain again?”
“Me?” Stuart stared across incredulously. “You’re crazy! Not a chance! Anyhow, I wouldn’t accept!”
“Wouldn’t you? Why?”
“You know why,” replied Stuart shortly. “After what happened this year, do you think I’d—I’d—— Anyway, they wouldn’t want me for captain. And I don’t blame ’em. It’ll be Howdy, I guess. He’ll make a good one, too.”
“Yes, I think he would,” agreed Neil. But there was a suggestion of reservation in his tone that caused Stuart to view him suspiciously.
“Look here,” he charged, “for the love of Mike, don’t go around making cracks like that, Neil!”
“Like what?” asked the other innocently.
“Why, about me being captain next year! Think I want fellows to think that—that I’m looking for it—or would take it if it was offered? Well, by golly, I don’t! That would be the limit!”
“All right, I won’t mention it. Suppose, though, some one else suggested it? Want me to say officially that you’d refuse?”
“Yes, I do! You say it as officially as you know how. But I guess no one but you would ever think of it, you crazy coot!”
“Well, that’s that,” replied Neil. “Let’s get up and have a good shower before the gang takes possession.”
“I don’t want any shower,” grumbled Stuart.
Nevertheless, he followed Neil out of bed and down the hall, and presently he might have been heard whistling a football tune quite cheerfully above the hiss of the water.
After breakfast, at which meal he consumed rather more food than for many weeks past, the feeling of depression took possession of him once more, and it was not until the sermon was nearly finished that a possible explanation came to him. The explanation held just six letters: H-a-y-n-e-s! His thoughts went back to a conversation held long before in the coach’s room, especially to the closing words of that conversation. “When the season’s over I’m going to give myself the satisfaction of telling you just what I think of you!” “When the season’s over I’ll be ready to hear it!” Stuart, remembering, squirmed in his seat. The season was over and the time had come.
Stuart didn’t hear any more of the sermon, if he had heard any before.
When dinner was done and he and Neil were back in the room he mooned restlessly around for awhile and then took up his cap. “I’m going out for a bit,” he explained carelessly.
“Want me to come along?” asked Neil, looking up from the letter he was writing.
“No, don’t bother,” answered Stuart hurriedly. “I won’t be long. I—I’ll just mosey around. Maybe walk over to the village or somewhere. Back soon.”
Neil nodded. “Better take an umbrella. It’s pouring now.”
But Stuart chose a raincoat instead and took himself off, leaving Neil to gaze reflectively at the closed door and tap the end of his pen thoughtfully against his teeth.
Stuart wasn’t sure that Mr. Haynes was in town. He might, for all he knew, have hurried off home by this time. If he had done so, Stuart would be a whole lot relieved. At least, that’s what he told himself, only to retract it a minute later. He had something to say to the coach, something that had to be said sooner or later, and it would be a heap better to say it now and get it off his chest!
Mr. Haynes answered the door himself when Stuart had rung, Mr. Haynes in a faded blue dressing gown and slippers, a section of a morning paper in his hand. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find Stuart on the threshold, a fact proved by his greeting. “Hello, Harven,” he said cordially. “Come in. Throw your coat over the chair there. Rather a wet day, isn’t it? I expected you’d be over.”
Stuart preceded his host into the dim study and took one of the two chairs drawn close to the long windows. The little park before the house was dismal and sodden to-day. Mr. Haynes plowed his way through a litter of papers and sank into the opposite chair rescuing his pipe from the ash tray and reaching for his pouch.
“The Courant has a pretty good story of the game,” he said as he filled the bowl. “Have you read it?” Stuart nodded. “Gives you a lot of credit, Harven, but no more than you deserve. The way you drove the team in the first quarter was as nice a thing as I ever saw. I dare say you’ve wondered why I didn’t put you back in the second half, Harven.”
“No, sir, I haven’t. You said it would be Wheaton.”
The coach nodded. “Yes, I said that, but after your showing—” He paused and lighted his pipe. “I’m going to be honest. You ought to have gone back, Harven. I believe now that if you had gone back we might have won. I made a mistake. You see, Wheaton had worked mighty hard, fairly sweated for us for weeks, and I thought he deserved his reward. It doesn’t do, though, if you’re a coach, to let sentiment get at you. I ought to have known better. Well, it’s too late now. Of course, we might not have won, even if you had been in, but I shall always be bothered by the possibility. We put up a good game, though, and in several ways showed up better than Pearsall. For one thing, we were in better condition. And we have more ground gained to our credit. On the whole, Harven, we haven’t any cause to be sore over that game. We faced a good team, a better team than I’d suspected, and if we didn’t outplay them we came mighty close to doing it!”
“Yes, sir.” Stuart studied his hands a moment. Then, “When it comes to placing the blame for losing—for not winning, though—” he went on, “I guess I’ve got a good deal to do with that, Mr. Haynes. I guess if I hadn’t acted crazy and made things harder for you and thrown up my job—not that Jack wasn’t a mighty good captain, though: I don’t mean that, sir! But if things had gone smoother at the first——”
“I know, Harven. Between us we sort of botched the business, didn’t we? It wasn’t altogether your fault. Knowing you as I do now, I see that I was half to blame. I got a wrong impression of you when I took hold here. My mistake was in not trying to make a friend of you first of all. You didn’t give me much encouragement, but I should have tried. You see, Harven, I’ve learned since then that you are hard to drive but easily led. And you’re loyal. I tried to drive you. That was my first mistake, and maybe my biggest. I should have set out to win your friendship. I might not have succeeded, of course, but I should have tried.”
“I—I guess you would have,” muttered Stuart.
“Succeeded?” Mr. Haynes smiled. “Hang it, Harven, I almost believe I could have! Anyway, I like to think so.”
