"Straight from the kick-off—a goal!"
"Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" came the delighted chorus of congratulations from Cuthbertians in all parts of the field.
But, until the ball is seen resting in the back of the net, it is as unwise to count a goal as it is to reckon chickens still in the shell. There was a youth behind the Foxenby posts with a muddy mark on the side of his face, and he at least knew no goal had been scored.
The first shot of the match had flashed by the upright—on the wrong side of it for St. Cuthbert's, on the right side of it for Foxenby, whose sigh of heart-felt relief was audible when their rivals' untimely cheers had died down.
"A narrow squeak2, old man!" said Dick Forge, the captain of the Foxenby team, to Broome, the inside-left, selected from Holbeck's House.
"Rather!" answered Broome. "It quite turned my heart over. Their centre's got his shooting-boots on this afternoon."
"Helped by the wind, of course. It's buzzing across from goal to goal. Feel the pressure of it! Like running up against a house-side."
"We'll never get going against it, Captain. They'll be a dozen goals up at half-time."
"Fudge!" cried the captain. "They've got Lebberston and Lyon—grand old Lyon—to beat first, and Ennis after that. Throw your chest out, Broome, old man, and smile!"
Dick's laughing face was a tonic3 to the faint-hearted ones always. However dark the picture seemed to be, he had the happy knack4 of turning it to the light so that his chums could see something cheery in it.
To-day they had much need of his enthusiasm, too. By calling "heads" as the referee5 span a coin in the air, when it would have been much nicer had he said "tails ", he had passed the luck of the toss to the rival captain, who thankfully grabbed the chance of placing a spanking6 sea-breeze at the back of his team.
Hard lines indeed, you Foxenby fellows, to lose the toss in a wind like this, and on such a very important day. For you have worked your way through to the final tie of the County Schools' Cup against teams of stronger build, only to meet, in the last match, eleven sturdy youths who outweigh7 you almost man for man.
Forge and Lyon alone can be said to be up to the average bulk of your opponents. Ennis, your trusty goalkeeper, is certainly tall, but see how thin he looks! Almost like a third goalpost, you might say. Your forwards are fleet-footed to a man, and your halves are like terriers, ever worrying the foe8.
But you can't get away from the fact that weight plays a big part in footer, and when a mass of bone and brawn9 has half a gale10 behind it to help it whenever it charges you, why, phew! you need all the pluck you can muster11 to pick yourselves up and start in afresh!
"St. Cuthbert's are a dandy side this season," remarked a young Cuthbertian behind the Foxenby goal. "Scored twenty-three times in the Cup-ties up to date, and never once had a goal notched12 against them."
"Ah, well, they'll blot13 their copy-books this afternoon, if never before," retorted Robin14 Arkness, a Foxenby Junior, who had gathered round him a little cluster of select pals15, and was in a mood to blow his own side's trumpet16.
"Who's going to score against them, anyhow?" asked the perky Cuthbertian youngster.
"Forge will, Broome will, perhaps even old Lyon will, from full-back, given half a chance," declared the optimistic Robin.
"Pooh! They can't even cross the half-way line," snorted the champion of St. Cuthbert's, contemptuously. "See how we're peppering your goalie all the time. Play up, Saints! Bang 'em in, boys! Oo—ooo, a goal—no, hang it, only a corner! Allow for the wind, Monty—allow for the wind!"
"You mean 'allow for the gas', don't you, kid?" asked Robin. "You're a tip-topper at scoring goals with your tongue."
Nevertheless the cocksure young Cuthbertian had every reason for his confidence. Already there were many ominous17 smudges of mud on the newly-whitewashed goalposts and crossbar, and a series of finely-placed corner-kicks had only been hustled18 away by what seemed to be desperate scrimmages of the Rugby order, with the luck on Foxenby's side.
The impartial19 crowd of Walsbridge townspeople, on whose ground the final tie was being played, had read wonderful accounts of the Cuthbertians' rock-like defence—it delighted them to see that these hefty youths knew also the straight route to an opponent's goal. Therefore, they began by wishing Ennis, the goalkeeper of the "Foxes", good luck, and plenty of hard work!
They flocked behind his goal, cheering him again and again as he flung himself backwards20 and forwards to fist away corking21 shots, some of which he probably knew very little about, though it just happened that his long body was always in the way. The better the goal-keeper, the more good fortune he enjoys as a rule. Forwards seem somehow magnetized into shooting where he is.
"How about that hatful of goals your team were going to score?" Robin Arkness wanted to know, after twenty minutes of this sort of thing. "Rather overlooked the fact that our side had a goalkeeper, didn't you, Cuthbert kid?"
"He kept that last one out by a sheer fluke," grumbled22 the young Cuthbertian. "See, there he goes again, bobbing the ball away with his eyes shut."
"How unkind of him!" said Robin, in mock indignation. "Ennis, you're a cad, you know, not letting the nice little Saints add to their twenty-three goals. Stand aside, you naughty man, while they drive holes through the net!"
