CHAPTER VIII

CARSLAKE'S v. THE REST

France stepped back and surveyed her plasticine model of Duane's profile with an air of satisfaction.

"I say, girls," she remarked, conversationally, "I really think Carslake's is being treated with due respect at last. I don't think the other houses have yet recovered from the shock we gave them on Sports Day."

Kitty looked up from her book, as if relieved to find an excuse for so doing. "If only we can keep our new reputation," she said seriously. "We mustn't get slack again."

"We must give them another shock," said Duane, sleepily. "A real startler this time. I'll think something out." She yawned with a muffled, "Goodness, how sleepy a fire makes one!" and silence settled down again in the study. A little later, however, there was a message from Miss Carslake, "Would Duane please bring along her weekly report. It should have been brought earlier in the evening." This report was a record of lines or punishments of that description imposed by any of the prefects during the week.

"Oh, hang!" exclaimed Miss Carslake's disgusted head prefect. "She was out when I went before, and of course she must start bothering when I'm comfortably settled down. D'you think I might send the book along for once without going myself?"

"I shouldn't advise you to," replied Kitty, in a discouraging tone. "I don't suppose for a minute that would satisfy Miss Carslake."

"Cut along and get it over," advised France, grinning. "It won't take very long."

With much grumbling the head prefect lowered her long legs to the ground, pulled herself up and took her departure. When she returned a little later it was in the company of the other three Sixth-formers, and there was an unusual air of animation about her.

"I say, girls, an idea!" she announced, when they were all inside. "Why not take a leaf out of Kitty's book! I suggest challenging the rest of the school to a hockey match--Top House v. the Rest."

"That practically means," said Margaret, judicially, "Carslake's against the school first eleven. It sounds quite mad to me. What do you say, Kitty?"

"Well, I certainly agree with Duane that it would cause a sensation in the school," replied Kitty, shrewdly. "However, the weak point in the idea, as far as I can see, is that we shall get such a licking that we shan't be able to lift up our heads again."

"I don't see why we should," from Duane.

"But you don't really think we should stand the slightest chance against the school eleven?" protested Bertha.

"Oh, come, Bertha," remonstrated Duane, "you and Kitty, of all people, to be so faint-hearted over a hockey match when both of you are practically certain of getting your hockey colours before the end of the season!"

"But three can't beat eleven."

"I'm not proposing they should. Leave it to me to get up an eleven. This house has been so used to holding humble opinions about itself that it can't get out of the habit. You forget one or two things: that there are sixteen seniors now, where last year there were only six; as that quite half of the old school eleven left last term and there will have to be a big proportion of new colours in it. I will guarantee to get quite a respectable line of forwards from our Lower Fifth, if we older ones can manage the defence."

"And supposing they refuse to accept our challenge, as being beneath their dignity?" said Sonia.

"They won't do that. We should be able to say they were afraid to accept it. A challenge is a challenge."

Silence, while everybody looked at each other. "Well, what about it?" asked Duane. "Will you do it or not, if the Lower Fifth are willing?"

Kitty was the first to respond.

"I'm on," she said, impulsively. "Though I believe we haven't the slightest chance of winning. All the same, the idea's a gorgeous one and for pure cheek takes the biscuit. I wish I'd thought of it myself."

Carslake's hockey challenge certainly did cause a sensation in the school. Some girls treated it with ridicule, a few were angry, all agreed that it was awful cheek on the part of the much-despised Carslake's. The challenge was accepted, however, with the firm resolution that the challengers should be punished for their cheek by such a beating as had never yet been seen on the school playing-fields. Carslake's tried to assume a careless, confident, nonchalant air, but the only one of them who really succeeded was their head prefect and that because the pose was a natural one. Inwardly they were all quaking at their temerity, even such bold spirits as Kitty and Peggy O'Nell, and looking forward to the match with feelings of apprehension.

Duane, with an undue amount of deliberation, had drawn up her team. "I've put Bertha and Edith in their usual positions at right back and goal," she explained. "Kitty, I want you to be the other back. Halves--Margaret, myself, Mary. Forwards, wings--France and Peggy. Yes, France, you must play, and what's more you'll have to run as you've never run in your life before, not even on Sports Day."

