CHAPTER XX

THE CAMEL EXPLAINS

Wyndham returned about nine o’clock, wearied but rejoicing. Very few voices had successfully stood the strain of that last moment triumph, and it was two days before the school spoke normally again. Even Tom, when he turned up at Loring’s room a few minutes subsequent to his return, was decidedly hoarse. He had, he explained, talked most of the way back, like every one else, and the effort to make himself heard above the noise of the train had been too great. They made him talk some more, nevertheless――Loring and Clif――while Wattles, inventing an occupation in a corner of the room, remained to hear.

Tom wasn’t a bit peeved about that lost touchdown. “Oh, well,” he said, “we didn’t need it, after all; and I had the fun of making the run. I was a little sore at the time, you bet; but what was the use?”

“Who was off-side?” asked Clif.

Tom looked blank. “I couldn’t see,” he said.

“Well, you heard, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I didn’t pay much attention. Forget it, Clif. He felt worse than the rest of us. Besides, it was just because he wanted to win. He was too anxious.”

“Of course he didn’t mean to do it,” agreed Clif. “All right. What about Carlson’s kick?”

Tom became animated. “Say, you missed the thrill of a lifetime, fellows,” he croaked. “Mind you, we’d lost the game. We couldn’t make two consecutive gains by that time. We’d pushed Horner back some in the third quarter, but after that the field had got so slippery we couldn’t keep our feet. All we could do was smash into the line a couple of times and then punt. Horner couldn’t do much better herself. When she hit us she made more, because she had the weight, but she couldn’t make her ten yards, even then. ‘G. G.’ had sent three or four new men in, Braley amongst ’em, and Braley had got his signals twisted. It was getting darkish, too, and you weren’t quite sure of the ball when it got into the air. Yes, sir, we were licked, and we knew it. We kept on trying, though. You know how it is. You don’t think such an awful lot about being beaten. There are too many other things to think of. You just keep on trying. That’s what we did. Horner got the ball on her thirty-eight after a punt and kicked back on second down. Some one tipped the ball as it started off and it went pretty near straight up. When it landed it fell through half a dozen fellows and hit the ground and went whanging off and Lou Stiles made a leap for it. A couple of us jumped ahead of him and he got to the thirty-five yards, pretty near. We shoved into ’em for two or three and then ‘Swede’ got four right over that big left guard of theirs. We needed about three more, but I couldn’t get started and it was last down. Braley asked for time and we talked it over. There was less than a minute left then; some one said less than thirty seconds, but I don’t know. Billy Desmond was acting as captain, and Billy wouldn’t consent to a forward pass. Well, we’d been foozling ’em all the afternoon, what with the wet turf and a mighty clever defense. Braley said let ‘Swede’ try a drop, and ‘Swede’ said no, he couldn’t lift a wet ball that far. Then Jim Carlson pushed in and said he thought he might get it over from placement if they’d hold the line hard for him. So ‘Swede’ moved up to center and he and Billy and Breeze locked legs. Horner couldn’t get what was coming and shifted around at a great rate. Heck, I didn’t have any idea we’d score. I was expecting the horn would toot before we got the play started, for that matter. But it didn’t, and ‘Swede’ made a nice pass back to Braley and Braley put the ball down just about six inches short of the forty, and Carlson stepped forward and swung. It was all we could do to hold the line, for Horner sure acted rough, but we did. I didn’t see the kick, of course, having my hands full with a Horner tackle who leaked through, but I heard it, and it sounded sweet. When I had a look there was the old ball sailing square over the bar. As I say, it was getting sort of dark by then, and at first I thought I was mistaken, and I began to look around the field. But just then our gang bust loose and I knew I’d seen it right. Noise? Honest, you never heard a small bunch make such a riot as our crowd did! They were out on the field in a second, and it took two or three minutes to get the place cleared off again. Talk about your thrills! Some of us just couldn’t believe it was a goal, and we stood around expecting the referee to call the ball back or something. It took me two or three minutes to get it through my bean that we’d won!”

