CHAPTER XVII
Winning His Spurs
Like a flash Garry Grayson threw off his blanket and sped out into the field. His heart was beating like a triphammer. He was really playing on the first team! He was playing in the place of Dittler, a star! Could he really fill the position? Or would he fall down on the job?
A shout of encouragement went up from the Lenox rooters as he took his place.
"Grayson! Grayson! Go to it! Eat 'em up! Turn 'em inside out! Lenox forever!"
Two voices were lacking in this chorus. Sandy Podder and Lent Stewart fumed and growled when they saw who had been chosen as a substitute.
"That four-flusher!" snapped Sandy. "Now the game's gone for fair."
"Garwin must be off his nut," declared Stewart. "Picking out a freshman when he's got lots of better material."
For the second down Knapp was chosen to carry the ball. But the Wimbledon line, more certain of victory than ever now that such a formidable enemy as Dittler had been removed, threw Benny back for a loss of two yards.
On the next snapback Wynn passed the ball to Garry, and, lowering his head, the recruit from the scrubs went through like a catapult. He was fresh while his adversaries were panting, and he hit the line with such force that he made seven yards before he was downed.
With fourth down and only one yard to make for the distance, Wynn again gave the ball to Garry, and this time he made four yards with almost the whole Wimbledon team piled up on him.
Cheers went up from the Lenox rooters and the cowbells of the Wimbledon men remained silent.
"Fool's luck!" growled Sandy.
"The Wimbledon fellows thought so little of him that they didn't try hard enough to stop him," returned Lent. "He'll get his the next time he tries it."
Again the teams lined up for the scrimmage. Minter made two yards between right guard and tackle. Knapp went through for one more. The Wimbledon line had braced and Wynn signaled for a forward pass.
The ball was snapped back to him and he made the throw to Garry, who was running at full speed toward the right of the line. The pass was beautifully timed and Garry gathered it in on the run and, with Minter and Knapp as his interference, ran like a deer down the field.
Red-headed Beebe made a rush for him, but Garry straight-armed him and ran on. Minter blocked Johnston neatly just as he was on the point of diving for the runner.
On, on, Garry went, squirming, dodging, twisting, slipping through the ranks of his enemies like a ghost. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Beebe, who was at his left, launch himself at him. At the same moment Garry hurled himself through the air, and, evading Beebe's outstretched arms, came down with a thump just across the line for a touchdown.
A thunder of yells from the Lenox rooters swept across the field as Garry, flushed and panting, rose to his feet.
Minter kicked the goal, and the score was 20 to 17 in favor of the visitors.
A field goal by Lenox would tie the score. A touchdown would win, provided they kept Wimbledon from increasing its tally.
But the time was now perilously short.
Both teams were wound up to the highest fighting pitch. Every inch that was gained had to be fought for. Again and again attempts to buck the line by either team proved unavailing, and the ball changed hands repeatedly.
With only three minutes left for play, Johnston fumbled the ball and Garry pounced on it and ran for a gain of twenty-three yards, bringing the ball within eight yards of the Wimbledon goal.
But with victory almost in sight and the Lenox fans shouting like mad, the referee ordered the ball brought back and in addition penalized the Lenox team. One of their team had been off-side, and the run went for nothing—even less than nothing.
Lenox's case was almost desperate then, but still the team fought on. With but one minute left for play, Wynn tried for a goal from the Wimbledon thirty-five yard line.
The ball soared through the air like a bird, and for one breathless minute it seemed as though it were going over the bar. But it struck the right goal post and bounded back in the field where Beebe fell upon it, and before it could again be put in play the referee's whistle blew and the game was over.
Wimbledon had conquered by a score of 20 to 17!
The Lenox boys were game, and lined up and gave three cheers for the victors. Wimbledon, who knew that they had been in a fight, responded with three more cheers, and then the teams retired to their respective quarters.
Sandy Podder was jubilant, though he did not dare show it.
"Gosh, I would have been sore if that kid had made another touchdown!" he whispered to Lent.
"Y-e-e-s," responded Lent dubiously. "But it would have won for Lenox."
"Lenox be hanged!" replied Sandy, "I'd rather she'd lose than have Grayson win it for her."
Garry's chums crowded around him, patting him, thumping him until he was sore.
"Gee, but you were wonderful, Garry!" exclaimed Ted.
"Those runs of yours were peaches," put in Rooster.
"If that game had only lasted ten minutes longer!" groaned Nick.
Others now came forward to congratulate the scrub player.
"You did dandy work, Grayson," was Ralph Wynn's tribute.
"Well played, my boy," Coach Garwin contented himself with saying, at the same time placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I made no mistake in sending you in."
"But we lost the game," mourned Garry, as, later on, he was walking home with his chums. "The first game of the league season, too! I was hoping we'd get the jump on them."
"It was too bad," agreed Bill. "But if Lenox was beaten she was not disgraced. The boys played great football in the last half."
"There'll be a different story to tell next time," predicted Rooster.
"Too bad Dittler was hurt though," said Tom Allison. "He's one of the best men on the team."
"As it happened, though, he wasn't missed," declared Pete Maddern. "Garry more than made up for him."
"That's because I was fresh while he was tired," protested Garry. "He can run rings all around me."
"You're the only fellow in Lenox that thinks so then," put in the loyal Ted.
The coach had a heart to heart talk with the members of the team the next school-day afternoon. He went over the game in detail, pointing out a mistake here, giving full credit for a good play there, and making the boys wonder how on earth he had managed to see so many things with those sleepy eyes of his.
"On the whole you played a fair game of ball," he summed up. "But no game is really good unless it's good enough to win. Don't kid yourselves into thinking that the other fellows had the breaks of the game. That's the excuse of faint hearts. You had as many breaks as they did. They won the game on its merits. That's the way I want you to win the next one. And every one of you fellows has got to work like the mischief if you want to hold your jobs."
Garry was not present at this gathering, and for a sufficient reason.
Trompet Shrugg had been in an execrable humor that day. He was usually grumpy, but now he was ferocious. For some reason, which the boys could not fathom, he had apparently thrown discretion to the winds. He distributed stings and sarcasms with a liberal hand—or rather, tongue.
"The old boy's as full of poison as a rattlesnake," whispered Ted to Garry.
"And seems as if he was in a hurry to get rid of it all at once," replied Garry.
The teacher caught the motion of Garry's lips.
"Talking again in class, Grayson?" he snapped. "You'll stay and write a composition of fifteen hundred words this afternoon."
"Stung!" Garry muttered forlornly to himself.
So it was that he rejoined his chums only as they were coming from the gymnasium after the talk by Mr. Garwin.
"So the old crab got you, did he?" said Bill consolingly, as he threw his arm around Garry's shoulder. "But don't care, old-timer. It's the last time."
"No such luck," returned Garry moodily. "He'll ride me till the end of the term."
"I said it was the last time," repeated Bill.
Something in his voice made Garry look at him quickly.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Trompet Shrugg leaves to-morrow," replied Bill.