But older heads than Robin's were being shaken over the sore straits in which Foxenby found themselves so early in the game. Luke Harwood, the prefect of Holbeck's House, and editor of the school magazine, seemed so concerned about it that he voiced his fears to Roger Cayton, prefect of Rooke's House, whose close personal friendship with the captain of the team made him doubly anxious about the way things were going.
"Ennis is marvellous," said Luke, "but one-man shows don't win football matches. Our halves and forwards can't even raise a gallop23."
"That's no surprise, seeing that you and I have to hold our caps on in the breeze."
"Granted, Cayton. Still, I wouldn't leave all the donkey-work to Ennis and Lyon if I were captain. I'd fall back and help."
"If you were captain, yes. But Forge has different ideas. Let's give him credit for knowing more about football than a spectator can."
There was a sting in this comment, which Luke Harwood did not fail to observe. As editor of the Foxonian he was unapproachably the school's best pupil, and so obviously the Head's favourite boy that he was known throughout both houses as "Old Wykeham's Pet Fox". But as a footballer he was "only middling", and to-day the selection committee had quietly passed him over. The pill was a bitter one, and Roger's comment made it still harder to swallow, but all he did was to whistle softly and smile.
"I'd like to know the name of the artist who decked Fluffy24 Jim, the village idiot, in those stripes of coloured paper," continued Roger Cayton. "Club colours, of course, blue and white stripes. Still, football enthusiasm may be carried too far, and such tomfoolery makes me sick. What goats the St. Cuthbert's fellows will think us!"
"Pray don't take our little joke too seriously, Cayton," said Luke, with a pleasant laugh. "Where's the big league club that doesn't cart its mascot25 around with it on cup days? Fluffy Jim may bring us luck and some second-half goals."
"Oh, yes, to be sure," snapped Roger. "Particularly as St. Cuthbert's have come through to the final with a clean goal-sheet. They're the sort of chaps who would be scared out of their form by a guy in coloured paper, no doubt."
"Funny, isn't it, how the best-laid schemes 'gang aft agley'?" he commented. "Some of us thought that the sight of a mascot in gala garb27 would serve to keep the footballing Foxes in good-humour throughout the game."
"It's cheap and nasty," said Roger Cayton, not without pluck, considering that Luke Harwood could have made a broken reed of him in physical combat. "Weakness of intellect is a sorry enough thing in itself. A coloured advertisement of it is worse."
Composed in manner always, seldom without an engaging smile, Harwood did not let this half-challenge pass unnoticed. There was a gleam in his eyes which even short-sighted Roger saw.
Between these two quick-witted boys existed an unspoken feud28, founded on Harwood's refusal to print in the Foxonian the contributions which Roger persisted in sending. Doubtless Harwood felt that there was scarcely room in the school magazine for two such literary stars as he and Roger to shine at the same time.
"Well," said Harwood, calmly, "sorry if my cronies and I have given offence. Our consolation29 must be that Fluffy Jim is having the happiest day of his life. And you fellows may yet come to hail him as a luck-bringer."
"Superstitious30 piffle, Harwood," Roger grunted32, He and Luke then drifted casually33, apart. Neither desired to spoil a good football match by bearing each other company any longer. Oil and vinegar, these two!
"I have a rotten grain of suspicion in my nature, doubtless," thought Roger. "Still, Forge is captain of the football team and captain of the school—Luke Harwood would like to be both, and is neither. He knows Dick is strung on wires, and how small a thing upsets him on big occasions. This fool idea, then, of dressing34 the village idiot like a circus clown—is there method in his madness? Is there a secret hope that it will put Dick off his game?"
Left to himself, the half-witted youth known as "Fluffy Jim" was as quiet as an old sheep. Now, inspired by someone behind the goal, he used his booming voice to shout out repeatedly, in the dialect of the district:
"Coom back an' keep 'em oot—coom back, coom back, afo?r they sco?ar!"
Others—and some who should have known better—took up the cry; but Fluffy Jim's voice rose above the rest, just as his paper costume was the most conspicuous35 thing on the field.
"Mascot, indeed!" thought Dick Forge bitterly. "His ridiculous rig-out gets on my nerves, and now his voice is doing ditto. Some kind friend in Holbeck's House is pulling the strings36, I suspect. Bother it, how cold and irritable37 this standing38 about makes me feel!"
As if to rub it in, his colleagues in the forward line began imploring39 him to strengthen the defence. In imagination they saw Ennis beaten by every fresh shot which the determined40 St. Cuthbert's team fired at the goal, and it certainly seemed impossible that the tall, thin youth, who had already done wonders, could hold the fort much longer. But Dick Forge refused to be "rattled41".
"Don't get the wind up, chaps," he urged. "If I'm injured and carried off the field, you can pack the goal then. While I'm captain, you won't."
"But they've worn our backs to fiddle-strings—it's inhuman42 not to help the poor beggars out," protested Broome.