“I wish I could have seen it,” murmured Loring.

“So do I,” sighed Clif.

That hairbreadth victory worked a swift and amazing change at Wyndham. The school had journeyed to Horner hoping, but fearing, and had returned convinced of success. Carlson’s place kick was regarded as something close to a miracle, and when miracles come to your aid you can’t help believing in your destiny. But Wyndham wasn’t overconfident. The narrow escape had left her a bit chastened, in spite of ultimate triumph, and the general feeling was that while the prize was to be won it must be worked for. “No Defeats!” was no longer a phrase to be shouted glibly. It was no longer merely a slogan. It had become an invocation. Clif would no longer have protested had some one likened it to “_On ne passe pas!_” One heard it less often during the following fortnight, but when it was heard it had a deeper significance, a more earnest sound.

On Sunday the Triumvirate discussed the Camel after Tom had asked for information. He said he was surprised that they hadn’t told Mr. Otis before then and insisted that the coach ought to know at once. “We thought we’d wait and see if he turned up again,” said Loring. “If he’s learned anything he shouldn’t know it’s too late now, Tom, and ‘G. G.’ couldn’t do anything about it. But if he comes back we might――well, we might teach him a lesson.”

“Sure, that’s all right. Teach him all you want,” responded Tom; “but Mr. Otis ought to know about it, just the same. If some of the Wolcott football crowd sent the Camel over here to spy it’s well to know it. Maybe ‘G. G.’ would like to do something about it. I don’t know what, but something.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Loring acknowledged. “You and Clif had better go over to the inn and see him.”

They did. Coach Otis was interested, but not greatly concerned. “So that’s what you were up to when you got that busted collar bone, eh?” he asked Clif. “Next time you’d better come to me and let me handle it. What that fellow learned from watching our practice can’t be much, and certainly not nearly so serious as losing a good lineman just when he’s most needed. If you or Deane see him around again let me know and I’ll have a talk with him. I hardly think he’s been sent by the football team or the coach over there. More likely he’s doing it on his own hook, with some silly notion that he’s going to make some important discovery. Can’t imagine what, though. He must know that we don’t prepare for Wolcott until a couple of weeks beforehand, and that when we do we keep practice secret. To-morrow will be about his last chance of getting into the stand, so pass the word to Deane to keep his eyes peeled, will you?”

Clif had thought that he wouldn’t mind being side-tracked so much after he could go over to the field and watch the team, but on Monday he found that it didn’t work out that way. Seeing the other fellows at practice just seemed to make his own lot the harder. He sat with Loring and Wattles and was rather a quiet companion for a while. Loring paid more attention to the stand than to the gridiron, searching the well-filled seats for the boy with the funny chin. He didn’t miss so much, either, for practice to-day was participated in only by the substitutes, and not all of those, and there was a rumor current along the bench that there was to be no scrimmage. Yet one mild sensation did materialize that afternoon. About ten minutes after the session had begun Clif, his gaze wandering along the players’ bench, discerned Lemuel John Parks. He passed the surprising news on to Loring and, after a minute spent on conjectures, arose and sought the subject of them. Lemuel John acknowledged that he had forsaken the second team.

“Mr. Babcock sent me over here,” he explained, “so I guess it’s all right. I ain’t――haven’t spoken to any one about it, and maybe I’d ought to.” He ended questioningly. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Lemuel John looked frightened, for somehow you couldn’t associate fear with him, but he certainly did look awed. Tom shook his head.

“Sit tight,” he advised. “‘G. G.’ knows you’re here and he will let you know when he wants you. Going to play guard?”

“Well, I don’t know,” answered the big chap. “I guess so. Ain’t much else I could do, is there?”

When Clif went back to Loring he found that youth in a state of mingled excitement and delight. “He’s up there,” he announced in low tones, as though feeling the distant Camel might overhear him. “Wattles just discovered him. Almost straight back and about two-thirds way up. Sort of up against the pillar. See him?”

