In September Joe was back again at Holman’s, three months older, nearly an inch taller than he had been the preceding fall and a good eight pounds heavier than when he had left school in June. Some of those eight pounds, he knew, would come off when he began running the bases in fall practice, but he earnestly hoped that most of them would stay with him. As Hal was no longer there, and, since he was now a senior, he was privileged to room in the senior dormitory. He had applied for and been assigned one of the front studies in Levering Hall. But in July his plans had been changed. A wierdly scrawled letter from Gus Billings, written in a Maine camp, had reached him toward the last of that month. Gus, himself now without a roommate, proposed that Joe share Number 10 Puffer. “Maybe it isn’t as fussy as Levering,” wrote Gus, “but it’s a good old dive and I’d rather stay there next year than change, and you’d like it, I’ll bet, if you tried it.” So Joe joined forces with the big, good-natured football captain, taking over Babe Linder’s half of[224] the quarters and becoming heir to one frayed bath towel, a half-filled bottle of witch-hazel and the remains of what had once been a blue gymnasium shirt, these articles being discovered in various out-of-the-way corners. Joe missed Hal Norwin a good deal for the first few days of the new term, but after that there was scarcely time to miss any one. Fall baseball practice began on the second day and Joe was busy. He and Gus got on beautifully right from the start. Any fellow, though, could get on with Gus, so that was no great credit to Joe. Gus was even busier than Joe, and, as football leader, was facing far more responsibility. Until well into October Joe knew but little of the football situation. Gus spoke of it frequently enough, but Joe’s attention was generally perfunctory. Then, one evening Gus sprang a surprise.
“Say, how much longer are you going to waste your time with that gang of morons?” he asked. “Moron” was a new word with Gus, and he loved it. Joe simulated perplexity.
“Morons, Gus? Why, I’m not on the eleven!”
“No, but you ought to be,” growled Gus. “Look here, Joseph, we were talking about you this afternoon, Rusty and I, and we decided you’d have to come out.”
“Play football? Not on your life! Listen, Gus,[225] I’ve got all the trouble I want right now. You and Rusty want to forget it!”
“Can’t be done. We need you. We’re short of men, as you know, and—”
“I didn’t know it,” exclaimed Joe suspiciously.
“Well, you would have if you’d heard what I’ve been telling you every day for three weeks! We’ve got a punk lot of backfield stuff, and we need more. We—”
“Thanks,” laughed Joe.
“We need more men, I mean. You’ve played two years already, Joe, and you know a lot more than some of those new morons that are trying for jobs. You’d be a lot of good out there if you’d come. How about it?”
“But I can’t, Gus! Who’s going to look after the baseball gang? There’s a good fortnight of practice ahead yet. Of course, after that, if you still insist, I’ll be glad to join your crowd of roughnecks. Just the same, I don’t see what use I can be. You know mighty well I’m no football player. I proved that last year, and—”
“How come? Look at what you did in the Mills game. Made every score yourself—”
“Shut up! I’m a dub at football, and every one knows it. What are you and Rusty trying to do, anyway? String me?”
“Not a bit of it, Joe, honest. Listen. Rusty[226] says you’d probably get a place this year if you tried hard. After all, experience is what counts, and you’ve had two years of it. And you’re a mighty clever guy when it comes to running, Joe. You’re fast and you can dodge like a rabbit.”
“Yes, maybe. And I can get the signals twisted and I can score as well for the other fellow as for us! I’m a plain nitwit at football, Gus, old darling, and you ought to know it. So had Rusty. Besides—” and Joe grinned—“what would I want to play any more for? I’ve got my letter, haven’t I?”
“Letter?” said Gus. “You’ve got three of ’em; baseball, football and hockey. If it comes to that, what do you want to play any more baseball for?”
“Oh, that’s different. I’m captain, you see.”
“Sure. And I’m football captain. So you ought to play football.”
The logic wasn’t quite clear to Joe, but he didn’t challenge it. He only shook his head again. “Anything to oblige you, Gus, but my duty is with the baseball crowd just now.”
“What’s the matter with letting Prince attend to ’em? What’s fall practice amount to, anyway? Any one can stand around and see that those guys get enough work. The job doesn’t need you. Besides, you could look ’em over now and then, couldn’t you?”
“But, my dear, good Gustavus,” protested Joe,[227] “what’s the big idea? You’ve got Dave Hearn and Johnny Sawyer for half-backs, and maybe six or eight others, haven’t you? Why pick on me?”
“Sure, we’ve got Dave and Johnny and a fellow named Leary, a new guy, but that’s all we have got. The rest are a total loss. You know mighty well three half-backs aren’t enough to carry a team through a whole season. Johnny’s a fine plunger, a rattling guy for the heavy and rough business, but he’s as slow as cold cream when it comes to running. Dave’s good; he’s fine; but we need a couple others. You’re one of ’em. When do you start?”
Joe laughed impatiently. “I don’t start, you old idiot. I’ve told you I can’t.”
“Bet you you do,” replied Gus, untroubledly.
“Well, I’ll bet I don’t! At any rate, not until fall baseball’s through.” There was a moment’s silence during which Joe found his place in the book he had been studying. Then he added: “I’m sorry, Gus, of course, but you see how it is.”
“I thought you liked football,” said Gus. “You were crazy about it last fall.”
“I do like it. I’m crazy about it yet, I guess, even if I’ve proved to myself that I’m no player, but—”
“And now, just when you’re practically certain of making the team, you quit!”
“Practically certain of—say, are you crazy?”
“Well, aren’t you? You’re captain of the baseball[228] team, aren’t you? Well, you ought to know what that means. If I went out for baseball next spring don’t you think I’d find a place, even if I was fairly punk? Sure, I would. Just because I’m football captain. Well, it works the other way, too, doesn’t it? Any coach will stretch a point to find a place for a fellow who’s captain in another sport. Rusty as good as said this afternoon that you’d get placed if you came out. Of course, that doesn’t mean that you’d play all the time, but you’d get a good show and you’d be sure of playing against Munson for a while anyway.”
“I call that a pretty sick piece of business,” replied Joe disgustedly. “And if you think it works always, why, you just try for the nine next spring! You’ll have a fat chance of making it if you can’t play real baseball, Gus!”
“Maybe,” chuckled Gus, “but if you left it to the coach he’d look after me all right!”
“Well, I don’t want a place on the football team that I don’t earn. And you can tell Rusty so, too. I’m not coming out, Gus, but if I did I wouldn’t take any favors like that. That’s—that’s crazy!”
“Well, don’t get excited,” said Gus soothingly. “We’ll let you earn your place, Joe.”
“You bet you will—when you get the chance!”
Joe resolutely cupped his chin in his palms and[229] fixed his eyes on the book. Gus smiled tolerantly, sighed and drew his own work toward him.
Two days later Joe reported for football.
There didn’t seem to be anything else to do. The coach talked to three or four of the leading members of the nine and convinced them that Captain Kenton was needed on the gridiron. Then he talked to Joe. Rusty was a forceful talker, even if his vocabulary wasn’t large, and at the end of half an hour he had Joe teetering. And then when the latter, having exhausted all the objections he could think of, fell back on Charlie Prince and others of the last year crowd for support they deserted him utterly. Charlie expressed amazement that Joe should even hesitate. He said it was a question of patriotism, a call to the colors, and a lot more, and Joe surrendered. Charlie took over the running of the baseball team and Joe, delighted as soon as he was once convinced, donned canvas again.
So far Holman’s had journeyed a rough path. She had played four games and won two of them. She had had her big moments, when it had seemed to coach and players and spectators that the Light ............