"Do you want Cuthbert's to score, Forge?" continued Broome.
It was an ungenerous speech, of which he was heartily43 ashamed a moment later. The captain winced44 as he replied:
"You're as bad as the rest, Broome. This is football—a game—a match—British sport. Backs defend goals—forwards shoot them. Yes, I want St. Cuthbert's to score—if they can!"
His sympathy for the defence in their gruelling was acute, but he shammed45 indifference46 to it. Let the Cup be lost or won, none should say afterwards that the Foxes saved their goal by playing one goalkeeper and ten backs. Finer to be a dozen goals behind at half-time than that!
"Good old Dick!" shouted Roger from the touch-line. "Stick to your game, old man!"
Dick turned a grateful face in the direction from which the voice came, and then ran back anxiously as a great yell of "Penalty, penalty!" came from the St. Cuthbert's players and spectators alike.
"What's happened, Clowes?" he said to the centre-half.
"They say that Lyon handled in the penalty-area," answered Clowes. "Hear them bawling47 at the referee! Hope to goodness he turns them down."
Pushing his way through the crowd of excited players, the flushed referee ran to consult one of his linesmen, who shook his head at once.
"A pure accident, 'ref.'," he declared.
"Exactly what I thought myself, but St. Cuthbert's were positive that he handled purposely."
St. Cuthbert's were very sore about it, too, when the referee bounced the ball, instead of awarding the penalty-kick they wanted so. How very much easier it would have been to beat the lanky48 Ennis with an uninterrupted shot, than when Lyon was circling round him like an eagle defending its nest!
Lyon was too bad—Lyon had handled purposely, and he ought to have owned up to it, said the mortified49 Cuthbertians.
But Lyon the Silent set his teeth and said nothing. It still wanted ten minutes of half-time, and for that trying period he meant to save his breath.
The crowd swayed backwards and forwards behind Ennis's goal. They couldn't keep still, and in their excitement kicked one another without noticing it.
Every player on the St. Cuthbert's side, save only the goalkeeper, became a sharpshooter. Each "potted" Ennis from every angle, allowing him no rest. The cross-bar rattled and creaked like the swinging sign-board of a tavern50, and corner-kicks seemed almost as plentiful51 as roadside blackberries. But between the posts that aggravating52 ball simply would not go.
"It's positively54 sickening," said the young Cuthbertian, working his shoulders about in sheer agony of suspense55. "Your chaps have had chunks56 of luck thrown at 'em. We ought to have been sixteen goals up by now."
"And still stick at the old twenty-three," was Robin's gibe57. "Poor old Saints, such sinners at shooting! Hey, hooray! Forge is on the ball—Forge is tivying off to the other end! Oh, bother! The wind's beaten him—the ball's in touch. Never mind—we're across the half-way line. All together, you Foxes—only a minute more!"
"Fibber!" shouted the Junior Cuthbertian. "It's two minutes off half-time!"
"Blow the dust out of your half-crown watch and open your ears for the referee's whistle, Cuthy. He's got it to his lips now. He's going to blow. He has blown. Half-time! Bravo, you jolly Foxes!"
"Good old Lyon; played, old Ennis!" shouted the Foxenby section of the crowd.
The wild and whirling first-half was indeed over. "Six—one" might easily have been the score; "nil—nil" it actually was, with the breeze still going strong. Small wonder that the Foxenby team left the playing pitch with easier minds, and that the Junior Foxes grabbed one another frantically58 and waltzed and pirouetted round and round the ropes.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
hurrah
|
|
| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
squeak
|
|
| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
tonic
|
|
| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
knack
|
|
| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
referee
|
|
| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
spanking
|
|
| adj.强烈的，疾行的；n.打屁股 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
outweigh
|
|
| vt.比...更重，...更重要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
foe
|
|
| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
brawn
|
|
| n.体力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
gale
|
|
| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
muster
|
|
| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
notched
|
|
| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
blot
|
|
| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
robin
|
|
| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
pals
|
|
| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
trumpet
|
|
| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
ominous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
hustled
|
|
| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
impartial
|
|
| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
corking
|
|
| adj.很好的adv.非常地v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
grumbled
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
gallop
|
|
| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
fluffy
|
|
| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
mascot
|
|
| n.福神，吉祥的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
shrug
|
|
| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
feud
|
|
| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
superstitious
|
|
| adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
grunt
|
|
| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
grunted
|
|
| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
irritable
|
|
| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
imploring
|
|
| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
rattled
|
|
| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
inhuman
|
|
| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
winced
|
|
| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
shammed
|
|
| 假装，冒充( sham的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
bawling
|
|
| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
lanky
|
|
| adj.瘦长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
mortified
|
|
| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
tavern
|
|
| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
plentiful
|
|
| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
aggravating
|
|
| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
frenzied
|
|
| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
chunks
|
|
| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
gibe
|
|
| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
frantically
|
|
| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |