(V)

When Regal got to its quarters off the side line, the coach pitched into his men. "You bunch of babies, you ought to be playing croquet, not football! Where's your 'sand'? Haven't you got any spine?"

He was worked up to a terrible pitch. But it was all lost on the team.

They were dazed. They had invited their friends to come out and see them win. And here they were pushed up and down the field, the score 8 to 0, and likely to be 28 to 0 before the end.

The captain was the first to speak. "If I'd had my way, it would now be 8 to 0 in our favor. I told you not to drop Mulvy. I told you not to believe that charge against him. But you had your way, and now you see what it's done."

"Do you suppose we could get him for the second half, Bob?" asked one of the team.

"What, after what we did to him? No."

Here Gaffney stepped up. "I say, fellows, it was a dirty, mean trick the way you fellows turned on Mulvy. Bob is the only fellow that stood out for him."

"That's right, Gaff."

"Now I tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to show you that you're wrong on Mulvy. I'm going to get him. I'll go for him myself." He was off on the instant.

"If Mulvy comes here after our treatment of him yesterday, I'll take my hat off to him," declared Bob to his dejected team.

"If he comes," declared Bill Cronin, "I'll knock the head off the first fellow that ever dares hint again that he was in that thug affair."

That meant a good deal, for Cronin was the strongest man on the team.

"I guess we made a mistake, boys," said Joe Dalton. "As I look back now, I never knew Mulvy to be anything but straight."

"We believed that report too readily," observed Fred Donohue. "I'm mighty sorry for my part in it."

And so it went on. It stood out clearly now, that they had little or no ground for their action against Mulvy. But all felt that there was no question of his coming back.

Out on the field, the Stanley contingent was jubilant. Songs and cheers rocked the stands. The Regal supporters tried to look hopeful, but not with any great success. There were many inquiries about Mulvy. Some gave one reason, some another, for his absence. Those in the parish gave the Club story. But the High School drew students from all over town, and the parish affairs were not known outside. The Stanley players were asking where Mulvy was, for they knew him and his record. They thought he was on the crippled list. Their chief concern was joy over the score, and the prospect of final victory, and the Interscholastic Championship.

Gaffney, meanwhile, had got a closed auto and had put into it a reserve uniform. It seemed the traffic cops took him for an ambulance--for he reached Frank's in five minutes. He rushed upstairs, rang the bell, breathing hard as he waited for the door to open.

Frank was with his mother and Father Boone within. The priest knew that Frank would feel it keenly that he was ostracized from the team, and being sure also that he would not go to the game, he had dropped in, casually, as it were, to see Mrs. Mulvy. Frank was really glad to see him.

"Do you know, Father," he said, after the casual remarks had all been made, "I've been building castles in the air. I was imagining that the game was hard fought, and that our fellows were getting the worst of it.

Then I fancied they wished they had me with them, and that they sent for me. I scorned them and had my revenge!"

"That's quite a romance, Frank," said the priest. "But I guess the boys are winning. You know they said that that sub played splendidly yesterday."

"I hope they are winning, Father. I was just day-dreaming."

"But, Frank, suppose now that they did actually send for you, would you scorn them; would you refuse to go?"

"Well, Father, except for one thing. In church this morning, I offered this injustice to G.o.d as a sacrifice. If I should act resentfully, it would spoil the sacrifice."

"Now, you are talking as a Christian, as a Christian Knight. I'm proud of you. You see, in a case like this, you would not be obliged to go back to them. They ejected you. You are free to go back or not. But to go back, not being obliged to, and to do so for the love of G.o.d, is virtue of a high order."

"You know, Father, Achilles went through something like this, and he scorned the pleading Greeks. But that was before Christ came."

"Precisely. And look at the nuns and priests of France. Banished from their country by an infidel government. Yet, when their country was in need of them they came back from all quarters of the globe to suffer and, if need be, die for her. That is the effect of Christ in the world."

"Yes, Father, and do you remember how differently Coriola.n.u.s acted? When he was driven out of Rome, although he was naturally a very n.o.ble man, he led an army against his countrymen for revenge."

"Why, you are quite a historian and philosopher, Frank."

At this point, the door bell rang and it was followed at once by excited knocking. Frank ran to the door and Gaffney rushed into the room, all out of breath. Without stopping to see who was there, he poured out his words in such haste and with such excitement, that he seemed almost beside himself.

"Mulvy, we're licked....the game is lost....almost lost....They want you....They want you....Mulvy, they want you!"

Frank looked in amazement at Father Boone. The priest was a picture of astonishment.

"I've got a machine outside ... the uniform in it ... come along ... the second half...."

Before he got any further, Frank looked understandingly at Father Boone, jumped to his feet, and was down stairs like a shot. Into the machine he rushed, then into the uniform. The car fairly flew along the avenue. By the time he had his uniform on and his shoes tied, the car was at the field. Only two minutes remained before the second half.

Bob saw Gaffney running towards the Regal squad, waving his hands, and shouting, "I've got him, I've got him."

And behind Gaffney, all in playing gear, was Mulvy. Bob let out a yell that was heard all over the field. Before he had time to tell the cause of his excitement and jubilation, Gaffney and Mulvy were in the midst of the squad.

The awkward situation lasted but a second. "You're a brick, Mulvy,"

cried Bob, seizing his hand.

The signal rang for the second half. The coach rushed upon him. The boys jumped to their feet and made for the field, full of new life and courage. Each managed to fling him a greeting that told better than words that they knew they had been wrong and that they were sorry for what they had done.

"You're all right, old man."

"You're a whole crowd, Mulvy."

"You're a brick!"

Why the expression, "You're a brick," carries so much weight with boys, no one can a.n.a.lyze. But among any crowd of real boys, it is the limit of hero worship.

Frank had nothing to say and no time to say it. His presence there, fresh and eager for the fight, showed that the incident was pa.s.sed and forgotten. The coach patted him on the back, and whispered, "You've got to save the day, kid, you can do it." And to them all it was, to compare little things with great, what the Yankees meant to Foch.

The squad on the field looked a different aggregation. And it was different. The wonderful thing "spirit" had permeated them. It echoed in the rousing cheers which the Regal supporters gave them.

"Great Guns!" gasped d.i.c.k, just as Gaffney in front of the stand shouted through the megaphone, "A Rah, Rah for Regal." From thousands of throats came the inspiring, "Regal, Regal! Rah, Rah, Re--gal!"

"Now, fellows, a big Rah Rah for Mulvy!" Most of the spectators had supposed that Mulvy was crippled and that he was pressed into service as a last resort. Realizing that an injured gladiator who fights on is a hero, the response that came from the crowd was tremendous.

"Mulvy, Mulvy, Rah, Rah, Mul. . .vy!"

"Give him another," yelled Gaffney.

Again, louder and more intensely, rang out over the field, "Mulvy, Mulvy! Rah, Rah, Mul . . . vy!"