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Secret Play

<h2>CHAPTER XI “SPY!”</h2> Springdale lies nestled amongst the hills six miles inland from Clearfield, and one may make the journey speedily enough by either steam railroad or trolley line. Lanny and Chester chose the latter route, and after an early dinner on Saturday, climbed into a front seat of one of the big, lumbersome cars and settled themselves for the forty-minute trip. Chester—he was a sturdily-built chap of seventeen with a pleasant countenance and a singularly attractive voice—was supplementing his hasty meal with peanuts. Lanny declined the delicacy and intimated that the quarterback would be a whole lot better off if he didn’t eat such “truck” between meals. Lanny was inclined to be irritable to-day, recognizing which fact, Chester diplomatically confined his entire attention to the contents of his paper bag while the car rumbled over the B Street Bridge after slowly and noisily trundling its way through most of the business portion of the town. By the time it had left the mills behind and had plunged into the country—it sped across fields and through woods with no heed to the highways—Lanny was ready to talk. Perhaps the crisp October breeze had blown his irritability away. At all events, after that they chatted pleasantly enough and watched the long line of shining rails rush toward them at breath-taking speed. Every few minutes the car slowed down at a tiny station and folks got off or on, and the two boys, now being in excellent spirits, viewed and discussed them and whimsically invented histories and careers for them. The big car pulled into Central Square in Springdale right on time and the visitors had nearly an hour in which to see the town and walk out to the High School athletic field. Springdale is less citified than Clearfield, even though it has a slightly larger population. Perhaps the fact that it is on the main line of the railroad and so nearer the city in point of time accounts for its popularity as a residence town. The State Agricultural Experiment Station lies just outside, and Chester, who was an enthusiastic chicken fancier, was all for going out there to see the poultry farm. But there was hardly time for that excursion, and so they contented themselves with wandering about the streets of the business section for half an hour, quenching their thirst at a soda fountain, standing for several minutes in front of the gaudy placards outside a moving-picture theater, and all the time pretending amused contempt for Springdale’s village aspect. Then it behooved them to reach the field and they tore themselves away from the interesting display in a picture-dealer’s window and moved out Maple Boulevard, their feet rustling through the fallen leaves that almost hid the sidewalk. They were soon part of a straggling procession of boys and girls and older folks all headed toward the athletic field. A number of merry-faced youths in striped brown-and-white uniforms rode past, and the throngs on the sidewalks waved their blue pennants with the white S’s and shouted laughing comments after the visitors. Lanny and Chester yielded their quarters and, being early, found places near the center of the field in the comfortable and commodious new grandstand. “This,” said Lanny enviously, “is what we ought to have.” “We will some day,” replied Chester. “It’s a peach of a stand, isn’t it?” “Yes. How many do you suppose it holds? Five hundred?” “Five hundred!” exclaimed Chester. “Nearer a thousand, I’ll bet!” “It’s all very fine being presented with an athletic field,” said Lanny, “but it’s going to keep us poor. There’s taxes to pay on it, and they’re big, too. That’s the trouble with having your field right in town like ours is. Then we need a new fence all around and a new stand. We ought to have two stands, one back of the plate for baseball and one beyond first base for football. The committee said the reason they didn’t want to pay a coach this Fall was so they could fix the field up, but I haven’t seen them doing anything yet. There’s Weston coming on. What sort of a team have they got, Chester?” “I guess it’s not much. They look pretty spry, though. Say, that was some punt, wasn’t it?” The stand was beginning to fill and they had to edge along to make room for a party of boys whose conversation, overheard by the visitors, indicated that they were Springdale High School students. Once Lanny intercepted an inquiring look aimed at him by one of the group and for the first time experienced an uncomfortable realization of his role. After all, when he came to consider it, there was something sort of underhand about what he and Chester were doing, or, at any rate, it seemed so to him at that moment. He glanced at his companion and found Chester staring frowningly at the squad of brown-and-white players who were trotting past in signal practice. Perhaps feeling Lanny’s eyes on him, he turned. “I’m not crazy about this business,” he growled. “It’s a bit too