"'An important change has been effected in the makeup2 of the Yale eleven. Teddie Larned, '99, has recently made such a fine showing at full-back that he will fill that position in the championship game against Princeton on Thanksgiving day. His punting and line-breaking are phenomenally good.'
"That's what I was afraid of when I sent him to college," continued the pater, solemnly, as he folded up the paper. "Football's a rough, brutal3 game, and those that play it become rough and brutal, when they don't injure themselves for life, as most of 'em do. I wouldn't have one of those young savages4 in my house. I'll just go up to that game early to-morrow afternoon," he went on, "and bring Teddie home with me. They'll have to get somebody else to fill his place in spite of his being such a phenomenal—er—line-smasher—whatever that is."
"Don't be too hasty," advised the mater, in whom Teddie, knowing his father's violent aversion to athletics5, had confided6. "This game means a great deal to our boy."
"Nonsense!" snorted Mr. Larned, indignantly; "it's nothing but a silly school-boy affair anyway. I'm astonished that grown men waste their time encouraging such things by going."
Long before the elevated train had reached Harlem it was packed and jammed to the doors with lusty college boys, pretty girls, and sedate7 heads of families, among whom Mr. Larned saw with astonishment8 many men of note. All were wearing college colors, all were filled with a delightful9, suppressed excitement. Involuntarily the pater began to feel the contagion10. But everybody was talking football, and their language sounded strangely to his ears.
"They say that Larned's a regular find for Yale," remarked a chrysanthemum-headed youth to his friend hanging to a strap11 beside him. "He kicked a goal from the field last week, when he was playing on the scrub, from the forty-five-yard line. You ought to see him buck12 a line!"
Teddie's name was on every one's lips, and the pater began, in spite of himself, to feel proud of his son, and to have a sneaking13 desire to see some of those accomplishments14 of his that other people seemed to know so much about.
Fighting his way through the crush at the gate, Mr. Larned finally found himself inside, albeit15 in a decidedly dishevelled condition. An official with a long flowing badge directed him to the training-quarters where the Yale team was reposing16 during the last hour before the game. At the door the pater was confronted by Mike, the grizzled old trainer.
"Of course Mr. Larned's here," he responded, surprisedly, to the former's inquiry17, "but he can't see anybody just now."
"Tell him that his father wishes to speak with him at once," said the pater, authoritatively18.
The trainer's manner became more respectful. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Larned," he said, firmly, "but the team can see no one before the game. The coachers are giving them a last talk now."
"Do you mean to tell me," the pater demanded, hotly, "that I can't see my own son?"
"Exactly, sir," replied the trainer, inexorably. "Just at present he's the full-back on the Yale eleven, and nothing else goes. And now, Mr. Larned, I'll write you out a pass to the grand stand, and then I must run back to the boys. After the game you can see your son aplenty—if there's anything left of him." And with this cheering suggestion, Mike scribbled19 a few words on a card, which he handed to Mr. Larned, and retired20.
The latter stood speechless for a moment. That a power on the Street, a man whose name was among the great ones of Manhattan, should be treated thus cavalierly, and that by a hired trainer—
"Why, it's preposterous21!" exclaimed the pater to himself; nor was his ruffled22 self-esteem soothed23 when he read the scrawl24 on the card: "This is Teddie Larned's father. He wants to see the game. Mike."
But then it proved an "open sesame," and the ushers25, after reading the magic words, received him with the most marked attention, passed him along through the crowds of ordinary people who were not fathers to famous full-backs, and finally seated him in a front box which was specially26 reserved for the parents of the players—though Mr. Larned did not know this.
Next to him was seated a tall, ruddy-faced man, wearing the slouch hat which the old generation of Westerners still cling to. He was beaming with jollity, and joined a deep bass27 to some of the college songs that Yale voices were chanting all around him.
"Well, to-day's the day we watch the youngsters distinguish themselves," he remarked, cheerily, to Mr. Larned, during a lull28 in the cheering that was surging up and down the grand stand.
But before the pater could rebuff this friendly overture29, as in his present state of mind he felt inclined to, a roar of cheers swept up and down the field, and the speaker sprang to his feet, waving his slouch hat frantically30. Out on the brownish-green field trotted31 eleven shock-headed youths clad in dirty, heavily padded mole-skins, cleated shoes, and canvas jackets, frayed32 and torn, but each with the great varsity "Y" on its breast. An oval brown ball was hurled33 and caught with, what seemed to the pater's inexperienced eye, wonderful swiftness, and then as the ball rolled along the ground each man took his turn, as it came near, in sprawling34 down on it in a most comical manner. Suddenly it was passed nearly thirty yards, straight as an arrow into the arms of a short, chunky youngster, with an extremely dirty face, who seemed carved out of a solid block. With almost a single movement—so deftly35 was it done—the ball was caught and poised36 in both hands for the tiniest fraction of a second. Then came a hollow thump37 as the dropped oval was punted. Up, and up, and out in a tremendous parabola, almost the length of the field it soared. "AA! AA!" howled the Yale tiers. "Get on to that punt! What's the matter with Teddie Larned?"
