The Crimson Sweater. Barbour Ralph Henry
found himself between a short, stout youth of apparently fourteen and an older boy whose age might have been anywhere from sixteen to eighteen. He reminded Roy of a weed which had spent all its time growing upward and had forgotten to fill out at the sides. He wore a faded brown sweater with crossed oars dividing the letters F H. Roy experienced a touch of respect for him as a member of the crew quite out of keeping with the feeling of amusement aroused by his lanky body, unkempt hair and unpleasant beady brown eyes. Roy liked the little chunky youth on his other side better. He was evidently a new hand and was in a continual funk for fear he would drop the ball when Roy passed it to him. For this reason Roy took some pains to put it to him easily and where he could best catch it, a piece of thoughtfulness that more than once brought a shy glance of gratitude from the youngster's big, round eyes. But if Roy gave courtesies he received none. The lanky youth seemed to be trying to slam the ball at Roy as hard as he knew how and once Roy caught a gleam of malicious amusement from the squinting eyes.
"Just you wait a minute, my friend," he muttered.
Despite the tall boy's best endeavors he was unable to make Roy fumble. No matter where he shot the ball nor how hard he sent it, Roy's hands gripped themselves about it. After one especially difficult handling of the pigskin Roy looked up to find Mr. Cobb watching him with evident approval. The big fellow who had taken exception to the crimson sweater was not in the squad and Roy concluded that he was one of the last year team. Presently the order came to reverse and the balls began going the other way. Here was Roy's chance for revenge and he didn't let it slip. The first two balls he passed to his tall neighbor quite nicely, but when the third one reached him he caught it in front of him and without turning his body sped it on swift and straight for the tall one's chest. The tall one wasn't expecting it quite so soon and Roy looked properly regretful when the ball went bobbing away into the center of the circle and the shaggy-haired youth went sprawling after it, only to miss it at the first try and have to crawl along on elbows and knees until he had it snuggled under his body. The tall one rewarded Roy with a scowl when he got back to his place, but Roy met the scowl with a look of cherubic innocence, and only Mr. Cobb, watching from outside the circle, smiled as he turned away. After that Roy kept the tall one guessing, but there were no more fumbles. Presently Mr. Cobb called a halt.
"That'll do, fellows. I want to get your names now, so keep your places a moment."
Out came a note book and pencil and one by one the candidates' names were entered. Roy looked on while he awaited his turn and thought that he was going to like Mr. Cobb. The instructor was rather small, a trifle bald-headed and apparently a bunch of muscles. His scarcity of hair could hardly have been due to advanced age for he didn't look a bit over thirty. In his time he had been a good quarter-back on his college eleven and one of the best shortstops of his day.
The small youth at Roy's right, after darting several diffident looks in his direction, at length summoned courage to address him.
"You're a new boy, aren't you?" he asked.
"Brand new," answered Roy smilingly. "How about you?"
"Oh, I've been here two years." The knowledge lent a degree of assurance and he went on with less embarrassment. "I was a junior last year and couldn't play. You know, they won't let the juniors play football here. Mighty mean, I think, don't you?"
"Well, I don't know," answered Roy. "I played when I was twelve, but I guess it's pretty risky for a kid of that age to do it. How old are you?"
"Fourteen. Do you think I'll stand any show to get on the team?"
"Why not? You look pretty solid. Can you run?"
"Not very fast. Ferris said I wouldn't have any show at all and so I thought I'd ask you; you seemed to know about football."
"Did I? How could you tell?" asked Roy surprisedly.
"Oh, by the way you – went at it," answered the other vaguely.
"Oh, I see. Who's Ferris?"
"S-sh!" The small youth lowered his voice. "That's he next to you; Otto Ferris. He's trying for half-back. He almost made it last year."
"Is he on the crew?" asked Roy.
"Yes, Number Three. He's a particular chum of Burlen's."
"You don't say? And who's Burlen?"
The other's features expressed surprise and something very much like pain.
"Don't you know who Burlen is?" he asked incredulously. "Why, he's – "
But Roy's curiosity had to go unsatisfied for the moment, for Mr. Cobb appeared with his book.
"Well, Sidney, you're out for the team at last, eh?"
"Yes, sir; do you think I can make it, sir?"
"Who knows? You'll have to get rid of some of that fat, though, my boy." Mr. Cobb turned to Roy.
"Let's see, I met you last evening, didn't I?"
"Yes, sir."
"I thought so; and the name was – er – Brown wasn't it?"
"Porter, sir."
"Oh, Porter; I remember now. How old are you?"
"Sixteen, sir."
"Played before, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where abouts?"
"In New York, on my grammar school eleven."
"What position?"
"Quarter, first; then left half."
"Which was the best?"
"Quarter, I think, sir."
"What class are you in?"
"Second senior."
"Thank you; that's all."
The coach passed on and Sidney claimed Roy's attention again.
"Do you think I'm very fat?" he asked anxiously.
"I should say you had about ten or twelve pounds that might as well come off," answered Roy.
"Does drinking vinegar help?"
"I never tried it," laughed Roy. "But exercise is a heap surer."
"All right, fellows," called the coach. "Ferris, you take charge of the squad until I come back. Let them fall on the ball a while. I want Gallup and Rogers to come with me."
A sturdily-built youth stepped out of the group and Mr. Cobb looked around a trifle impatiently.
"Rogers!"
There was no answer. Roy thought the coach was looking at him, but couldn't think why he should. Then he heard Sidney's voice at his elbow.
"He means you! He never remembers names. You'd better go."
Doubtfully Roy stepped forward.
"Oh, there you are!" exclaimed Mr. Cobb. "What's the trouble with your ears? Not deaf, are you?"
"No, sir," answered Roy meekly.
"That's good. You must keep your ears open here and step lively when you're called. I'm going to give you two a try on the first squad. Come on."
And Mr. Cobb strode briskly off down the field.
CHAPTER II
ROY MAKES AN ENEMY AND A FRIEND
A few minutes later Roy found himself acting as quarter-back on one of the two squads made up of last season's first and second. The boy in front of him, playing center, was a big youth who had a half hour before insulted his precious sweater and who Roy now discovered to be Horace Burlen. Burlen hadn't shown himself especially delighted at Roy's advent, but so far had refrained from addressing him. For a time the work went well enough. Each squad, since there were not enough players present to make up two full elevens, held nine men, five in the line and four behind it, and the work consisted of snapping the ball back by center and handing it to one of the backs by quarter. No signals were used and the passing was slow, the idea being merely to accustom the players to handling the ball. Roy was instructed in the holding of the pigskin and in passing and the backs