"What killed St. Cuthbert's pig was the way their backs held aloof7 till the last few minutes," said one.
"Yes," agreed another expert. "If they'd crowded on all sail like that earlier on, they could have walked the ball through."
"Rather—by sheer force of numbers," chimed in a third.
"We shan't make that mistake," quoth yet another oracle8. "Why, even old Ennis will come out of his hutch and have a pot-shot now and again, won't you, Ennis?"
Ennis might have been part of the furniture for all the notice he took of this remark. He just sat back in the corner, sprawling9 out his long legs, and breathing hard.
Some of his finger-nails were torn, the backs of his hands wore long scratches, and his knuckles10 were bruised11 and bleeding. Smears12 of mud blackened his face, which he had not yet found energy to sponge. Battered13 knees and swollen14 shins, too, were part of the price he had paid for keeping his goal unpierced. None but he knew the aches and pains he had endured to hold the fort for Foxenby. It would be many a long day before his skin was free of scars.
"Here, old man, have a drink of this," said Forge, holding to the goalie's lips a cup of coffee. "Good stuff, eh? Buck15 you up no end. Alstone, hurry up with that bowl of warm water. All St. Cuthbert's have printed their autographs on Ennis's face."
The water was hurriedly brought, and Dick sponged the goalie's features with it as well as he could, what time the babel of voices went on uninterruptedly about them.
"What a narrow squeak17 when Lyon handled! Looked all over like a penalty to me. Had they got it their 'cap.' would have converted—he never misses a spot-kick."
"If we have a penalty Broome must take it. He put three through for Holbeck's in the practice match last Saturday—didn't you, Broome?"
"Shut up!" snapped Broome, colouring a little. He was still kicking himself for what he had said to Forge before, and was determined18 in future to leave captaincy to the captain.
Luke Harwood, too, thought the time ripe for an exhibition of the good-sportsmanship which he liked to think was a feature of Holbeck's House.
"Outside, you wiseacres," he commanded. "This is a dressing-room, not a monkey-house. Don't burn up the team's oxygen. Don't speak to the man at the wheel. Other 'don'ts' to follow if you don't clear quickly."
He bundled out a few Juniors, and, as if by accident, bustled20 Roger Cayton too. Roger flushed and side-stepped, but said nothing. He was a slimly-built, spectacled youth, healthy enough, but physically21 no match for boys of his own age. By pretending to mistake him for one of the batch22 of Juniors Luke Harwood was, Roger believed, deliberately23 putting a slight on him. Still, he pursed his lips and swallowed his resentment24, and the bit of by-play passed unnoticed by the others.
Not a word, you will notice, did Forge speak of encouragement or advice. They knew better than to expect "jaw26" from him, he being one of those wise captains who shout instructions only when the necessity is strong. He expected them all to do their best without any nagging27, and to use their own wits in an emergency.
"Now we'll put it across you, Cuthy," said Robin28 Arkness, as the teams lined up. "We're after goals, not 'hard lines' and 'try again, boys!' You'll be wanting to creep into a rabbit-hole, Cuthy, before we've done with you."
"Swank!" retorted Cuthy. "You can't get goals against St. Cuthbert's; nobody ever does."
All the same, the youthful Cuthbertian's voice had an anxious tremor29 in it. He had a lively idea where all the play was likely to be, for he had never budged30 from his excellent standpoint behind the goal. Nor had Robin and his chums. Even the chance of a warming cup of coffee had failed to lure31 them away. The Foxenby "mascot32" stuck there, too, grinning amiably33 at those who chaffed him about his make-up. The bulk of the spectators, neutral or otherwise, had not moved either. They pulled their overcoats closely about them, and stamped their feet to nullify the effect of the cold wind, which still blew straight towards that particular goal with unabated fury.
"Unless they've gotten a goalkeeper as 'wick' as Foxenby—which ain't to be expected—it's all ower but shoutin'," remarked a Walsbridge rustic34. "Wi' a wind like this behind me, Ah could sco?ar mesen."
"Leave that to us, old boy," Robin answered him complacently35. "You won't have long to wait. See that? Oh, what a top-hole shot, Forge! An inch lower, and he'd have been beaten to the 'wide'!"
