  A number of cadets, clad in the regulation football pants, and blue and white jerseys of Woodcrest football team ran swiftly around the track back of the school. It was the custom of Coach Briar to give his men a single lap around the field after a strenuous workout, and the team was winding up for the day. Don and Jim held their place well in the front with the leaders. The lap completed they rushed down the steps that led into the basement and with a series of wild whoops piled into the locker rooms. A hissing sound announced that the showers had been turned on, and a film of steam vapor spread rapidly over the room. Jerseys came off on the double and more than one helmet rolled unheeded across the dusty floor. Coach Brier walked in slowly and looked with approval at his charges. They were in fine condition and had won every game of the season. At no time in the year had they been in any danger of losing, and the fighting spirit was more than gratifying to the athletic coach. The tumult in the locker room increased with each passing moment. Half a dozen young huskies had found themselves stripped at the same time and a wild rush for the showers resulted. There was pushing and shoving and shouting, which would have disturbed the nerves of someone less stout in that respect than the popular coach. But he merely smiled and looked on, wisely confining his talk to football subjects. “Only one more team to play, coach,” shouted Quarterback Vench, of the third class. “We ought to be able to take them.” “Don’t be too sure,” warned the coach. “We’ll sure take one healthy crack at them,” put in Douglas, who ran in the backfield for Woodcrest. “Is there any chance of playing Dimsdale this year, coach?” cried Hudson, from the back of the room. A look of gravity spread over the genial face of the coach. As if by magic the uproar in the room ceased. Hudson had struck a sore point. In the past Woodcrest had played an annual game with Dimsdale, a preparatory school close by. The contest had been the big event of the whole fall season and the rivalry had been keen. But in recent years there had been no games between the two schools, owing to an unfortunate affair that took place after one of the games on the Woodcrest home field. At that time Woodcrest had defeated Dimsdale for five years straight, and in the game that followed the preparatory school had won. The fact went to the heads of the students of the rival school, and besides painting the 12 to 0 score on the side of the school with white paint they had ruthlessly broken windows and wrecked some school furniture. The cadets’ battalion had formed and had given the rioters a severe beating, although they were supposed to merely chase them off the grounds. From that time forward there had been no games. However, that had happened years ago and there was no thought that it would happen again. Each year the cadets clamored to play against Dimsdale and each year they were refused. As the years went on the situation became harder. Insolent Dimsdale scholars openly booed the cadets and the boast was common with Dimsdale students that the Woodcrest school was afraid to play them. In large bodies the Dimsdale rooters came to the cadet games and openly cheered for the rivals of the cadets, no matter who or what they were. It was as much as flesh and blood could stand, and to old veterans like Hudson and Barnes and Berry, the flashing backfield men, it was especially bitter to think that they must graduate without a chance to play their detested foes. To Hudson’s question the coach looked troubled. “I don’t know, Hudson,” he said. “You know what the attitude of Melvin Gates is.” Don stopped tying his shoe to look up. “What has Melvin Gates to do with it, coach?” he asked. “Everything,” responded the coach, gloomily. “It so happens that he is the chief trustee and that he donates the most money to the school. Although Colonel Morrell owns the school it is really run by a board of trustees, and the head trustee is Melvin Gates. He has never gotten over the affair of the last Dimsdale game, and he positively refuses to allow the school to play the other outfit. As he holds most of the power I suppose the colonel can’t risk losing his support, so we have to go without our game each year.” “Is he the only one against it?” Jim asked. “Yes,” nodded the coach. “The only one.” Vench snorted in disgust. “Can you beat that? Just because something happened long ago he has to act like a spoiled baby about it! That’s what I call fine, noble sportsmanship!” “You don’t know much about it,” grumbled Hudson. “This is only your second year. Wait until you have had to swallow their insults for four years. Why, look at the Roxberry game, and what those guys did. Started yelling every time the signals were called, so that we couldn’t get them. If I had my way I’d turn the whole corps loose to clean ’em off the field.” Young