CHAPTER XVIII

Crooked Work

"Well, we've redeemed ourselves," stated Garry Grayson, as, dusty and begrimed, he ran with his comrades for the clubhouse.

"We sure have!" chortled Nick. "We stood those fellows on their heads good and proper. They don't know yet how it happened."

It was a hilarious crowd that journeyed back to Lenox, taking with them metaphorical scalps to hang on their wigwam.

"Did you see some of our old friends in the stands?" queried Ted.

"I thought we had lots of them," replied Garry, "judging by the cheering."

"So we did," agreed Ted. "But the friends I mean are the kind that would like to see you skinned alive."

"Oh, you mean Sandy Podder and his pals?" replied Garry. "No, I was too busy playing to notice them. Of course they were rooting for Lenox," he added, with a grin.

"Praying that you would break your leg, most likely," put in Rooster Long. "It was a cold day for everybody, but I imagine it must have been especially chilly for Sandy and his bunch. How they'd have liked to see us torn to bits by Greenfield!"

"Too bad we couldn't oblige them, but we needed that game in our business," laughed Garry. "I wonder how the Pawling-Wimbledon game came out to-day."

"Here's hoping that Pawling won!" exclaimed Rooster. "That would take down Wimbledon's chestiness a bit. They're already figuring on getting the pole for the pennant."

To the Lenox team's great satisfaction, the boys learned on arriving in the home town that Pawling had indeed defeated Wimbledon, but by the close score of 10 to 9.

"Must have been a pretty tough fight," commented Garry. "But one point is as good as fifty, as long as it's on the right side. Now we stand on even terms with Wimbledon with two won and one lost. It looks as though our game with Wimbledon will decide which school gets the flag."

There was no practice the next Monday afternoon at Lenox, for Mr. Phillips decided that his weary warriors had well earned a rest. But he asked Garry to see him after the close of school.

"I've been thinking, Grayson," began Mr. Phillips when they were alone together, "that it might be a good thing if we changed our system of signals."

Garry looked at him in surprise.

"Why, what's wrong with them?" he asked.

"Nothing at all," replied Mr. Phillips. "They're about as good and scientific a system as can be devised. All the same, I think it might be a good idea to change them."

"Why, of course it's just as you say, Mr. Phillips," Garry replied. "But don't you think it may get the fellows a little mixed? They're so used to the old ones now that it's come to be second nature to obey them. They don't need to think; it comes to them by instinct. And everything's been working as smooth as silk so far. They've got them down fine."

Mr. Phillips pondered for a moment.

"There's something in what you say," he conceded, "and I want to make sure of that Bass Lake game, so that we may be certain of meeting Wimbledon in the final struggle. I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll compromise. We'll let the old system stand until after we've played Bass Lake. But for Wimbledon we'll have a brand new set."

Garry racked his brain to find what Mr. Phillips was driving at. He could see nothing but risk in the plan.

"Got you guessing, has it, Grayson?" he asked, with a quizzical smile. "I don't wonder. On the face of it, it doesn't look so good. But you must believe that I have a good reason. I'll tell you just what it is when I get more definite information. Don't say anything to the other boys about this interview until I give the word."

With this Garry had to be content. But he was sorely perplexed as he wended his way homeward, pondering on what Mr. Phillips had said.

The signals they had been using had been so dinned into the players' heads that it had become second nature to obey them. This was as it should be. In a hot fight where a play had to be timed to a fraction of a second, there was no time to debate the meaning of a signal.

If now the old ones were thrown into the discard and a new set substituted, he foresaw trouble and confusion. The old and the new would struggle for the mastery. What on earth could Mr. Phillips be thinking about?

But there must be a reason, and a good one. Garry had implicit confidence in the coach. He knew he would not take this risk unless a greater risk threatened. What was that greater risk?

It came to him in a flash!

The greater risk would be if the opposing team should get to know the Lenox signals. Then they would be able to anticipate every play. They would know who was to buck the line, who was to carry the ball around the ends, what would be the signal for the forward pass--everything, in fact, that it was to the interest of Lenox that they should not know!

No team, however good, could hope to stand up against a handicap like that. It would be beaten before it began to play.

Then another thought came to Garry. Mr. Phillips had yielded very easily to the retention of the old signals until after the Bass Lake game. Then it was not that team that he was feeling uneasy about! But he had been adamant in his determination to change the system before the Wimbledon game. It was Wimbledon then that loomed big in the coach's thought.

Had Wimbledon caught on to Lenox signals? Garry wondered. Had its scouts been on the watch? Garry dismissed this thought almost as soon as it was formed. No strangers were allowed on the Lenox grounds during practice, and even if one were hiding somewhere under the stands, he could not get near enough to the players to hear or understand the signals.

Besides, it would have been a hideously unsportsmanlike thing to do, and there had never yet been any scandal of that kind in the High School League.