"I'll do it," said France heroically, "for the honour of the house. Even if it means dropping dead half-way through the match."

"Dropping dead! Rubbish!" returned Duane, with unusual energy for her. "Daisy, you must take centre-forward. I'll help you all I can. Inners--Barbara and Rosalie. That's the best we can do, I think!"

The match was fixed for Wednesday, and the Carslake girls practised diligently in their team positions whenever they had the chance. Kitty enjoyed these practices immensely and played left-back with great vigour--perhaps, sometimes, with more vigour than skill. Duane's attitude towards these practices amused her very much. She did not play herself, but, wrapped in her coat with its high fur collar, stood by the side of the ground, leaning gracefully upon her stick and giving advice and criticism on the play by means of a remarkable flow of cutting remarks, directed chiefly against the forwards and halves. According to her, they were slow and hesitating, they used neither their sticks nor their feet properly, their shooting was miserably feeble and their passing most inaccurate.

At any rate, Kitty reflected, Duane certainly seemed to know all there was to know about the theoretical side of hockey. She also seemed to have the knack of surprising everyone by pulling off the most unexpected things, in an almost accidental kind of way. Kitty was astonished that she did not feel so much annoyed and irritated--as she certainly would have done three months ago--as quietly amused. She put it down to the fact that she was getting used to Duane and her ways.

She found that Bertha was quite a reliable partner to have at right back; she was sturdily built, and, if inclined to be a trifle slow against quick forwards, she stuck to them like a leech. She was a queer, reserved girl with little to say for herself; Kitty divined that there was a certain streak of sullen obstinacy in her character.

The day of the match came at last. Everybody seemed unusually restless during afternoon lessons, and as soon as dismissal bell rang there was a general stampede for the playing-fields.

The Carslake eleven gathered in a little group inside one room in the pavilion. "Oh dear," sighed Peggy, "I feel most frightfully squirmy inside. For mercy's sake, Edie, don't let any shots through."

"Can't help it sometimes," mumbled Edie, wriggling nervously.

"Don't look so glum, everybody!" cried Kitty, looking around. "We're not beaten yet, you know."

The youngest members of the team brightened up at this, for there certainly was something cheering in the sight of Kitty, looking so vigorous and dependable. Kitty glanced curiously round at their captain. That worthy stood in her favourite attitude--viz. leaning gracefully on her stick, a well-worn weapon with a heavy crook, guard and rubber-bound handle. She, too, was quite a striking figure in her perfectly fitting tunic ending well above her knees, as unperturbed as ever. "Time we were on the field," she said. "Just remember this, please. Whatever happens, you forwards are to keep forward."

"Here, Duane," remonstrated France. "You're not going to play with that watch on, are you?"

"Watch?" said Duane, vaguely. "Oh--er--no, of course not. I quite forgot it. Here, mind it for me, one of you kids."

"You've got shoes on too," struck in Margaret, reprovingly. "I thought Miss Bryce said nobody was to play matches in shoes unless she had pads on."

"Can't help it if she did. I never could play in boots--can't run. Don't worry, Margaret. I'll look out for my shins if you'll look after yours."

They all scrambled out of the pavilion and the two teams lined up on the field. The school eleven certainly looked a stiff lot to tackle, for Easthampton boasted of one of the best ladies' elevens in the county. The centre-forwards bullied off and for the first twenty minutes both sides continued to strain every nerve to keep up the pressure. The wise prognosticated that the pace could not last; the weaker side would not be able to keep it going.

On the wings France and Peggy, as fast as their opponents, were always dangerous and several times carried the ball right to the goal circle, but could not break through the school defence. Carslake's, too, was defending gallantly against a dashing forward line. Duane in the centre held Paddy and her two inners in check, and more than one of the onlookers remarked, "Cato's playing a good game to-day."