Indeed, for the past ten minutes one continuous roar of delighted cheering had accompanied Foxenby's sparkling bombardment of the St. Cuthbert's goal. Excellent shots went astray by fractions of inches only. Broome twice nearly did damage to the cross-bar, and one crafty36 "balloon" from Forge, over the heads of a bobbing mass of players, was scooped37 out of the top angle of the goal by the keeper's finger-tips only. Hundreds of hoarse38 throats yelled "Goal!" prematurely39. It was only a corner, which tall Bessingham, the six-foot captain of St. Cuthbert's, leapt high to head away.
"Sorry, Cuthy—I couldn't help it," Robin confessed. "Simply can't keep still. It's our turn for a song and dance this half, you know."
"Laugh when you've beaten old 'Bess', not before," Cuthy cautioned him.
There was something in the warning, too. A wonderful boy this reed-like, overgrown Bessingham, with arms always straight to his sides, and legs that seemed everywhere. He could use either foot with equal power, and when his boot caught the ball he made kicking against the wind seem as simple as kicking with it.
St. Cuthbert's called him "The Octopus41", and by that nickname he was known also to certain Football League Clubs, who wanted him to play for them when he left school.
A weird42, silent player, ever where the ball was, never seeming to take a useless stride. Those who saw him to-day ceased to marvel43 at St. Cuthbert's feat16 in reaching the final tie without yielding a goal. The seventeen-year-old footballer was a man in all but age, with the cool judgment44 of a veteran to guide his restless legs.
"Botheration, I can't dodge45 him!" panted Broome to Dick. "Did you see us mixed together just now? His legs were round my neck. It—it's clammy—like having snakes crawling over you."
"We've something to learn from him, Broome," said Dick. "Single combat won't pay us. We must work round his flanks."
"Flanks! Why, he faces all ways," Broome groaned47. "Superman, eh! Chuck that, Broome—we've got to hammer away till we find his weak spot. Nothing to fear from the forwards, the wind has them in a bottle-neck. Let's drop this first-time shooting stunt48, and try a bit of conjuring49."
"And he'll juggle50 better," said Broome, still despairing. Then, brightening up a little, he cried eagerly: "Here, take that centre from Lake; it's a ripe cherry, Forge!"
So it was. But the Octopus had a taste for ripe fruit too, and at this particular cherry he had the first bite.
Though Dick made quickly for the outside-right's fine centre, Bessingham matched him. Their boots met the ball together, and the greater force of Bessingham's kick lifted Dick off his feet. He sprawled51 yards within the penalty-area, with a conviction that something awkward had happened to his big toe.
"Penalty, penalty!" roared some of the crowd. It is the habit of football spectators to claim free kicks when things like this happen. To eyes blinded by prejudice it looked as though Dick had been roughly kicked about, but the players and the referee knew better. In a straight-out trial of physical strength, the sturdy captain of Foxenby had come off second-best. Moreover, he limped a little as the result, which was more ominous52 still.
"What did I tell you, kid?" said the Junior Cuthbertian, taking heart of grace. "You can't get past old 'Bess'. Old Bess is a brick wall. Old Bess is a house-side!"
"He's a clinking player, I admit," said Robin, "but who'll pay the doctor's bill if he kicks somebody's teeth out?"
"That's your affair," snapped Cuthy. "Perhaps you'd like old Bess to play on crutches53 to give your forwards a chance."
Spoken like a true optimist56, Robin! But spectators cannot win games, however loyal they may be, and rose-coloured spectacles are as useless in football as in any other field of activity. Bluff57 could not disguise that the luck had again turned against Foxenby. The sun came out and shone in their eyes and the wind suddenly moderated. Forwards who had stood idly on the half-way line (glad enough to rest after their first-half exertions) now found it possible to pick up Bessingham's big kicks and move towards Ennis again. True, they kept a respectable distance from Lyon and Lebberston, and only sent in long-range shots with little powder behind them. Ennis, ever reliable, hugged them safely to his breast and punted them back with ease. All very well and good; but each movement in his direction brought relief to St. Cuthbert's defenders58, and cut down Foxenby's scoring chances at the same time.
The gathering59 behind the top goal thinned a little as some of the crowd drifted speculatively60 down the field. They thought they saw a prospect61 of a bit of sport at the other end. There was always a chance of Ennis's sun-dazzled eyes failing to judge a straight one, however languidly the ball were kicked.