“Just the same, there’s no reason for you to take any of the blame, Mr. Haynes,” said Stuart. “I thought I knew it all, and I didn’t. The fellows oughtn’t to have made me captain. I didn’t have the head for it. That’s been proved twice over. I showed rotten judgment lots of times. It was a good thing for the team that I was chucked.”
“You weren’t chucked,” said the coach earnestly. “No one—I, least of all—wanted you to resign. That letter to you was badly conceived and badly written. All any one wanted was to get things running smoothly, but the Committee went about it the wrong way. When you offered your resignation I protested against its acceptance. So did Wilson and McColl. But the majority of the Committee were against us. The majority had put themselves in a hole, and rather than crawl out they pulled the hole in on top of ’em. I felt all along that if you and I could pull together we could go a long way, Harven, but I didn’t know how to manage you. Well, all that’s ancient history now. There were mistakes made on both sides, mistakes that aren’t likely to be made again, I guess. Because, Harven, you’ve got good sense and you’re fair, and you know that I was right about the two things that caused the most friction between us. I mean the abolishment of training table and the injustice of barring Le Gette from the team because of something he had done to offend you personally. I made plenty of mistakes, but on those two things I was right. Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Stuart honestly. “The fellows were in better shape this year than they were last. There wasn’t any slump this year, and last year there was. And about Le Gette, why, he—I found out just the other day that he didn’t do what I thought he did.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” replied the coach heartily. “And even if he had, Harven, I still would have been right in not sacrificing him to your personal animosity. Don’t you agree with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good! I’m not ‘rubbing it in,’ Harven. I’m not always right in my premises and judgments, any more than any one else is, but I wanted to know that you recognized that in those things I was right and that you were fair enough and frank enough to say so. Because if it should happen that we were to work together again next fall it would make it easier for both of us. Perhaps I haven’t expressed myself very clearly, but I guess you get what I’m driving at.”
“Yes, sir. But I don’t believe I’ll be playing next year.”
“What? Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Stuart vaguely.
“Well, I certainly hope you will. If I came back I’d surely need you.”
“But you are coming, aren’t you, sir?” asked Stuart.
“I can’t say. You see, I was engaged for this season only. Although it wasn’t set down in the contract, it was naturally understood that a renewal of the contract depended on my success with the team this fall. Well, I don’t know how the Committee on Athletics view the result. In some ways we had a good season. We won five games, lost two and tied one. We got through without injuries worth speaking of, although the credit for that isn’t mine. If we had won yesterday’s game I might fairly claim success. Between you and me, I still claim it. But the Committee may not look at it as I do. Results are what count, Harven, and there’s no getting around the fact that we didn’t win our big game.”
“Oh! But we didn’t lose it, either, sir. That ought to mean something, I’d say. Besides, I guess all the fellows think that you did mighty well. I do, anyway. I thought, of course, you were coming back.”
“Perhaps I shall,” replied the coach, smiling.
“Not that you’d care much, I suppose,” added Stuart. “I guess you wouldn’t have much trouble finding a job!”
“Perhaps not, but it doesn’t do a coach any good to change too often. I’ve been at it four seasons and this is my third place. That doesn’t sound very well, does it? I was at Erskine College the year after I graduated and then I went to Fisherville and stayed two. I left there because Manning offered me more money, and I needed it. I don’t expect to spend my life as a football coach, Harven, but while I’m at it I want to do the best I can. I’ve got a sort of a law practice back home, but it’s only the start of one, and I can’t afford to depend on it yet. You see, there’s a family at home, too, and they have to live.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were married, sir!”
“I’m not. The family consists of my mother and two sisters, unmarried. One of my sisters looks after the office while I’m away, but there isn’t much to do, unfortunately. My town’s a smallish one and there are two lawyers already established there. It’s slow work to build a practice, Harven, in a place like that.”
“I should think it would be,” mused Stuart. “I think I’d rather coach football than be a lawyer, anyway.”
“It doesn’t lead very far, though. I hope that I’ll be in a position to drop it after another two years. Meanwhile, I’d rather stay here than look for a new place. Next year ought to see a whale of a team here. Look at the material we’ll have: you and Hanson and Thurston and Burns and Tasker—no end of good players. Why, we can start with practically a veteran team! And we’ve laid a good foundation this fall, Harven: we’ve got a system at work. Whoever has the job of coaching next fall will have a cinch!”
“You bet! We’ve got some corking second-string fellows, too, Mr. Haynes: Lowe and Leonard and—and Thompson—”
“And Irmo. He has the making of a fine center. And we’d be pretty well fixed for guards with Beeman and Le Gette. Le Gette played a fine game yesterday. And if it hadn’t been for his field goal we’d have lost. I want you to know, Harven, that I certainly appreciate the work you did with Le Gette. I don’t believe another chap on the squad could have taught him what you did in that short time.”
“He was a mighty good learner,” said Stuart warmly. “You simply couldn’t tire him! Lots of times I’d want to quit and he’d keep me at it. With Le Gette kicking field goals next year we’d ought to be pretty well fixed.”
“Yes, but I’m hoping you’ll share that duty with him,” said the coach.
“Well, I don’t know,” murmured Stuart. “If you don’t come back——”
He stopped suddenly and felt the blood creeping into his cheeks and, to hide his hideous embarrassment, jumped to his feet.
“I must be getting back,” he said. “Neil will think I’m lost or—or something!”
“Must you? Well, I’m glad you dropped in. Do it again before I go, won’t you? I’m sticking around until the last of the week. Oh, by the way,” he continued as they shook hands, “wasn’t there something you wanted to say to me after the season was over?”
Stuart caught the kindly quizzical gleam in the other’s eyes and grinned sheepishly.
“I—I guess I’ve said it,” he muttered.