CHAPTER IV

An Old Enemy

Sandy Podder was the last person Garry and his chums cared to see at that moment, torn and ragged as they were from their experience in the hut and with their muddy clothes hanging on them soddenly.

But Sandy saw them and did not miss the opportunity of jeering at them. He purposely passed so close to Cal's car as to splash more mud on them and narrowly missed sweeping them from the running board. So slender was the margin that Cal was forced partly to climb the grassy bank on the farther side of the road to prevent being run down.

Yates shook his fist wrathfully after the disappearing car. He turned and saw that the sudden swerve he had been forced to make had almost thrown his father from his seat. The jolt had meant agony for the wounded man. Cal Yates muttered furiously beneath his breath as he stopped the car and helped his father to a more comfortable position.

"If it wasn't for you, Dad," he exclaimed, "I'd beat it back after that skunk and whale him within an inch of his life! After I've got you fixed, I'll do it, too! See if I don't!"

They reached the house, and the boys helped carry the wounded man inside, where he was received with the tenderest consideration and the doctor phoned for at once. Then the Lenox boys left, followed by repeated thanks, promising to call soon to see how the wounded aviator was getting along.

"We're sort of brothers-in-arms now," grinned Cal, as he bade the other boys good-bye. "United for the downfall of one Sandy Podder. See you again soon. S'long."

At the Grayson house the chums parted. They were sore and bruised, eager for rest and a change to dry clothing.

"Meet you in the practice lot to-morrow, fellows," Garry called at parting. "We'll need to get in some good practice, or Mr. Phillips won't be able to see us with a telescope when it comes to making up the team."

There was a good deal of excitement in several Lenox homes that night. Mothers exclaimed at the sight of their tramplike young sons, and then listened with bated breath as the boys told of the narrow escape they had had either from being crushed by the airplane or being burned to death.

Garry's mother was no exception, and Ella forebore to tease, in her relief at having her brother returned to her safe and sound. Mr. Grayson himself was scarcely less moved.

"Ross Yates," remarked Mr. Grayson later, when they had become calmer. "I used to see that name frequently in the papers during the war. He was one of the most daring of the American aces and must have a trunkful of decorations. I'm glad you were able to be of service to him."

It was a rather sorry-looking bunch of football players that met in the lot back of Garry's home the following day. Their bruises were still sore and irritating, despite hot baths and vigorous massaging.

"We're a fine bunch of cripples," declared Bill Sherwood, flexing his lame right arm experimentally. "A team from an old men's home could put it all over us."

"If Mr. Phillips could see us now, he'd have the jolt of his life," asserted Garry. "We've got to get the stiffness out of our joints some way. So come on--let's snap into it."

As he spoke, Garry Grayson whipped the ball to Nick. The latter was ruefully rubbing a sore knee. He saw the ball too late, made a frantic grab at it, and missed.

A chorus of jeers greeted him, as he limped off sheepishly in pursuit of the ball.

"Attaboy! The best miss I ever saw," gibed Ted.

"If Mr. Phillips had seen that, he'd have given you Ralph Wynn's place right off the bat," added Rooster Long. "That's the kind of captain we need to put pep into the team."

"Some one make that rooster stop crowing," grunted Nick, and, forgetting his stiff knee, met the ball with his foot in a masterly punt that, aimed for Rooster's head, hit him in the stomach and all but knocked him over.

"Anyway, I know enough to hang on to the ball," retorted Rooster, hugging the pigskin. "Which is more than some so-called football players can say for themselves."

"Say, are we playing football or having a kidding match!" cried Garry impatiently. "Pass me that football, Rooster. I want to find out."

After that they settled down to an hour of strenuous practice.

They brushed up on the signals, Garry giving the same set over and over again until the play was made like clockwork, the swift punt, feint, or forward pass timed to the fraction of a second.

In the interest aroused by the play sore muscles were ironed out magically, and at the end of an hour's time the boys had almost forgotten that there was anything wrong with them.