The pater stared, at first incredulously, but sure enough that marvellous kicker was his own son Teddie, though disguised by the grime, the pads, and the tangled38 hair.
It must have been the excitement around him which made the pater stand up and watch with all his eyes every sky-scraping punt that the dirty-faced boy continued to make, and by a mere39 accident all at once he found himself saying "AA!" as loudly as any one before he had been on his feet a minute.
His companion was wild with excitement. "See that big chap?" he exclaimed, pointing out a young giant whose face looked like some monstrous40 mask, with its huge rubber nose-guard. "That's Bright, the centre rush. Ain't he a corker?"
"Looks too fat," said the pater, critically.
"Too fat, eh?" replied the other, excitedly. "Well, you just watch him play, and see if he's too fat. That little Larned's the one that's too fat. He punts all right, but a full-back ought not to be so round."
"Not at all! Not at all!" hotly responded the pater, who, though he did not know a full-back from a goal-post, was not going to sit by and hear his only son maligned41. "A pull-back should always be thickset! They—er—pull better when they're like that. And—that's my son sir!"
The Westerner choked until he was nearly black in the face. "Well, shake, old man, and we'll call it square," he said, finally, when he had recovered breath enough to speak. "Bright happens to be my son, and in spite of their fat I think our two boys won't disgrace us this day—eh?"
And again it must have been the excitement of the game, for the dignified42 and somewhat exclusive Mr. Larned found himself shaking hands with a total stranger as if he had[Pg 79] been a life-long friend. All his bad temper had disappeared. He was aglow43 with excitement; the most delightful little thrills ran up and down his back, while an irresistible44 impulse to shout had taken possession of him.
"This is your first game, isn't it?" Mr. Bright questioned. But just then came another punt, and the pater found it much easier to stand up and yell "AA!" than to answer any such searching questions. Then all further conversation was made impossible by a torrent45 of cheers from the Princeton tiers, and eleven other men, with the same grimy, weather-beaten costumes, and the same businesslike air of deadly earnestness, spread across the field and went through similar preliminaries. Only their stockings were of a barber-pole pattern, with alternate rings of orange and black instead of a uniform blue, while a large orange "P" blazed on every breast in place of the Y.
And now there was no controlling the audience. Orange and black banners were confronted by yards of Yale blue. Yellow chrysanthemums46 glared at bunches of violets and bachelor's-buttons, while the wearers—men, women, and children—sent out volleys of cheers that made the grand stand shake. The pater and his newly found friend were on their feet with the rest. Near by was a crowd of Yale "rooters," as Mr. Bright graphically47 termed them, shouting a rhythmic48 cheer containing too many x's and other bewildering Greek consonants49 for the pater, while he invariably added an extra "Rah!" to the regulation cheer. But to his satisfaction he found that not even the deep-voiced Bright could shout "AA!" with more earnest emphasis and volume, and he fell back on that as his strong point.
Suddenly there is silence, a warning whistle blows. Yale has the ball, and the forwards group themselves in a curious zigzag51 formation, awaiting the kick off.
The short and chunky Teddie takes a run, his foot swings and strikes the ball with what seems hardly more than a gentle touch, but the oval is spinning clear down to the other end of the field, followed by the terrible rush of the whole Yale team. It is caught by a running Princeton man, who, with a swerve52 of his body, avoids the spring of one runner, hurls53 another aside with the "straight-arm," and comes tearing down the field like a deer. A tremendous shout from the wearers of the orange and black masses is bitten off with surprising abruptness54. For Teddie smashes straight through the interference, and with a lightning-like dive, which there is no evading55, tackles the runner just about the knees and hurls him headlong. In a flash the lined-up elevens are facing each other, and the fight is on.
"Too fat, eh? Just look at that!" chuckles56 Mr. Bright, slapping the erstwhile dignified Mr. Larned ecstatically on the back, as Yale's centre catches his opponent napping, hurls him aside, and downs a runner in his tracks.