Still, Mr. Phillips seemed afraid that Wimbledon had got the signals or might get them. But it could get them only if they were offered to it. And they could be offered only by those who knew them. And none knew them except the Lenox players, the regulars, and the scrubs.

Ah! Garry started. There was the rub! Some one else did know them! Former players on the Lenox team knew them. Aleck Anderson knew them! Ed Bixby knew them!

Then the story of Frank Sherwood came back to his mind. What were those phrases Frank had overheard? "Big bets," was one of them. "Wimbledon game" was another. Then there were "sure thing," "all fixed," and "can't lose." And the names of Anderson and Bixby had been mentioned.

As all these things came back to him Garry felt sure that he had found the key to the puzzle. His heart burned with indignation. It would have done him a lot of good if he could have sought out his chums and talked the matter over with them. His burden would have been lighter if it could have been shared. But Mr. Phillips' injunction had been strict that he should say no word to any one until he gave permission.

But after all there was a silver lining to the cloud. In some way, Mr. Phillips had learned something of what was in the wind. Lenox would not be caught unawares. A grim smile came to Garry's lips as he thought of the consternation of the conspirators when they should find that all their plans had come to nothing.

After the one day of rest that Mr. Phillips had given his teams, practice went on hard and steadily for the Bass Lake game. Bass Lake was not as strong as Greenfield, and Lenox had beaten the latter by a decisive score. In theory, then, it ought to be easier to beat Bass Lake by an even larger margin.

But no one knew better than Garry how deceptive were comparative scores. The team that played like chumps one day might play like champions on another. Nothing must be taken for granted in football.

So by precept and example Garry drove on his team until, when the day came for the Bass Lake game on the Lenox grounds, his team was at the top of its form.

It was well that it was, for Bass Lake put up a plucky and surprisingly good game. During most of the afternoon it provided stubborn opposition to the fast moving backs of the Lenox team.

Lenox made a good start, Rooster galloping around the offensive in the first period and tearing through the line for eight yards, and then on a double pass making a twenty-four-yard gain around left end. This gallop availed little, however, as Lenox was forced to punt out. But when Lenox got the ball again Nick went around the left wing for twenty yards, and then on a beautiful forward pass, Knapp to Bill, the ball was carried to the Bass Lake fifteen-yard line. Tom plunged through for three yards, and then Garry carried it for the remaining twelve, scoring the first touchdown of the game. Rooster kicked the point and the score was 7 to 0 in favor of Lenox.

After the kick-off Bass Lake braced, and the ball passed alternately from side to side, being in midfield when the quarter ended.

Soon after the second period opened Cassidy put new cheer into the Bass Lake rooters by scoring a field goal from the twenty-five-yard line. Encouraged by this, the visitors' line stiffened and held Lenox scoreless through the period.

In the third quarter was shown some of the prettiest line smashing of the game. Little forward passing was attempted, owing to the high wind that had arisen and made accuracy difficult.

Back and forth the lines surged, each side making gains through the line, only to lose them when the other side got the advantage.

It was nip and tuck, and the spectators in the stands were on their feet cheering in turn as their side seemed to have the upper hand. But for most of the time it was the case of an irresistible force meeting an immovable body, and the quarter ended with the score still 7 to 3 in favor of Lenox.

"Not such a cinch as we expected," panted Garry, in the brief breathing space between quarters.

"You said it!" returned Rooster. "We've got those fellows beaten, but they don't know it."

Some time was yet to elapse before Bass Lake knew it. They fought like tigers for the first ten minutes of the last period, and once came within striking distance of the Lenox goal.

But then Lenox put forth all its strength and began the march down the field. Spectacular line bucking and end running by Garry, Nick, and Rooster landed the ball on Bass Lake's sixteen-yard line. Bill went through for five yards and a pass from Garry to Tom netted five more.

Here Lenox, however, was penalized five yards for offside play. But with the goal only eleven yards away, Lenox would not be denied. Nick went through for three. Bill tore between left end and tackle for five. Then, with one desperate plunge, Garry carried the ball over the line for the second touchdown. Nick tried for point, but the wind baffled him, and before the ball could again be put in play the whistle blew for the end of the game, and Lenox had triumphed by 13 to 3.

It had been a rattling game, and Bass Lake, though beaten, was not disgraced. The breaks of the game had been about equally divided, and neither side could accuse Lady Luck of partiality. Lenox had conquered because it was the better team, but the margin was not much to brag about or to fill Lenox with over-confidence.

"And now for the Wimbledon game!" cried Rooster hilariously. "That team's our next victim!"

"Cherry pie!" predicted Bill.

"People have strangled on the pits in cherry pie," warned Garry.

"Wimbledon game." "Big bets." "All fixed." "Can't lose."

Garry shook himself impatiently. Why did those phrases persist in haunting him?