Rooster was practicing a place kick. Garry thought he was sending the ball too high, and told him so.

"By the time that pigskin lands, the other fellows will be all set for it," Garry contended. "They will have time to plan a counter-attack and our play will be spoiled. Anybody'd think you were trying to kick the clouds out of position."

"Say, listen, Garry," Rooster protested. "I couldn't kick that high. Honest I couldn't. You give me altogether too much credit. I can feel the blushes coming."

"Not a bit too much credit," grinned Garry. "Throw over the pigskin and I'll give you an example of how that kick looked to me. Then you can see how much too high it was."

Reluctantly Rooster surrendered the ball. Nick held it in position and Garry swung back his foot.

Plunk! The toe of Garry's shoe met the pigskin with a hollow sound that was music in the ears of his chums. All the force of his body was behind the kick, and the boys watched the ascent of the ball with interest.

High, high, higher it sailed.

"That's a sky ball, sure enough, Garry," chuckled Ted, then broke off and stared in amazement.

The ball, ever mounting, was directly over the roof of a house near the field. As the boys watched, it settled gently and landed on the top of the chimney!

"Jumping Jupiter! Now you've gone and done it, Garry!" cried Nick Danter.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" crowed Rooster. "I may be a high kicker, Garry, my lad; but I've never aimed for a chimney top yet."

"Some peachy kick," grinned Bill. "How in the world did you do it, old boy!"

Garry, staring at this new achievement, shook his head.

"You can search me!" he muttered. "Though you've got to admit it's a high kick," he added, with a grin. "The question now is--how are we going to get the ball down again!"

"Yeah, that's the question," said Rooster, coming to stand by Garry and squinting up at the football. "If we had wings now, it would be perfectly simple."

"It's simple, anyway," rejoined Nick. "Some one go to the door of that house and ask to be allowed to go on the roof. Once there, the rest is easy."

"Yes, once there," admitted Garry, scratching his head in perplexity. "It's plain to be seen that you don't know who owns that house."

"Well, who does!" asked Ted, puzzled.

"An old crab who's likely to set his dog on us for trespassing," explained Garry. "He hates all sorts of sports on principle, and especially football. It's old Jacob Fish, the retired banker. He was in to see my dad about it once, and said that if he had his way he'd make a law forbidding football practice so close to private dwellings. To shut him up, dad told him that he would be personally responsible for any damage we might do."

The boys looked thoughtful.

"That sure complicates matters," affirmed Rooster. "But we've got to get that ball, whatever happens."

"Sure we have," agreed Garry. "But we might as well be foxy. I've got an idea."

"Hold on to it," begged Nick.

"Shoot and let us know the worst," urged Ted.

"We've got a ladder back of our house," explained Garry, growing more confident as his plans took shape. "If I can get that around to old Fish's house without being seen, I can climb up the back to the roof."

"Simple as rolling off a log," admitted Nick.

"Let's hope you don't roll off the roof," grinned Rooster, but Garry had already started off full tilt for the house.

The other boys went with him and helped him with the greatest caution to carry the ladder around to the back of the retired banker's house.

Having accomplished this without discovery, they felt elated. It would take only a few seconds now to climb the ladder, scramble up the sloping roof, and toss the recovered treasure into the field.

They placed the ladder very cautiously against the house, making as little noise as possible. Rooster and Bill held it steady, while Garry swarmed up it like a monkey.

He reached the roof and paused there to wave his hand at his chums. Then he made his way up the slope and soon reached the top. He gripped the chimney and reached for the ball.

Meanwhile, his chums had been watching his movements with such interest that they did not hear the stealthy steps of Jacob Fish until he was nearly upon them.

Then he jumped round the side of the house, his grizzled whiskers quivering with anger. He shook his fist at Garry.

"What are you doing there, you young scamp?" he shrilled. "You get off my roof!"