The Rover Boys Megapack Page 10

  “Per Harry Ackerson, Capt. and Secy.”

  “They certainly mean business,” said Tom, who was in the crowd, listening to the reading of the challenge. “I go in for accepting it.”

  “So do I,” said Larry, who played halfback.

  “And I,” put in Fred, who was on the right end.

  The members of the football team were all at hand, and it did not take long to find out each was in favor of the game, and then the matter was laid before Captain Putnam.

  “Want to play football with Mr. Pornell’s lads, eh?” smiled the captain. “All right, I know of no healthier sport, rightly conducted. You shall play them, and on their grounds if you wish. But, mind you, no neglecting lessons for the sake of practicing between now and Thanksgiving!”

  The pupils promised to neglect nothing, and went off with a hurrah.

  Soon Peleg Snuggers was on his way to the rival academy with the following answer to the challenge:

  “PUTNAM HALL, November 19, 189-

  “Pornell Football Team: We hereby accept your challenge to play a game of football for the championship of the township on Thanksgiving afternoon next at two o’clock. As you have a grandstand we will play on your grounds. In return for the use of half of your stand on this occasion the senior class of our academy will put up a silver cup as a trophy, said trophy to go to the club winning the game, and to belong to that club which shall during matches to be arranged in the future win the cup three times.

  “THE PUTNAM HALL FOOTBALL TEAM,

  “Per Fred Harrison, Secy and Treas.”

  Dick had suggested giving the cup, and all of the senior class “chipped in” willingly, raising ten dollars, with which a very neat trophy was secured through a pupil whose father was a silversmith in New York. I say all the senior class contributed. I must correct this. There was one exception, and that was Dan Baxter.

  “I haven’t got anything for you or your brothers,” growled the bully when Dick spoke of the matter before the class. “Let ‘em furnish their own silver cups if they want ‘em.”

  “All right, Baxter; I guess Sam and Tom will be just as well satisfied if you don’t chip in,” had been Dick’s ready answer. “I only wanted to give everyone a chance to own an equal share in the gift, if it was desired.”

  “Our football team can’t play for a sour apple, Dick Rover. They’ll be whipped out of their boots.”

  “If I was a betting boy, I’d bet you a dollar on the result,” answered Dick coldly.

  “I’ll bet you ten dollars we win!” put in Fred Garrison impulsively.

  “I’ll cover that bet,” sneered Baxter, and drew from his pocket a roll of bills.

  “Gracious, Baxter, where did you get that wad?” questioned several in chorus, for the supply of pocket money among most of the pupils was limited.

  “Never mind—I have it, and that’s enough,” answered Baxter, but he lost no time in putting all of the money but the ten-dollar bill away.

  It was all Fred Garrison could do to scrape up an equal sum, and even at that he had to borrow a dollar from Dick. But he was “game,” and the money went to another pupil, who became stakeholder until the contest should be decided.

  “It’s a shame!” cried Sam, when he heard of the transaction. “To bet against his own school! I’m like Dick—I don’t believe in betting, and yet I am glad Fred took him up. If it is in my power, Baxter shall lose his wager.”

  Thanksgiving was but a week off, so the football team had to work hard to get into proper condition. Moreover, studies must not be neglected, for Captain Putnam was strict, and would have canceled the game had his cadets become unmindful of their school duties. But the team got permission to get up an hour earlier than usual every morning, and this time was spent in the hardest kind of practice with the ball.

  The report that Baxter had bet against his own school spread, and the bully became more unpopular than ever. But this did not daunt him, and soon he had a dozen other bets on, aggregating fifty dollars or more.

  “It’s a mystery to me where he gets so much money,” said Dick to Captain Blossom one day, “Is his father rich?”

  “I can’t tell you,” answered the youthful commander of Company A. “Fact of the matter is nobody knows much about Baxter—not even Mumps his chum. Nobody ever comes to see him, and he seldom ever gets any letters, yet he always has all the spending money he wants.”