Gradually the outlook became darker for the Foxes. Broome appeared to have lost heart and could do nothing right. Atack, the inside-right, quite openly shrank from close contact with the Octopus. He had once chanced his arm in a flying charge at Bessingham, and had been feeling it ever since in the fear that it was dislocated. Lake, bothered by the sun, kept missing his luck entirely62 and blundering into touch. All he could do, it seemed, was to tread down the flags and inconvenience the linesmen. Meynard, the swift-footed outside-left, certainly kept cool, but that was because he had little to do. He waited in vain to be fed by Broome, who seemed always under Bessingham's feet.
It didn't mend matters when the Foxenby halves lost patience with the men in front of them and commenced to play hard on top of them. Not being marksmen, they drew upon themselves the ironical63 contempt of the crowd by shooting high over goal—"aiming at the new moon", to quote the gleeful opinion of "Cuthy", who had once more become offensively cocksure of his team's abilities.
Precious time oozed64 away while spectators retrieved65 the ballooned ball, and all the while Dick's big toe hurt like toothache. A pretty kettle of fish all round.
Dick had a temper, and came near to losing it publicly. Again the maddening voice of the village idiot began to boom at him. "Owd can't sco?ar!" it bellowed66 monotonously67. It had the melancholy68 effect of a ship's steam-siren in a fog. It worried the sensitive captain more than his damaged toe did.
"This is aching misery," he mentally decided69. "Hang it all, I'll waste no more passes on Lake and Atack. Fifteen minutes to go, and not a ghost of a goal in sight. 'Owd can't sco?ar' or not, I'll butt70 right into the Octopus and chance it."
From the moment of this resolve a mighty71 change was wrought72 in the game. Of combination there was none, but of vigorous individual action there was a great deal. Giving his damaged foot no quarter, using it as though it were sound, Dick dribbled74 for goal by the straightest route, clashing against Bessingham each time he did so. It became a battle of giants, almost too thrilling to those onlookers75 who favoured one team more than the other. Players on both sides, brought to a standstill by the gruelling pace, seemed to have slipped out of the picture, leaving the centre of the field to Dick and the Octopus, two gladiators at ever-closer grips.
"Stick to him, Forge!" yelled Robin. "He's cracking up! You'll be his 'daddy' yet!"
"Old Bess lets nobody be his daddy," indignantly retorted Cuthy. "Your captain's only a kid beside him."
"Kid yourself!" snorted Robin. "Just you watch Forge, Cuthy—there'll be a hole in the back of this net shortly."
Lyon alone on the Foxenby side gave useful aid to his captain, and it was from two of the plodding76 fullback's returns that Dick twice dodged77 Bessingham and struck the cross-bar.
Both shots went where the keeper was not—each, an inch lower, would have made a goal. Such rough luck notwithstanding, "Owd can't sco?ar, owd can't sco?ar!" bawled78 Fluffy79 Jim, derisively80 waving his papered arms.
"Some sort of mascot, this," thought the bitterly-disappointed captain, "and to make sure I shan't miss seeing him, they flatten81 him against the ropes. Fun for them—rotten for me!"
Time travelled apace. The referee looked at his watch—a plain hint that the end was nigh. Nothing seemed likelier than the match fizzling out in a goalless draw—a depressing result, satisfactory to neither side.
Yet there was one among the spectators whose youthful heart declined to be downcast. One also whose lungs were sound as a bell, and whose throat was still capable of leading the way in a fresh chorus of rousing yells.
Robin Arkness was the undaunted enthusiast82 who started the swelling83 cheer which infected the neutral spectators and struck a warm, reviving glow to Dick Forge's heart.
"Well played, Forge—played the captain of the Foxes!" yelled the Juniors, in uplifting chorus. "Three cheers for the good old captain—hip19, hip, hooray!"
Ah, what priceless encouragement was this, at a moment when all seemed lost! To Dick it seemed to bring new life, fresh strength. He could feel his pulses leaping again as the ball came his way once more. Broome, too, felt the spur of that timely cheer, shook off his ill-humour, and sprinted84 to the captain's side.
"Hang on, Forge!" he said. "Go ahead! Don't bother passing just yet."
Bessingham, cool and confident as ever, bore down upon the pair, feeling for the ball with feet that never erred85. Clever, uncanny Bessingham! Just how he did it, you couldn't tell, but he nipped the leather right from Dick's toe, and down went the mercury behind the goal, changing the Cub-foxes' cheer to a groan46.
"Didn't I tell you?" shrieked88 the delighted Cuthy. "The chap isn't born that can run round old Bess."
