Books: The New Boy at Hilltop

R >> Ralph Henry Barbour >> The New Boy at Hilltop

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Bi's face went white and he got up slowly out of his chair.

"That will do, sir," he said softly, like a tiger-puss purring. "You've
done what no one else has ever done, Mr. Hecker. You've called me a coward.
You're in authority and I have no redress--now. But after to-day--" He
stopped and laughed unpleasantly. "I'll see you again, sir."

"Heroics!" sneered the coach. "They don't impress me, sir. I've said you're
a coward, and I stand by it. I repeat it. You are a coward, Briggs, an
arrant coward."

Bi gripped his hands and tried to keep the tears back.

"Coward, am I? What are you, I'd like to know? What are you when you take
advantage of your position to throw insults at me? If you weren't the head
coach, I'd--I'd----"

"What would you do?" sneered Hecker.

"I'd kill you!" blazed Bi. "And I'll do it yet, you--you----"

"Tut, tut! That's enough, Briggs. You can't impose on me that way. I
haven't watched you play football all the fall to be taken in now by your
melodrama. But after to-day you will find me quite at your service,
Mr.--Coward. And meanwhile we'll call this interview off, if you please.
The door, Mr. Briggs!"

Bi seized his hat from the table and faced Hecker. He was smiling now,
smiling with a white, set, ugly face.

"Perhaps I am wrong," he said softly with a little laugh. "I think I am.
Either that or you are lying. For if you are really willing to meet me
after to-day's game you are no coward, sir."

Then he went out.

We lined up at two o'clock.

There was a huge crowd and a band. I didn't mind the crowd, but that band
got me worried so, that I couldn't do a thing the first ten minutes. It's
funny how a little thing like that will queer your game. One fellow I knew
once was off his game the whole first half because some idiot was flying a
kite over the field advertising some one's pills.

We had the ball and began hammering at the Yale line and kept it up until
we had reached her fifteen yards. Then she got together and stopped us;
held us for downs in spite of all we could do. Then she kicked and we
started it all over again. It wasn't exciting football to watch, maybe, but
it was the real thing with us. We had to work--Lord, how we had to work!
And how we did work, too! We made good the next time, but it took us
fifteen minutes to get back down the field. Cooper himself went over for
that first touchdown. Maybe the crowd didn't shout! Talk about noise! I'd
never heard any before! It was so unexpected, you see, for almost everyone
had thought Yale was going to do her usual stunt and rip us to pieces. But
in that first half she was on the defensive every moment. Seven times she
had the ball in that first thirty-five minutes, but she could no more keep
it than she could fly. Altogether she gained eighteen yards in that half.

It was one-sided, if you like, but it was no picnic. It was hammer and
tongs from first to last--man's work and lots of it.

We didn't rely on tricks, but went at her center and guards and just wore
them down. And when that first half was over--11-0 was the score--the glory
of one Jordan was as a last season's straw hat. A new star blazed in the
football firmament; and it was in the constellation of Harvard and its name
was Bi Briggs. What I'm telling you is history, and you needn't take my
word alone for it. I never really saw a man play guard before that day--and
I'd watched lots of fellows try. Bi was a cyclone. To see him charge into
Jordan--and get the jump on him every time--was alone worth the price of
admission. And as for blocking, he was a stone wall, and that's all there
is to it. Never once did the Elis get through him. He held the line on his
side as stiff as a poker until quarter had got the ball away, and then he
mixed things up with the redoubtable Jordan, and you could almost see the
fur fly! Play? O my! He was simply great! And the rest of us, watching when
we had a chance, just felt our eyes popping out. And all the time he
smiled; smiled when he went charging through the blue line, smiled when he
took Toppan on his shoulder and hurled him over the mix-up for six yards,
smiled when we pulled him out of a pile-up looking like a badly butchered
beef, and still smiled when we trotted of the field in a chaos of sound.
But that smile wasn't pretty. I guess he was thinking most of the time of
Hecker; and maybe sometimes he got Hecker and Jordan mixed up.

When we came back for the second half we weren't yet out of the woods, and
we knew it. We knew that Yale would forget that she was bruised and
battered and tired and would play harder than ever. And she did. And for
just about ten minutes I wouldn't have bet a copper on the game. Yale had
us on the run and plugged away until we were digging our toes into our
twelve-yard line. Then we held her. After that, although she still played
the game as though she didn't know she was beaten, she was never dangerous.
We scored twice more in that half. When there was still ten minutes of play
the whistle blew, and Jordan, white, groggy, and weepy about the eyes, was
dragged off the field. Bi had sure used him rough, but I'm not pretending
Jordan hadn't come back at him. Bi's face was something fierce. The blood
had dried in flakes under his nose, one eye was out of commission, and his
lip was bleeding where his tooth had gone through it. But he still smiled.
When we trotted off for the last time the score board said: "Harvard, 22;
Opponents, 0." And those blurry white figures up there paid for all the
hard work of the year.

It was past seven when we assembled for dinner. About all the old players
for twenty years back were there and it sounded like a sewing circle. Bi
was one of the last to come in. He pushed his way through the crowd about
the door, shaking off the fellows' hands, and strode across to where Hecker
was standing. Hecker saw him coming, but he only watched calmly. Bi stopped
in front of him, that same sort of ugly smile on his face.

"We've broken training, sir?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," answered the coach.

Then Bi's hand swung around and that slap was heard all over the room.
There was a moment of dead silence; then half a dozen of us grabbed Bi. We
thought he'd gone crazy, but he didn't try to shake us off. He just stood
there and looked at Hecker. The coach never raised a hand and never changed
his expression--only one cheek was as red as the big flag at the end of the
room. He held up his hand and we quieted down.

"Gentlemen," he said, "Mr. Briggs was quite within his rights. Please do
not interfere with him."

We let Bi go.

"The incident demands explanation," continued the coach. "As you all know,
we were left in a hole by the loss of Corson and Blake, and the only man
who seemed at all possible was Mr. Briggs. But Mr. Briggs, playing as he
had been playing all year, would have been no match for Jordan of Yale. We
tried every means we could think of to wake Mr. Briggs up. He had, I felt
certain, the ability to play football--winning football--but we couldn't
get it out of him. As a last resort I tried questionable means. I asked Mr.
Briggs to call on me this morning. I told him we must win to-day, and that
in order to do so he would have to play better than he'd been doing. He
told me that he would do his best, but that he knew himself no match for
Jordan. That spirit wouldn't have done, gentlemen, and I tried to change
it. I told Mr. Briggs that he was a coward, something I knew to be false. I
insulted him over and again until only my authority as head coach kept him
from trying to kill me. He told me he would do so when we had broken
training and I promised to give him satisfaction. What I did is, I am well
aware, open to criticism. But our necessity was great and I stand ready to
accept any consequences. At least the result of today's contest in a
measure vindicates my method. You who saw Mr. Briggs play will, I am sure,
find excuses for me. As for the gentleman himself, it remains with him to
say whether he will accept my apology for what passed this morning, taking
into consideration the strait in which we were placed and the results as
shown, or whether he will demand other satisfaction."

Half a hundred surprised, curious faces turned toward Bi, who, during
Hecker's statement, had looked at first contemptuous, then bewildered, and
finally comprehending. For about ten seconds the room was as still as a
graveyard. Then Bi stepped up with outstretched hand like a little man, and
for the second time that day we went crazy!

Bi was hailed as the greatest guard of the year, and they put him on the
All-American team, but I don't think Bi cared a button. Anyhow, when they
tried to get him to come out for the eleven the next fall he absolutely
refused, and nothing anyone could say would budge him. He said he was too
busy.

THE END

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