  “Perhaps he’s got a gold mine somewhere,” laughed Dick.

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know that there are days when he hasn’t a cent, and the next day he will have just such a roll of bills as you saw him with day before yesterday—and the money doesn’t come to him through the mail either.”

  “Perhaps Captain Putnam deals it out to him.”

  Captain Harry shook his head. “Not much! The captain wouldn’t let him have more than five dollars at a time. I’ve been through the mill, and I know.”

  Here the matter was dropped, but Dick had good cause to remember this conversation later on.

  The distance from Putnam Hall to Pornell Academy was a mile and a half, and it was arranged that the football team, Captain Putnam, George Strong, and several others should ride to the latter place in the Hall carriages while the others walked the distance. Thanksgiving dawned bright and clear. The morning was spent in the Hall chapel, and dinner was served promptly at twelve.

  “Don’t eat too much,” cautioned Sam. “I want every player to be wide awake today.”

  The start was signalized by a grand flourish of tin horns; and away went the two carriages with the horses on a gallop, followed by a large number of the cadets on foot, organized into their regular companies, with Major Bart Conners at the head of the battalion. The boys were in their best uniforms, and certainly presented an imposing appearance as they marched behind the music of their drums and fifes.

  When the grounds at Pornell Academy were reached, they were found to be more than three quarters full, for the proprietor of the place had opened up for the benefit of the public at large, and many had come from Cedarville and the surrounding territory. The grandstand was already comfortably filled, many coming into the part reserved for the Hall folks on tickets of invitation issued by Sam and indorsed by Captain Putnam.

  “Here they come!” yelled the boys of Pornell. “Three cheers for Putnam Hall!”

  The cheers were given with a will; and, getting the football team and the other cadets together, Putnam Hall gave a rousing cheer in return for Pornell Academy.

  Then the football teams disappeared into their respective dressing rooms, and the newly arrived cadets took their places in the grandstand. A timekeeper and referee had already been appointed by Sam and the rival captain, at a meeting at the Hall three days before.

  “My! what a crowd!” exclaimed Tom, as he surveyed the multitude. “I didn’t think we were going to have such an audience as this!”

  “Nor I,” returned Sam. “We must do our level best, fellows!”

  “That’s what!” came from several. “If we get whipped—”

  “Remember what Baxter did—that’s enough to nerve anybody on,” finished Larry Colby.

  “By the way, where is Baxter?”

  “Sneaked out of the ranks,” answered another player. “Nobody wanted to march with him.”

  “Well, I don’t blame them,” concluded Sam.

  “Doctor Pornell now put in an appearance and desired to know if the football team did not wish to march around the oval escorted by his own players.

  “Certainly!” cried Sam. “And to show this is a purely friendly match, let us march side by side,” he went on, and this was also arranged. The Putnam Hall drum-and-fife corps led the march, and each player strode forth with a rival at his side. The march brought forth a wild round of applause and a veritable shrieking of tin horns and cracking of wooden clapper
s.

  After the march each team was allowed quarter of an hour for practicing. The Pornellites came out first and tumbled over the leather in lively fashion. The Putnamites soon followed.

  “They may be all right, but they haven’t the weight,” said one of the rivals. And this appeared true, for each Pornellite, man for man, was at least five pounds heavier than his opponent. But weight does not always count for everything, even in a football match.

  “Time for practice is up!” came presently, and the two teams drew away from the gridiron. Then there was a toss-up for goals, and Pornell won and took the east end, that which was most favored by the slight breeze that was blowing.

  And then the great game began.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE GREAT FOOTBALL GAME

  The halves were to be of twenty minutes each, so no time was lost in putting the leather into the field. It was Putnam’s kick-off, and on the instant the ball went sailing into the air, to land well into Pornell’s territory. Then came a grand rush, and before the words can be put down twenty-two lads were at it nip-and-tuck to get possession of the sphere.