sneaky.” “Nonsense,” replied Lanny in low tones, as anxious to persuade himself as Chester, “we’ve got a perfect right to come here and see these chaps play if we want to, same as anyone else has.” “Just the same,” responded the other stubbornly, “I don’t like it. Next time Dick may send someone else. I don’t like being a spy.” “You’re not,” returned Lanny half-heartedly, “you’re a scout.” “Same thing,” Chester growled. “And for goodness sake don’t say anything to let on, Lanny. Those fellows next to you have been staring and whispering at a great rate. Bet you they suspect!” “Let them!” said Lanny. “We’re not doing anything, I tell you. They do the same thing themselves. Didn’t they send scouts over to watch us last year when we played Corwin or Benton?” “I dare say they did. Just the same——” “If you say that again I’ll chuck you off the stand,” exploded Lanny in sudden irritation. “If you’re so touchy you’d better go home and let me do this.” “If I was half as touchy as you are I’d jump in the river!” retorted Chester peevishly. “If you think I’m going to make notes with those fellows watching you’re mistaken. Bet you every one of them knows who we are!” “Oh, get out! Why should they?” “Why shouldn’t they, you mean. They’ve seen you play, haven’t they? And me, too. Even if they don’t recognize me you needn’t think you can get by with that white thatch of yours!” “Well, what’s the difference? You don’t expect me to dye my hair and wear false whiskers, do you, you idiot?” “No, I don’t, but stop whispering, for goodness sake, and don’t act like a conspirator! We’re giving the snap away as fast as we can talk. Talk out loud.” And, suiting action to word, Chester began to discuss the weather with startling enthusiasm and vociferation, and kept it up until Lanny dug an elbow into his ribs and begged him to “cut it out, for the love of mud!” And that minute the Springdale team trotted on the field and a boy at the foot of the stand led a weak cheer. Evidently Springdale was too sure of the game to display much enthusiasm. Lanny and Chester gave their attention to the blue-stockinged players who had taken possession of the farther end of the field and, divided into two squads, were going through signals and practicing punts and field-goals. “Recognize any of them?” asked Lanny. Chester shook his head doubtfully. “Some of them look familiar, but I don’t remember their names.” “That’s the same quarter they had last year. I think his name is Kelly.” “Yes, I remember him. And the tall end on the further squad. He was on last year’s eleven. That’s a good punt, Lanny; forty-five yards, easy. I wonder who that chap is.” “The little fellow hasn’t made but one goal so far,” said Lanny. “He’s had about five tries. There goes another, from the thirty. They ought to be pretty evenly matched at punting. What was the name of that center they had? Hill? That’s he coming this way; the fellow over there with the new trousers.” “It wasn’t Hill, though; it was—Heath, wasn’t it?” “That’s it, Heath. I’d like to know how many of last year’s fellows they’ve really got.” “The paper said six, didn’t it?” “Yes, but some of those were subs last year. Get on to the referee with the swell sweater! Lavender and yellow! That’s a peach of a combination, what?” The players trotted off and, after the usual preliminaries, the teams faced each other and the game began. From the first Weston, which was a much lighter team, played a wide-open game and strove to outspeed her opponent. The first quarter proved unexpectedly exciting, for Springdale was by no means prepared for the sort of plays Weston introduced, and she was caught napping time and again. But Weston always lacked the final punch necessary to score, and the teams changed places with the honors belonging to the visitors. In the second quarter the Blue met the adversary’s attacks better, and, securing the ball, began a march down the field that ultimately took the pigskin to the ten-yard line. There, however, an attack on center was stopped and a skin-tackle play fared no better, and Kelly, the Springdale quarter, tossed a forward pass to the tall end whom Chester had recognized. But that youth, having made a perfect catch, fumbled the instant he was tackled and one of the brown-stockinged visitors fell on the ball. A long and high punt sent the pigskin to midfield after two downs had failed to advance it, and Springdale, in fourteen plays, craftily mixing line-plunges with wide end-runs and three forward passes, all of which were completed, soon pushed her left half over for a touchdown. No goal resulted and, with the score 6 to 0, the half ended soon after. Lanny looked questioningly at Chester as the blanketed warriors left the field. “A dandy attack and no defense worth speaking of,” was Chester’s verdict. Lanny nodded. “It’s early for a perfect defense,” he replied. “They’ve got team-play, though, all right. They’re two or three weeks ahead of us on that. If we were to meet them next week they’d lick us about twenty to