The Carslake captain had quite a distinctive style. She never appeared flurried, and, for hockey, was even unhurried. She played with neat adroitness, using both stick and feet with remarkable dexterity, invariably successful in robbing the attacker of the ball just at the right moment and hitting away without pause, as hard and accurate as a machine. The danger came from the wings, for the Carslake half-backs were comparatively weak and too slow to hold the school forwards. Kitty and Bertha found their work cut out for them in that quarter, while, by a tacit understanding, Duane held the centre.

But the pace was bound to tell. The end of the first twenty minutes found the lighter side being slowly overwhelmed and pressed back. The forwards made their attacking dashes at longer and still longer intervals, while the halves were back with Kitty and Bertha, resisting desperately. Twice Edith saved, but the school were not to be denied. A furious attack swept the ball over the goal line, then the left wing broke through, and when half-time sounded the school were leading by two goals to nil.

The Carslake team walked off the field and into the pavilion, looking tired and dispirited, with the feeling that worse things were in store for them in the second half. Public opinion was the same, for it was obvious that Carslake's were tired out and worn down by the pace, while the school felt as fresh as ever when they thought of the lead they had gained over their opponents.

"If it weren't just for a few--Duane, Kitty and Bertha," remarked one of the team, "we'd be all over them, and they wouldn't have a look in. Those three are as hard as nails, I know, but even they won't be able to keep us out much longer. It'll be a walk-over next half."

Meanwhile, in the pavilion, the younger members of the Carslake team dropped down wearily upon the nearest seats.

"Oh dear," gasped Daisy, "I feel nearly dead-beat."

"And I've got the stitch," added France, dismally, for the artist, good though her intentions might be, was not in the form to stand a gruelling match like this.

When Duane entered everybody seemed to glance spontaneously towards her, as the central figure in the whole affair. After all, it was she who was responsible for it.

She stood looking at them for a moment in silence. Her pale, rather sallow-complexioned face was flushed, her hair for once was ruffled and untidy; her light grey eyes shone vividly in their dark setting.

"Hallo!" she greeted them. "What are you all looking so dismal about?"

"We're not looking dismal exactly," protested Peggy, "but--well--they'll walk over us in the second half, Duane."

"And why on earth," demanded Duane, "should they walk over us?"

"We're dead-beat. I feel as if I couldn't run another step," with a weary sigh. "I simply couldn't get past those backs."

"And I've got the stitch," added France, lugubriously.

"And my heel rubs."

"Oh, of course, if you're going to lie down on the grass and _let 'em_," said Duane slowly and with supreme scorn, "I've no doubt they _will_ walk over you."

Peggy flushed. "Of course, we'll do our best. But all the same, it was ridiculous to think we could do anything against the school eleven."

"Well, naturally," said Duane, sharply, "if you're giving in like this, it is hopeless. Only please realize that the match isn't over, so we haven't lost yet. I haven't been accustomed to playing in a team that sits down half-way through a match and says it's beaten. I, for one, certainly don't admit it, and I'm going on playing and sticking to it while I've a breath in me, if I'm the only one in the team left on the field. You stick to me and I'll stick to you. I will, on my honour, and what's more, I'll see you through somehow."

The last words came out in a rush. The girl was still facing them, the blaze of an unconquered spirit lighting her brilliant eyes.

For a moment, nobody stirred or spoke. Then Kitty jumped to her feet, and crossed over to the head prefect's side.

"I'm sticking to you, Duane," she exclaimed, clearly, driven by an impulse she did not stop to analyse. "There'll be two to play on to the end, anyway."

"And so am I," in Bertha's more deliberate tones.

"And I." France, too, sprang impetuously to her feet.

The spirit of the leader was as infectious as a disease. Everyone was on her feet now, eager and enthusiastic. It was as if a flame had suddenly been lit, spreading like a flash from one to the other. It was a different team entirely from the one that had entered the pavilion a few minutes ago.

Duane surveyed them a moment in silence. "That's better," she said, quietly. "I guess, if you're not very big, you're game anyway."

"There's the whistle," cried somebody, and the forwards ran out laughing and talking. The bigger girls followed more decorously. Duane laid her hand lightly on Kitty's shoulder.

"Thanks, Kitty," she said, in a low voice.

"What for?" said Kitty, awkward and embarrassed. "For backing you up? And what else should I do? You're the captain of this team."

The game began again after much the same fashion as in the first half. The school eleven, who had expected to find their work much easier now, were astonished to discover that their opponents were playing with a new burst of energy and enthusiasm, sticking to it determinedly. The spectators, too, were surprised, and generously conceded that if Carslake's had rather too much cheek, their hockey eleven certainly had plenty of grit.

The game went on, and no addition was made to the score. True, the school forwards were getting most of the play, but they could not break through the defence. Kitty cleared the ball away time after time, vowing inwardly that they should not get through again. Bertha stuck to it with sturdy resolution; that streak of sullen obstinacy in her character served her in good stead now. Duane had lost a little of her unflurried, machine-like precision, and nearly all of her casual coolness, but her hitting was as clean and as hard as ever, and Paddy was checked and held in her most desperate rushes. France was gasping for breath, and Daisy was limping painfully.

"Hurt?" inquired Duane, as they halted for a twenty-five bully.

"No, not much," replied Daisy, bravely. "But I'm afraid I can't run. I've twisted my foot over."

Somebody shouted out, "Buck up, the school! Only ten more minutes!"

"Get behind me," said Duane, quickly. "I'll play centre-forward for the rest of the game."

Now Paddy had the ball. But before she could pass, Duane had tackled her, taken possession of the ball, and swung it out to Peggy.

"Now then, Peggy!" she cried. "Take it down on the wing."

Peggy responded pluckily, and gathering all her remaining energies, spurted for all she was worth, then centred wildly with her last effort. Before anyone realized what was happening Duane had caught the ball on her stick, passed the right-back with a swerving run, was inside the circle, and without pausing had shot for goal. The ball rose in the air, twisting and spinning, and passed between the posts and far beyond like a streak of lightning.

The Carslake supporters cheered frantically at this unexpected dénouement. But the next few minutes' play was still more amazing and bewildering. Duane took the bully now, and with the adroitness of one thoroughly at home at centre-forward, secured the ball and passed it to her forward. But the forwards had fought so well that they were almost "done"--little more could be got out of them. The school forwards were on the ball and had swept it right to the goal. Edith, on her knees, brought off the best "save" of her experience, and Kitty cleared the ball away, hitting right down the centre with a splendid shot to Duane, some instinct telling her what to do.

Duane stopped the ball with her foot and was off like a flash, running like a hare and with a control of the ball that at such a speed was amazing. The centre-half was out-distanced and Duane held on her way. With a feint to the right she dodged round the back, swerved sharply and, hardly pausing to steady herself, shot with all the strength behind her strong arms and shoulders. The ball skimmed over the ground and curled round the inside of the post. Carslake's had equalized.

Dazed and taken aback, the school lined up in their places, hardly realizing what had happened. Perhaps their astonishment was their undoing, for Duane and Daisy had wriggled the ball through at the bully, and before the school could pull themselves together, Duane was racing down the field again. Just before she could be tackled she passed the ball with delightful accuracy to France, who was quite uncovered for the moment. To her everlasting credit, that budding artist rose to the occasion nobly, for in spite of her "stitch," she carried the ball well into the enemy's quarters and without attempting what she knew was beyond her powers, centred again to Duane. The pass was not an easy one, but once more Duane had bobbed up in the right spot, and made no mistake in intercepting it. With her amazing swerve she was past the first back, but before she could shoot, the goalkeeper, running out, had tackled her. However, Duane's stick was still behind the ball and the impetus of her dash carried her forward a few staggering paces to drop on her knees just beyond the posts, while the ball rolled gently over the line and came to rest a foot or two beyond. It was one of the most curious goals ever scored on the ground.

Duane was on her feet, a little pale, and panting audibly now; she picked up her stick and walked back to the centre, unheeding the loud cheering and commotion that was going on around. Hardly, however, had play restarted, than the whistle rang out, loud and prolonged. The great match was over, and Carslake's had defeated the Rest by the extraordinary feat of scoring three goals in the last ten or twelve minutes' play.