Major Rhodes, former cadet captain of the senior class and now chief drill instructor, drifted in just then. “I agree with Hudson,” he said, quietly. “I had to put up with it for four years and then finally graduated without getting a chance to play against them. I think we’ve been wrong about the whole thing from start to finish. Suppose a delegation of you fellows go and see the colonel and tell him that the whole school wants to play Dimsdale.” “What good will that do?” asked Coach Brier. “I don’t know that it will,” confessed Rhodes. “But I do know that there will be a meeting of the trustees on Friday and at that time the colonel can put it up to them again.” “And get turned down once more,” snapped Berry, to whom Dimsdale was a nightmare. Rhodes shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know, but you can at least try. Someday the break has got to be made, and the sooner the better.” “Do you think this year would be a good one to play Dimsdale?” inquired a substitute, timidly. “They are Class A champions, you know, and they have a powerful team.” “I wouldn’t care how big their team is,” declared halfback Barnes. “Just put me where I can rip holes in their line, that’s all!” The coach looked at the boys silently for a time. “All right, boys,” he said. “I guess there is no harm in trying out Rhodes’ suggestion. Suppose you three veteran backfield men consider yourselves a committee and approach the colonel on the subject. Let’s see if we can get any action this year.” That night Don consulted earnestly with Jim and the result was a letter which he wrote to his father. After that they waited, with the rest of the school, for the decision of the trustees. What the young substitute had said about Dimsdale was true. They were at present occupying the exalted position of champions of the Class A divisions, and they boasted a powerful, line-smashing team. In one sense it was not a wise year to start playing the old rivals again, for the Woodcrest team was small and fast, but in no way compared with the other school as far as bulk of players was concerned. But the cadets were mad clean through and did not hesitate to take on the other school, in anticipation at least. The colonel received the committee of three and expressed with them the desire of renewing relations with the preparatory school. He promised to take the matter up with his board of trustees and see what he could do with the one obstinate member. “It is time that Mr. Gates got over his prejudice,” he admitted. “We’ll see what we can do.” On the day of the trustee meeting Don received a letter from home and he and Jim read it over with satisfaction. Don nodded across the table to Jim as he finished it. “I guess it won’t make any difference which way the meeting goes now,” he stated. On the following day when the team finished their workout, the coach was not with them. He had gone into the school building to find out the result of the trustee meeting. The players stood around with sweaters and coats as protection against the sharp November wind. Before long they saw the coach come from the main hall and walk slowly toward them. “Walks very slowly, something like a funeral march,” observed Hudson, with a gloomy shake of his head. When Brier reached them he did not waste any words. He shook his head and spread out his hands with a gesture that told the whole story. “Same as ever, boys,” he announced briefly. “Gates refuses to allow us to play Dimsdale.” Barnes and Berry took off their helmets at the same moment and slammed them on the ground viciously. Hudson turned away, a lump in his throat. His last ambition, that of playing against Dimsdale, was frustrated, and the fact hurt. Growls came from the rest of the squad. Vench gritted his teeth and sneered at the narrow-minded attitude of the chief trustee. Only Don and Jim kept silent, and as they were new members on the football team the fact was not noticed. “That means giving it up for at least another year, I suppose,” shrugged Rhodes. “Maybe until Gates dies, I don’t know,” returned the coach. “Blessings on him and all his money!” murmured Barnes, sarcastically. After the customary lap around the field the boys went back to dress, annoyed and growling at the situation. It was not until they were in their own room that Don spoke his mind. “Jim, I believe that there’s something more to this than we can see on the surface,” he said. “What do you mean?” his brother asked. “I mean that I don’t think Melvin Gates is keeping us from playing Dimsdale simply because of the after-game riot of years ago. Why in the world should he be so particular? Every student wants to play and every trustee wants to let us, but still he holds out. I think there is some added mystery in it all, and that he has some deep and secret reason for not wanting us to play Dimsdale!” |
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