Back and forth57 surges the tide of battle. The elevens are almost evenly matched, and though the ball has been dangerously close to either goal, it has always been kicked or rushed back in time. The pater marvels58 at Teddie. Where had his boy learned the daring, the coolness, and the self-reliance that characterize him that day? Time after time the Yale backs smash at the Princeton line and fail to make the necessary ground, and the ball is close to the goal, with only the swing of Teddie's right leg to ward50 off a touch-down. But the boy never falters59. Unerringly he catches the ball, and just at the right moment when the rush of the opposing backs is almost upon him, the ball spins far out of danger, and a long-drawn60 breath of relief comes from the Yale seats. And once when Teddie dives into the line with the ball, and the great seething61 mass of arms and legs untangles itself, there is one that fails to rise with the rest. The little full-back lies very limp and still, and there is a cry for water, while old Mike rushes from the side-lines with a great blanket flapping in the breeze. The pater's face becomes all of a sudden drawn and white, and he trembles so that the great Westerner drops his arm across his shoulders.
"Steady, old man," he says, soothingly62; "the boy's only had the wind pounded out of him. He'll be up and playing in a second." And maybe the two fathers don't join in the tremendous cheer that arises when Teddie trots63 back to his place—a little unsteadily, to be sure—and the game goes on.
"They're saving him," says Mr. Bright, after watching the play carefully for some time. "He's only been sent against the line three times this half, and now the other backs are doing most of the punting. They'll send him in to save the game in the last ten minutes."
The ball is back almost in the middle of the field again, when suddenly the warning whistle sounds shrilly64, and the first half is over. A great buzz goes up from thousands of seats as the spectators discuss the details of the game, and, long before one expects them, the players are trooping back. Hair all adrip from the hurried sponging that the rubbers have given their grimy faces, bodies still atingle from the stinging alcohol rub-downs, with the hoarse66, earnest, words of the graduate coachers still ringing in their ears, they line up for the bitter second half. From the start the advantage lies with the orange and black. The weight of their tremendous rush-line begins to make itself felt. Back and forth goes the ball, but—significant fact to the knowing ones—it stays constantly in Yale's territory. For the first time during the afternoon there is a dead silence, and the thud of the players' bodies as a back strikes the rush-line or tries to smash through the interference can be heard, and their sobbing67 breathing as again and again the confused heap untangles itself. The shrill65 voices of the quarter-backs as they call out the signal for the next play punctuates68 every struggle, and now and then one or the other of the Captains claps his muddy hands sharply together with a "Play hard, boys! Hit it up! Now show your sand!"
Above the struggling, changing mass hangs a thin white steam—truly a battle-mist. Finally, towards the end of the half, by a series of short, hard rushes, Princeton is on Yale's 20-yard line. But here the wearers of the blue stand like a stone wall, and, after three vain attempts, the ball goes to Yale on downs. Instantly it is passed back for a punt, and then—no one knows how it happened, perhaps the Yale guard was napping, perhaps the tackle was to blame—straight through the line, between tackle and guard, smashes the great right guard of Princeton and blocks the kick. The ball bounds from his broad chest clear across the line. In a flash one of the Princeton ends has followed, fallen on it, and the score is 4-0 in favor of Princeton. A crumb69 of comfort is it, but only a crumb to the Yale adherents70, who sit gloomy and despondent71 amid a roaring storm of Princeton cheers, that no goal is kicked.
"Only seven minutes left," exclaims Mr. Bright, despairingly, "and that's not time to do anything against a rush-line like that. But the boys'll die a-trying, anyhow!"
Grim and unyielding the Yale men line up for these last stern minutes. They have failed. No matter the reason, the audience may call it a fluke, a piece of hard luck; but up on the Yale campus it is results that count—not excuses. In their hands is the honor of the college, and but seven minutes remain to wipe off the stain of defeat before thrice ten thousand people. Like a flash the eleven lines up. The battle opens with a last-resort flying-wedge play, too risky72 to try except at such a desperate time when every chance must be taken. When it is over the blue line is twelve yards nearer the Princeton goal; but two of the precious minutes are gone.