nothing.” “Easy,” agreed Chester. “But we aren’t. And I’ll trust Dick to bring us around in plenty of time.” “You really think he’s doing pretty well, do you?” asked Lanny anxiously. “Dick? I certainly do! Don’t you?” “Y-yes, only sometimes it seems to me that he’s a little too—too cautious—or something. We’re getting along awfully slowly, Chester.” “Slow and sure,” replied the quarterback untroubledly. “These chaps will be in top-shape long before our game, if they don’t watch out. What do you think of that forward-pass formation of theirs?” “I don’t know. It worked well enough, but it doesn’t seem to me that sending three or four men down the field that way to protect the catcher is a good scheme. It shows where the pass is going, in the first place, and gives the other fellow a chance to get there. Seems to me Weston’s scheme, which is about like ours, has it beat. I mean sending three or four men to different parts of the field and so keeping the other chaps guessing.” “It worked pretty well, though,” mused Chester. “Against a lighter team, yes. We could break it up without much trouble, I’ll bet. It stands to reason that if you see a bunch of fellows getting together——” “Suppose, though, Springdale sent another man to another place and threw to him instead?” “Hm; well, that might go once. It would depend altogether on what sort of a defense the other team put up. Of course, if you’re going to let a man go down the field uncovered there’s bound to be trouble.” “Did you notice the lateral pass Weston got off in the first quarter? It would have been a dandy if the runner had got away with the ball!” “Yes, but he didn’t. I don’t believe those laterals are going to be what they’re cracked up to be, Chester. They give the other team a lot of time to size up the situation and meet it. If you could pull them off quick, before the other fellows could guess them, they’d be fine. Dick has the right idea, I guess, when he claims that’s the only way to work them——” “Not so loud!” cautioned Chester. “Those chaps next to you are trying to listen.” Just then one of the chaps in question left his seat and sauntered down the aisle. Chester watched him suspiciously until he was lost in the gathering that filled the space between grandstand and field. “So far I don’t think we’ve learned a great deal,” said Lanny thoughtfully. “That fullback of theirs is a good one and, in fact, their whole backfield works together finely and has a good deal of punch. And Kelly looks to me like a pretty nifty little quarter. But their line hasn’t shown much. The left side is weak. Look at the way Weston got through tackle there half a dozen times.” “They certainly haven’t shown anything startlingly new, unless it’s that forward pass dodge of theirs. They use the same five-men-in-line formation on defense they used last year. I noticed, though, that they pass direct to the runner a good deal.” “There’s nothing new in that,” said Lanny. “Here they come again. I’d like to see Weston get one over on them. I wonder if they’ve got a man who can kick field-goals.” “If they have they ought to have used him last time,” replied the other. “They had a fine chance when they were on Springdale’s ten and couldn’t get through.” “Perhaps they wanted a touchdown.” “Maybe, but Farrell used to say ‘Hit first!’ and it’s a good scheme, Lanny. If Weston had got three points then you don’t know what the effect on Springdale would have been.” “She’d have played harder,” said Lanny. “Yes, but playing harder doesn’t always mean playing better,” replied Chester, with a wise shake of his head. “I tell you, Lanny, there is a whole lot in getting first blood. I’ve seen it win lots and lots of times.” “Look down there,” whispered Lanny suddenly. “See those two fellows looking up? Isn’t the smaller chap the one who went down a while ago?” “Yes,” answered Chester softly. “And he’s told the other fellow about us and he’s recognized us. See them talking it over.” “Well, let them talk,” grunted Lanny. “They’ve got nothing on us.” “No, but I don’t like my job, just the same. There they go. Do you suppose they’re going to look for a cop?” “I dare say. Maybe they’re going to send for the ambulance,” replied Lanny with a grin. “Which way did they go?” “I lost them. No, there they are, and— Say, isn’t that Newman, the coach, they’re talking to?” “Where? Yes, by Jove, it is! He’s looking up here now!” “Put your head down! Don’t let him see that white thatch of yours, Lanny!” “I will not!” declared Lanny defiantly. “I’m not doing anything I’m ashamed of!” “I suppose not,” muttered Chester, “only, just the same, I sort of feel as if I were!” “Buck up!” chuckled Lanny. “Here comes the Smart Aleck who went down to tell. Now watch the excitement when the glad news gets out!” The boy in question pushed his way back to his seat and his companions leaned eagerly toward him. But, although Lanny and Chester frankly listened, they could hear only low whispering and, finally, chuckles. Lanny frowned. “What are they choking about?” he