But this time it was not to be altogether a one-man show. Broome did not fail his captain. The funk, which had weakened his knees before, passed suddenly away from him. Brain-concussion was the risk he lightly took as he jumped up to Bessingham's mighty kick and headed the ball down again. Jove, how it hurt him! For a moment it knocked him silly, but he recovered himself sufficiently89 to dribble73 a few yards and pass the ball to Dick.
Oh, glorious moment, sweet to have come to see! At last, at last, the Octopus was beaten—stranded in utter helplessness. His long legs, stride they never so widely, could not overtake the flying Foxonian now. His colleagues had trusted implicitly90 to him to clear; only one of them could get near enough to Forge to thrust out a hacking91 foot, over which Dick nimbly jumped. It was then a clear man-to-man encounter between centre-forward and goalkeeper, with all the rest of the players as idle spectators.
For the first time, in eighty-eight minutes of strenuous92 football, the Octopus betrayed emotion and spoke55.
"Come out to meet him, goalie!" he cried, in desperation.
Out came "goalie" at the word of command, and round him, with the ease of a dancing-master, waltzed Dick. Tears of real joy stung Dick's eyelids93, for there in front of him yawned the empty goal that nobody could miss. To make assurance doubly sure, he would not even risk a gentle kick, but would, he told himself, walk the ball into the net. Oh, surely the Cup was Foxenby's now!
And then, right across his path, almost beneath the cross-bar, there came blundering an absurdly clumsy figure in blue-and-white paper trappings—the grotesque94 form of Fluffy Jim, the village idiot, who lunged at the ball with a hobnailed boot and kicked it into the net under the very eyes of the horrified95 captain.
"Theer!" cried Fluffy Jim, with a shriek87 of imbecile laughter. "Tha couldn't sco?ar thesen, so Ah've sco?ared for thee!"
Poor Forge! Unlucky captain of the luckless Foxes! What miserable96 turn of events was this? Why had so farcical a thing come to mock him on the very verge97 of his triumph? A wild absurdity98, yet an unspeakable misfortune! It made him feel dazed and stupid. There was a queer vagueness in the impression he got of an excited crowd of spectators and players falling upon Fluffy Jim and tearing to tatters his blue-and-white costume. He felt himself pulled hither and thither99 by roughly-sympathizing hands, and with difficulty wrenched100 himself free. Then up strode the Octopus, genuinely distressed101 and grimly resolute102.
"Forge," said the Octopus, "the goal was yours and the game is yours. You will take the Cup."
"I can't," said Dick despairingly. "I didn't score."
"Sir," he said, "that was Forge's goal—this is Foxenby's game. Give them the verdict."
The referee was a big man, nearing middle age, who had ruled exciting games before Bessingham was born. He knew the laws of football from A to Z—had, indeed, helped to make not a few of them. And pleading with him to alter those rules, even by a hairsbreadth, was merely a way of wasting breath.
"Impossible," he said. "I'm sorrier than I can say, but Regulation 17 definitely rules that, if all or any portion of the crowd encroaches on the ground during the game, the tie shall be replayed in its entirety. The spectator broke in—that washes out the match."
"No, no, I beg of you," the Octopus pleaded. "Restart the game here and now, and I'll see that all comes right. Foxenby's won, sir—be a sport!"
"I'm a referee first—a sport afterwards," said the whistle-blower, sharply. "Time!"
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1
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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smears
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| 污迹( smear的名词复数 )； 污斑； （显微镜的）涂片； 诽谤 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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referee
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| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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budged
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| v.（使）稍微移动( budge的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）改变主意，（使）让步 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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mascot
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| n.福神，吉祥的东西 | |
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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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48
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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juggle
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| v.变戏法，纂改，欺骗，同时做；n.玩杂耍，纂改，花招 | |
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51
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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52
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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54
versus
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| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
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55
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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defenders
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| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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speculatively
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| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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retrieved
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| v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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monotonously
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| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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72
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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dribble
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| v.点滴留下，流口水；n.口水 | |
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dribbled
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| v.流口水( dribble的过去式和过去分词 )；（使液体）滴下或作细流；运球，带球 | |
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onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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81
flatten
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| v.把．．．弄平，使倒伏；使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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82
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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83
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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84
sprinted
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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erred
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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88
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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92
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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96
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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97
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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98
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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99
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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100
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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101
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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102
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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103
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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