"Five, seven, twenty-nine!" shouts the quarter-back, hoarsely73, and the ball goes back to Teddie, and smash he goes into the line. Like a flash the tangled mass dissolves, with the ball six yards nearer the goal. Nothing is harder to stand than the dumb furious rush of a despairing eleven, nerved by the sting of defeat, and seeing a chance to retrieve74 itself. No end plays now, but straight through the centre they go, and even Princeton's mighty75 rush-line wavers. Mr. Bright's prediction as to Teddie's having been held in reserve proves a true one. Back into his hands goes the ball for nearly every play, and gallantly76 that day does he sustain his reputation as the best line-breaker that has ever worn a Y. Sometimes it is a "turtle-back," or one of the huge guards makes a hole for him at the centre, or again, in a tandem77 play, Teddie follows the smashing rush of the heaviest back. But, whatever the play,[Pg 80] crashing through or even leaping over the opposing line, as they crouch78 for his approach, pushing, boring, squirming, with the weight of half a dozen men crushing the breath out of him, Teddie always gains ground. Sometimes the gains are small, to be sure, but always enough for Yale to keep the ball. Once there is a line-up by the side-line close to where the two fathers sit, and Mr. Larned looks down into Teddie's face scarce ten yards away. It shows very white now underneath79 the grime and sweat, while the blood, oozing80 from a cut in the forehead, clots81 blackly in little streams down the side of his face. But, strangely enough, the pater forgets to characterize the whole thing as brutal. In fact, his teeth are clinched82 as grimly as his son's as he leans far forward to see every move of the game, and his heart goes out to those "young savages" who are making such a dogged up-hill fight of it.
And now the ball is on the twenty-yard line, diagonally from the goal.
"Thirty seconds to play," shouts the umpire, poring over his stop-watch. "Thirty seconds to make one last attempt for Yale, and every man on the eleven nerves himself to hold against the Princeton rush-line as against death himself. As the quarter-back cries the signal, the right and left half-backs, from mere force of habit, crouch ostentatiously, as if prepared for a run round the end. But the feint is unnecessary. Every man on the Princeton eleven, every coacher on the side-lines, every football-player on the crowded grand stands, knows that a goal from the field is Yale's only chance, knows that on Teddie's coolness depends the fate of the day. Back goes the ball on a long, low, accurate pass from the wiry little quarter-back. And before it has reached Teddie's outstretched hands the crash comes, and against the sternly waiting line comes the full force of the Princeton rushers bent83 on breaking through and blocking the kick.
"Hold 'em, Yale!" gasps84 the Captain from his place at tackle, as he braces85 against the hard-pressed right-guard. And for a second Yale holds. Then the line wavers, and straight for Teddie, from as many different points, spring three men. But that second had been enough. Deftly and slowly, as if in practice, the ball is poised and dropped. Struck on the rebound86 by Teddie's foot, it spins up and out just above the outstretched fingers of the Princeton rushers, who leap high in the air to intercept87 it. The goal is a difficult, diagonal one to make, and every player forgets to breathe as the ball sails slowly on, until it just clears the cross-bar, making the score stand 5-4 in favor of Yale; the game has been won in the last quarter of a minute.
THE GAME HAS BEEN WON IN THE LAST QUARTER OF A MINUTE.
In such an indescribable turmoil88 as the one that followed, with every Yale sympathizer swarming89 out on the field to embrace the eleven which had so gallantly snatched a victory from the jaws90 of defeat, it was impossible to chronicle events with perfect accuracy; but it has been reported, on reliable authority, that shortly after the goal was kicked, a hatless and much dishevelled individual, bearing some faint resemblance to the dignified Mr. Larned, the well-known financier of New York, was seen enthusiastically hugging a muddy Yale player, supposed to be the full-back, pouring forth divers91 fragments of cheers the while, and at intervals92 embracing a tall man in a slouch hat who was performing a vigorous war-dance with variations. Both of these parties mentioned were also said to have been members of the group that carried the aforesaid full-back around the field on their shoulders in triumph. Undoubtedly93 the facts in the case have been much exaggerated, but it is certainly true that Mrs. Larned, to her unbounded amazement94, received the following telegram from her husband late that evening:
"Teddie, my friend Bright, and four of the Yale eleven will eat Thanksgiving dinner with us to-night."
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1
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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athletics
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| n.运动，体育，田径运动 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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ruffled
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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scrawl
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ushers
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| n.引座员( usher的名词复数 )；招待员；门房；助理教员v.引，领，陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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specially
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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overture
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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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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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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maligned
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| vt.污蔑，诽谤（malign的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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consonants
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| n.辅音，子音( consonant的名词复数 )；辅音字母 | |
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50
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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51
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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52
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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53
hurls
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的第三人称单数 )；大声叫骂 | |
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54
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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55
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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56
chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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58
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59
falters
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的第三人称单数 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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63
trots
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| 小跑，急走( trot的名词复数 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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68
punctuates
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的第三人称单数 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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69
crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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71
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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tandem
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| n.同时发生；配合；adv.一个跟着一个地；纵排地；adj.（两匹马）前后纵列的 | |
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crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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clots
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| n.凝块( clot的名词复数 )；血块；蠢人；傻瓜v.凝固( clot的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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85
braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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89
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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92
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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93
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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