asked. “They evidently think they’ve got a great joke on us.” “Probably think we don’t know they’re on to us. There goes the kick-off.” Lanny, however, was stealing a look toward his neighbors and was puzzled to find them all observing him with amusement. The boy next to him but one nodded impudently as he met Lanny’s gaze. “How’s everything in Clearfield?” he inquired politely. “Fine, thanks,” replied Lanny gravely. Chester turned an anxious countenance. “Came over to see a real football team, I suppose,” continued the Springdale youth with a grin. Lanny nodded. “Yes, and I’m still looking for it,” he answered. “Keep right on looking,” another boy chuckled. “You won’t see much to-day, old top.” “I haven’t so far. You fellows are playing your Scrubs, I see.” “Shut up, Lanny,” whispered Chester. “Yes, we are,” was the reply from the adversary. “We’re giving them a little work so as to get them in shape for Clearfield. No use using the regulars in that game, you know!” “That’s right,” returned Lanny cheerfully. “Put your strongest team in the field. You’ll need it!” “We can beat you with the girl’s basket-ball team,” was the scathing retort. But Lanny, hearkening to Chester’s entreaties, turned away without response, and the neighbors contented themselves for the rest of the game with talking at instead of to them. It was soon made clear to the two scouts why the boys at the other end of the seat were amused. For the rest of that half, Springdale used only the most ordinary, old-fashioned football. It was quite plain that the Springdale coach, either because he feared the two visitors might really learn something of use to them, or because he wanted to have a joke on them, had instructed the team to show nothing. Lanny and Chester exchanged amused glances when, on Weston’s twenty-yard line, with four to go on fourth down, Springdale chose to lose possession of the ball by a hopeless plunge at guard rather than make her distance by a trick play or even try for a field-goal. In the last quarter Springdale was hard pressed to keep her goal line from being crossed, for Weston, using every play in her programme, got as far as the six yards and might have gone over if, in her eagerness to score, she had not fumbled on the threshold. The game ended soon after that, the figures on the board unchanged, and Weston, possibly puzzled by her adversary’s strange choice of plays in the last half, but evidently well pleased at the outcome, trotted off with the airs of a victor, while a small group of supporters at the far end of the stand waved brown-and-white banners and cheered proudly! When Lanny and Chester arose to leave they found that their neighbors in the row were waiting for them to pass out ahead. With a slight frown, Lanny led the way, crowding past the youths, and Chester followed silently. As they passed, the enemy indulged in pointed remarks to each other. “Seen any spies about to-day, Hal?” “I thought I saw a couple of the things.” “Guess they didn’t learn much, eh?” “No, it’s a poor day for spies.” “Too bad to come all that way for nothing!” “Yes, isn’t it? Poor chaps, I’m sorry for them!” Lanny only smiled untroubledly, and Chester, trying to look quite as if he heard nothing, gazed intently at the back of Lanny’s head. But when he was squeezing his way past the last boy in the row a foot went out and Chester, stumbling, had to catch Lanny’s shoulder to keep from falling. Instantly he turned and confronted the grinning face beside him. “Don’t do that,” he said quietly, “or you’ll get hurt.” There was something in Chester’s countenance that silenced the retort on the Springdale youth’s lips, and it was not until Lanny and Chester were in the aisle and on their way down that the fellow’s courage returned. Then, raising his voice, he called: “You wouldn’t hurt anyone, you Clearfield spy!” A jeer from the others accompanied the taunt, but Chester kept straight ahead. He was thoroughly angry inside, but he knew that it would never do to accept that challenge. Chester was no coward, but he realized that it would look rather disgraceful for a member of the Clearfield team to visit Springdale as a scout and then get into a fracas! All the way down the stand, and, indeed, until they were well back into the town, they were uncomfortably conscious of the curious, amused, often unfriendly regard of the Springdale fellows, and more than once the word “Spy!” reached them as, striving to converse unconcernedly, they followed the returning throng toward the town. But eventually they found themselves alone, and Lanny heaved a sigh of relief. “I wouldn’t do that again for a thousand dollars!” he said emphatically. “And I wouldn’t do it for ten thousand,” replied Chester. “The next time Dick wants any dirty work like that done he may do it himself! The worst of it was we couldn’t fight!” “Which,” replied Lanny dryly as they boarded a car, “was lucky for us!” <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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