  “It’s Pornell’s ball!”

  “Say, but ain’t this going to be a snappy game!”

  “Our fellows have the ball!”

  “There she goes up five yards into Putnam ground!”

  “Carry that ball back!” yelled Dick excitedly. “Don’t let them gain an inch!”

  “Whoop her up for Pornell!”

  And then came a wild blare of tin horns and a waving of the academy colors, brown and white. The waving of the Hall colors, an American flag set in a border of green, came also, with an equal din from horns and wooden clappers.

  “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”

  So, the game went on for ten minutes, and the Pornellites had gained exactly twenty-five yards—no more.

  “Looks like a stand-off,” said several. “Say, maybe those young soldiers aren’t game!”

  “That’s what—but we’ll wax ‘em!” was the answer, and then of a sudden came another yell, for Pornell had the ball and was pushing it straight ahead for Putnam’s goal.

  “Ten yards!”

  “Five yards more!”

  “Fifteen yards more!”

  “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

  Toot! toot-a-root-toot! Clack-clack-clack, bang!

  The Pornellites were now wild, but they stared blankly as they saw plucky Tom Rover snatch the leather up and run back twenty yards with it.

  “He’s going right through with it!”

  “There goes Hardy after him!”

  “Down they go!”

  “Lushear has the ball! It’s going back!”

  “Run, Lushear, run! A dollar if you make it!”

  “They can’t catch him! Oh, pshaw! Down he goes!”

  “But the ball is safe! A touchdown! Hurrah!”

  The cry was correct. Just three minutes before the end of the first half the Pornell team scored a touchdown. Instantly preparations were made to kick a goal if possible. But the kick was a failure, and the two sides retired for the half with the score standing 4 to 0 in Pornell Academy’s favor.

  Glumly the Hall boys retired to their dressing room, there to be rubbed down by their chums. “It’s too bad, it certainly is,” came from a dozen sympathizers.

  “But it can’t be helped. Don’t give up yet.”

  “They are too heavy for us in mass play,” said Sam. “We must try more running away with the leather.” And so it was agreed.

  Soon the gong rang, and they re-entered the field.

  “Now, Putnam Hall, do your best! We are looking at you!”

  “They can’t play a little bit,” sneered Dan Baxter. “I’m ashamed of them,” and he smiled to himself, thinking the fifty dollars put up on the game was already as good as won.

  Sam had given his team some explicit instructions, and these were now being followed. As soon as the ball came into Putnam’s possession there was a run on their part that carried the sphere twenty yards into their opponents territory.

  “Go in and win, Putnam!”

  “That’s the way to do it!”

  “Take it from them, Pornell! Go for it! Take it!”

  And Pornell did take it, and half the distance gained was lost.

  Both teams were now warmed up, and for fully five minutes the ball flew back and forth, remaining at the end of that time almost in the center of the gridiron.

  Then Pornell tried some heavy mass play, but lost the leather on a fumble, and it came into Tom Rover’s possession.

  Away flew Tom, as though a legion of demons were after him, straight for Pornell’s goal. The crowd began to shout itself hoarse.

  “See Tom Rover! Go it, Tom, old boy, go it!”

  “He can’t carry it through! See, Conkey and Largren are after him!”

  “There he goes down! Conkey has the leather!”

  This was true, but ere Conkey could start to run Fred Garrison brought him to earth and the ball rolled out into the field.

  Sam and a Pornell halfback made a rush for it.

  “My ball!” yelled the Pornellite, who was twenty pounds heavier than the little captain.

  “Not today!” retorted Sam, and snatched it from under his very feet. Before the Pornellite could recover from his astonishment, Sam was pelting up the field with all the nimbleness of his agile legs.

  “Hurrah for Sam Rover!”

  “Great Caesar! see him leg it! They can’t catch him!”

  “There he goes over the line!”

  “A touchdown! The game is a tie!”

  “Quick, fellows!” cried Sam. “Only five more minutes, remember. Who is to kick?”