“Yes,” replied Clif after a moment’s search. “That’s he, all right. Guess I’d better tell ‘G. G.’”

“Yes, but don’t let him see you point him out. He might get scared and beat it.”

Clif had to wait several minutes before a chance to communicate with the coach occurred. Then he gave his message and cautiously located the Camel in the stand. But Mr. Otis was too far away to see him. Also, he was much too busy to waste time in the effort.

“Hang the fellow!” he said impatiently. “I can’t talk to him now, Bingham. Look here, you go up there and see what he’s up to. Take some one with you.” Mr. Otis glanced along the bench. “Take that big fellow, Parker.”

“Parks, sir?”

“All right. Take him. Make that sneak talk, Bingham. Find out who sent him over here, and why. I wouldn’t――better not make any trouble, you understand. Unless he won’t answer questions, that is.”

Clif beckoned to Lemuel John and passed around to the back of the stand where two stairways arose. On the way he put his companion in possession of the main facts of the case. “He will talk, I guess, Parks; but if he doesn’t we’ll have to make him. Then it’s up to you, for I couldn’t make a pig squeal tied up this way!”

“Sure,” said Lemuel John. “I’ll persuade him.”

The Camel sat next to a post. On the other side was a third classman of Clif’s acquaintance. Followed by Lemuel John, Clif pushed his way along the row which, while not closely occupied, was well sprinkled with fellows. “Move over, will you, Jordan?” asked Clif. Jordan obligingly moved and Clif seated himself by the Camel. Lemuel John pushed past and squeezed down beyond the post. The Camel viewed the operations with evident concern, if not suspicion. Clif opened conversation casually.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” muttered the Camel.

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

The Camel turned then and got a fair view of the questioner. Recognition dawned and the puttylike chin trembled agitatedly. For a moment he seemed to be contemplating flight, but his first glance to the left revealed Lemuel John observing him calmly but interestedly past the pillar, and the idea vanished. He returned his gaze to the field. “No, I’m not,” he muttered.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t take you long,” said Clif. “How’s Goddard?”

“All right.” The Camel moved restively. Then he broke out, weakly defiant, with: “Say, what’s the idea? What do you want, anyway?”

Neighbors were observing them curiously now. There was something up, that was plain, and they wanted to be in on it. Clif laughed good-naturedly. “Why, all I want is a little information, Campbell. Suppose we go down where we can talk without being overheard.”

“No!” The Camel was emphatic. “You talk right here.”

“I think it would be better if the others didn’t hear,” insisted Clif gently. “They might――well, they might not like it; and if they didn’t――” He left the rest to the Camel’s imagination. After a moment’s consideration the Camel said: “All right, but you haven’t anything on me, and if you get funny I’ll――I’ll――” Then he saw Lemuel John again and stopped for good.

They went down to the back of the stand, the Camel sandwiched between Clif and Lemuel John. Above, a line of faces stared down at them. Clif led the way to the farther end of the structure. “Now,” he said, his jesting manner gone, “let’s hear all about it. Who sent you over here, Campbell?”

“No one sent me. I just came to――I wanted to see you fellows play football.”

“We appreciate that, but why not stay at Wolcott and watch your own team? If you’re not an absolute idiot, Campbell, you know that you’re in wrong here. If we passed the word back to that crowd up there you’d be in for a peck of trouble.” The Camel, already distinctly uneasy, looked nervous. “Now we know that you haven’t been coming all the way from Cotterville two and three times a week just for amusement. We want to know who sent you, Campbell, and we mean to find out. So you’d better come clean if you know what’s best for you.”

Evidently the Camel thought so, too. He took a furtive look at the faces still watching over the edge of the stand and cleared his throat. “It’s like I told you,” he said a trifle huskily. “No one sent me. The fellow I room with, Charley Goddard, is on our team. He’s quarter back.”

“Oh, no, he isn’t,” said Clif. “Your quarter back is Monroe.”

