VIII
THE RIVALS OF OAK HALL
For the moment after Dave made his announcement there was a dead silence. The faces of Gus Plum and his associates showed their disappointment.
"Going to play us, eh?" said the bully, slowly.
"You'll be beaten out of your boots," said Nat Poole, with a sneer.
"That remains to be seen," answered Roger. "We accept the challenge and we are here to arrange all the details of the game."
A talk lasting nearly a quarter of an hour followed, in which they went over such details as seemed necessary. Plainly Plum was ill at ease. He wanted to chose an umpire, referee, and linesmen from outside of Oak Hall, but the senator's son would not consent to this.
"I am satisfied to have Mr. Dale for umpire," he said. "And three of our head students can act as referee and linesmen." And so at last it was decided, but not without a great deal of grumbling.
"You won't win this time, Porter," remarked Nick Jasniff, as Dave and Roger were leaving. "After this game you'll never be heard of again in this school."
"'He laughs best who laughs last,'" quoted Dave, and walked away, arm in arm with Roger. Jasniff stared after him and so did Plum and Poole.
"They really mean to play after all," muttered Poole. "I was dead sure they'd decline."
"You never can tell what Porter will do," growled Gus Plum. "I'll wager he got Morr to accept."
"Well, we've got to wax 'em good and hard," remarked Nick Jasniff. "And we ought to be able to do that easily enough – with Henshaw and Babcock on our side. Those two fellows play as if they belonged to some college eleven."
"Yes, I hope great things from Henshaw and Babcock," answered the bully of Oak Hall.
When Roger and Dave returned to the members of their own eleven they were asked how Plum and his crowd had taken the acceptance of the challenge. Then the coming game was discussed from every possible point of view.
"Do you know, I'd almost rather beat Plum than some outside team," remarked Phil. "He deserves to be taken down."
"I don't like Nick Jasniff at all," said Dave, slowly. "In one way I think he is a worse fellow than either Plum or Poole."
"He has a bad eye," said Sam. "It's an eye I don't trust."
"Which puts me in mind of a story," added Shadow. "Now don't stop me, for this is brand-new – "
"Warranted?" queried Dave.
"Yes, warranted. Two Irishmen and a Dutchman got into an argument and when they separated all three were in bad humor. The next day one of the Irishmen met the other Irishman. 'Sure, Pat,' says he. 'I don't loike that Dootchmon at all, at all.' 'Nayther do I,' answered the other Irishman. 'He has a bad eye, so he has,' went on the first Irishman. 'That's roight, he has – an' I gave him that same this very marnin'!' says the other Irishman."
"Three cheers for the new joke!" cried Roger, and a general laugh arose.
"Well, I suppose all we can do is to start practice and keep it up until the day for the match comes," said Dave, after the laughter had subsided.
"That's it," answered the senator's son. "We'll do what we can this very afternoon."
The boys went to their classroom with their heads full of the coming football contest. Roger had already made up his eleven, largely from the material of the season previous. But the boys who had gone from Oak Hall left weak spots in the line which it was next to impossible to fill.
Then came another set-back, which made Dave and the others gloomy enough, and caused Gus Plum and his associates to smile grimly to themselves. Instead of remaining clear, a cold, dismal rain set in that very afternoon and kept up for two days. To practise on the football field was out of the question, and all Roger's eleven could do was to exercise in the gymnasium. Here there was always some one of Plum's crowd to look on and see whatever was being tried in the way of a trick or a new movement.
"I hope it rains Saturday, too," grumbled Phil. "We won't be able to make any kind of a showing at this rate."
"It will be just our luck to have good weather Saturday," sighed Shadow.
Even Dave was disheartened, but he did not show it. Instead he did all the practising he could in the gymnasium and helped Roger whip the eleven into shape. As he had said, he did not care for football as much as baseball, but he was resolved to do his best.
On Saturday morning all the boys were up early, to see what sort of weather they were going to have. The sun was under a cloud, but by nine o'clock it cleared up and a fine, warm wind from the south sprang up.
"That settles it, we have got to play," said Buster Beggs.
"Let us go out and practise as soon as we can," said the senator's son, and called the eleven without delay.
Of course the match had been talked over throughout the school and even outside. As a consequence, when the time came to play, a goodly crowd had assembled on the football field. There was cheering for both sides and the waving of a good many Oak Hall banners. In the small stand that had been put up sat Dr. Clay and about twenty visitors.
"I don't see anything of Henshaw and Babcock," said Dave, looking over the field. "They must be going to play."
"There they are, over in the corner, talking to Plum and Poole," answered Roger, pointing with his hand.
"They must be planning some new move," said Phil. "We'll have to watch out for them."
Presently Babcock, a fine, sturdy player, came forward, followed by Henshaw. Both were frowning, and when Babcock said something to his companion Henshaw nodded vigorously. Plum and Poole came behind, and neither appeared particularly happy.
The game was to be played under the rules of that year, with two halves of thirty minutes each. When it came to the practice Roger's team did what it could. The players were full of energy, but the team work was not at all what it might have been.
"Want to tune up!" sang out one looker-on, to Roger. "Get together!"
"We are trying to," answered the senator's son.
Plum's eleven did much better in practice, working in perfect harmony. Only Poole made fumbles, for which the bully of the Hall upbraided him roundly.
"Oh, don't howl at me," growled Poole. "I am doing as well as you are."
At length the game was called and the two elevens lined up. They were pretty well matched, although Henshaw and Babcock stood out above the others.
"Wish that pair were on our side," sighed Roger. "Each of them has weight, wind, and cleverness – just the things a good football player ought to possess."
There was no time to say more. The toss-up gave Plum's eleven the ball and a few minutes later it was put into play and sent twenty yards into our friends' territory. Then came a scrimmage and the leather went back and forth rapidly. The play was ragged, for neither side had as yet settled down to hard work. There was no brilliant play, and when the ball was carried over the line by Henshaw the applause was rather tame.
"An easy touchdown!"
"Now