  It was a player named Larcom. But Larcom was not equal to it, for the wind was rising and blowing in several directions at once.

  “No goal! The game is a tie!”

  “Put the ball out again!”

  “Only four minutes to play!”

  Again the football went forth, and again the crowd pounced upon it. The Pornellites were now desperate and massed themselves as never before. They pushed forward ten yards—fifteen—twenty—almost thirty. It looked as if they would score another touchdown, if not kick a goal. But now Sam Rover sent a certain sign to his players. It was taking a risk, but it was worth trying.

  The ball came over to the right of the field and spun like lightning to the left. Fred caught it up, ran ten yards, and passed it to Larry Colby, who turned it over to Tom. Away it went to Sam, and then to Frank. The Pornellites were bewildered. Where was the ball?

  “Putnam has it!”

  “There she goes! Hurrah for Frank Harrington. Another touchdown!”

  It was true. Putnam Hall had scored another touchdown. A tremendous yelling and cheering broke out, in the midst of which the gong sounded. The game was over, and our boys had won the victory.

  In a twinkle the gridiron was covered with swarming students, and Sam and his fellow players were hoisted up on willing shoulders, to be trotted around the oval. “Hurrah for Pornell!” they shouted. “Hurrah for Putnam!” came back the cry. It had been a bitter but friendly contest, and victors and vanquished shook hands over and over again.

  Of course many students of Pornell were bitterly disappointed, but no one felt so sour over the whole afternoon’s doing as did Dan Baxter. In all he had lost over fifty dollars, and now neither his fellow students nor the boys of Pornell Academy wanted anything to do with him. “I haven’t any use for a chap who bets against his own crowd,” was the comment of one academy student, and he voiced the sentiment of all. Only Mumps stuck to his chum, and the two soon left the grounds together.

  By four o’clock the cadets were on their way back to Putnam Hall, the carriages moving behind the two companies of young soldiers, who sang and shoute
d themselves hoarse as they moved along. Even Captain Putnam entered into the spirit of the affair. “Brings me back to the days when I was a cadet myself,” he said to George Strong.

  Directly after supper a huge bonfire was lit on the playground, and the students were allowed to have their own fun until eleven o’clock. The football team was, of course, the center of attraction, and Sam and Tom came in for their full share of honors.

  While the festivities of this Thanksgiving Eve were at their height, a sudden thought struck Dick. Captain Putnam had given the cadets permission to go beyond bounds if any cared to do so, and he hurried away, his intention being to call upon Dora Stanhope and see how she was faring. Although Dick would not admit it, he thought a great deal of Dora, and he was sorry that she was in danger of having the detestable Josiah Crabtree for a stepfather.

  It was a clear, moonlight night, and he hurried off in the best of spirits, taking a short cut by way of a road through the woods. As he walked along he remembered how Tom had met in this vicinity the thief who had stolen the watch.

  “I wonder if I’ll meet him,” he thought, but no tramp put in an appearance; indeed, he did not see a soul until the Stanhope homestead was reached.

  A light was burning brightly in the sitting room, and the curtains were drawn down to within six inches of the bottom of the windows. Dick was about to ascend the porch, when he changed his mind and walked softly to one of the windows.

  “If they have a lot of company I won’t disturb them on a holiday like this,” he thought, and peeped under one of the curtains.

  The sight that met his gaze filled him with astonishment and indignation. Only two persons were present, Dora and Josiah Crabtree. Crabtree had the girl by the left wrist, and had one hand raised as if to strike his prisoner.

  CHAPTER XVII

  DICK AT THE STANHOPE COTTAGE

  “The villain!”

  Such were the words which sprang involuntarily to Dick’s lips as he gazed at the scene before him. He was filled with bitter indignation and could hardly resist the temptation to break in the window and leap to Dora’s assistance.

  As he paused, he saw Dora push Crabtree back and leap to the opposite side of the center table.