“Yes, but Goddard’s trying, too. He’s played two or three games.”

“Oh, a sub, eh? All right, go ahead.”

“He said it would help him if he knew something about――about――” The Camel hesitated and glanced doubtfully at Lemuel John. Lemuel John was in togs and loomed very large. “Well, if he knew the sort of game Wyndham played. Because he’s pretty sure to play quarter back part of the game, and if he handled the team well――”

The Camel sort of ran down then. Clif nodded. “I see. You were to come over here and watch our fellows play and tell Goddard all you could find out so that he’d know what he was up against if he got a chance in the big game. Very pretty, Campbell. Your idea, you say?”

The Camel nodded, watching the faces of the others anxiously. Clif looked at Lemuel John. “What do you think?” he asked.

“He’s lying,” said the other calmly. “This Goddard got him to do it.”

“He didn’t!” protested the Camel. “I offered to! Really, I did!”

“Why?” asked Clif.

“Because――” the Camel’s gaze fell.

“Because Goddard’s your chum and you wanted to see him do well against our crowd and, maybe, make quarter back’s position next year?” The Camel nodded again. “But you knew you were doing something that wasn’t fair, didn’t you? You knew that that sort of thing wasn’t sporting?”

“I suppose I did,” muttered the boy.

“If Goddard didn’t put you up to it, at least he knows you’re doing it. On the whole I think Goddard’s the more to blame. How about it, Parks?”

“Sure. Dirty rat, I’ll say.” The Camel looked resentful, but Lemuel John hadn’t dwarfed any since last viewed and the Camel swallowed his emotion.

“Well,” resumed Clif, after a moment’s consideration, “I guess you’d better run along, Campbell. I’ll report this to our coach and he will do whatever he thinks best. But I don’t want to ever see you around here again. Get that? If you ever put your nose inside these grounds it will be the worse for you. We’ll walk along with you and see that you don’t lose your way going out.”

They waited until the Camel had disappeared around the corner of Oak Street and then hurried back to the gridiron. “I guess,” said Clif on the way, “he told the truth, don’t you?”

“Mostly. What really happened was this fellow Goddard thought up the scheme, suggested it to Funny Face and let Funny Face think it was an idea of his own. He don’t look to me like he had any too much brain! Gosh, though, you can’t get really riled with the fellow, seeing he did it just out of liking for this other fish. I suppose he thinks Goddard’s pretty fine, eh?”

“I guess so, the poor chump,” agreed Clif.

Mr. Otis was on the point of sending out a search party for Lemuel John when they got back to the bench, evidently having forgotten that he had detailed him for Clif’s mission. “Where on earth have you been, Parker――Parks?” he demanded. “You’re not supposed to leave the bench in the middle of practice! Get in there and see what you can do. Left guard. No, no, the other squad! You’d better show something if you want to stick around here, son!”

Lemuel John went off as directed, offering no excuse, while Clif reported to Loring. The latter was inclined to be sympathetic toward the Camel. “It’s Goddard we ought to get after,” he said. “Trying to swipe our secrets is bad enough, but getting that poor boob to do the dirty work is worse. Have you told Mr. Otis?”

“Not yet. Just have a look at him. Does he strike you as a――as an approachable sort of guy?”

He didn’t. He was tagging the squad of which Braley was quarter and Lemuel John left guard, and his voice came across the field in decidedly irascible tones! Clif shook his head gently.

“If you don’t mind,” he murmured, “I’ll wait until he has calmed down a mite.”

Clif reported the result of the conversation with the Camel in the gymnasium, after practice, by which time “G. G.” was once more fairly placid. “Goddard, eh?” he said reflectively. “Yes, I think we have some dope on Goddard. Well, let it lie, Bingham. Goddard’s not much of a player and I don’t believe he will see action. If he does, what his friend has slipped him about us won’t do him a mite of good. I’m going to be too busy during the next fortnight to make trouble for any one outside our own crowd. Thanks, just the same, Bingham.”

“Oh, that’s all right, sir. But doesn’t it seem as though Goddard ought to get called down, at least? I mean, it was sort of a dirty trick, and he oughtn’t to get off so easy.”

“Bingham,” replied Mr. Otis, “you’ll learn by the time you’re a little older that those things sort of look after themselves. You think that if we let Goddard get away with this he will escape the penalty. But he won’t, my boy. Fellows who do that sort of thing provide their own punishment. I’ve seen it over and over. Bingham, the punishment the law inflicts on us is mighty trivial alongside what we inflict on ourselves!”

Clif departed not wholly satisfied. What Mr. Otis had said might be quite true, but so far, he reflected, the only punishment sustained by any of the actors in the recent little drama had fallen to the lot of the innocent. He couldn’t quite discern why he should have a busted shoulder blade and Goddard and the Camel should get off scot-free!

Followed a hectic week at Wyndham, or, at least, a hectic five days. The football squad worked hard and long every afternoon and then put in most of an hour in the gymnasium in the evening. Two graduates arrived on the scene Wednesday and helped Mr. Otis and Mr. Hilliard during the rest of the season. At least, they were supposed to help. Sometimes it seemed that they were just in the way. Mass meetings became almost nightly events, and the enthusiasm and the determination to beat Wolcott grew hourly.

Lemuel John Parks must have satisfied Mr. Otis as to his right to remain with the first team, for he stayed on the squad, received a flattering amount of attention from the coaches and seriously threatened Breeze’s title of first substitute left guard. Lemuel John was all that could be desired of size, strength and willingness. If he had had a year of football experience behind him he would have ousted Smythe beyond a doubt. But Lemuel John, although he listened with almost painful intentness to the coaches and tried very, very hard, was undeniably lacking in technic. Effort, no matter how intense, will fail of its objective if wrongly applied. Yet Lemuel John made progress, and Mr. Otis recognized promising material for another year and said so to Loring one afternoon. Loring, although not officially connected with the team, was a privileged person and as such admitted past the dead-line of patroling Juniors whose proud duty it was to keep the public out of the stand and at a respectable distance from the gridiron.

“Deane,” said “G. G.” “you’ve really got a good eye for talent. That big fellow is quite as promising as you said and you did us a real service when you discovered him. I only wish we had gotten hold of him earlier!”

“Well, I didn’t really discover him, Mr. Otis,” answered Loring. “All I did――that is, the three of us――was to persuade him to report to Mr. Babcock. I’m glad you think he will make good, sir, for I think so, too. Next year he ought to be a corking good lineman, oughtn’t he?”

“Yes, I think so, Deane. He’s not so bad right now. If only he knew a little more, I’d――” Mr. Otis pursed his lips, frowned and strode off quickly. “Cotter! _Cotter!_ Do that just once more if you want to quit the team! That wasn’t your man! You knew it wasn’t! Jackson, let’s have that again. Now let me see you do that right, Cotter!”

The game on the fifteenth, that with Toll’s Academy, was looked on as no more than a practice contest and proved such. Wyndham, using a second-string line-up through most of the second half, ran up twenty-eight points and held Toll’s scoreless. The adversary was light and not too well trained, and the home team might have made that score larger by two more touchdowns had Coach Otis seen fit. For the first time that season the Dark Blue’s left side was as firm as its right. Lemuel John and Weldon worked together well and hardly a dent was made between left end and center. Tom, too, came in for glory, for he scored two of the four touchdowns while he was in the line-up. It really seemed that the Wyndham football team had found itself at last, and on Sunday the school awoke in a hopeful frame of mind and turned its eyes on the sporting pages of the morning papers. Among other things, it read that Wolcott had yesterday entertained Minster High School and, with her team liberally peppered with second- and third-string players, had swamped the enemy to the tune of 47 to 0! As Wyndham’s score against Minster had been 24 to 3, the papers that Sunday morning provided food for thought.