"Wait," interrupted Sydney, "I'll show you."

He drew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and pa.s.sed it to the other. Neil scowled over it a moment, and then looked up helplessly.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"What is it?" he asked. "Something weird in geometry?"

"No," laughed Sydney, "it's a play from close-formation. I drew it this morning."

"Oh," said Neil. "Let's see; what--Here, explain it; where do I come in?"

"Why, your position is at the left of quarter, behind the center-guard, and a little farther back. Full stands directly behind quarter. See?"

"Pshaw! if we get into a crowd like that," said Neil, "we'll get all tied up."

"No you won't; not the way Mills and Devoe are teaching it. You see, the idea is to knife the backs through; there isn't any plunging to speak of and not much hurdling. The forwards open up a hole, and almost before the ball's well in play one of the backs is squirming through. Quarter gives you the ball at a hand-pa.s.s, always; there's no long pa.s.sing done; except, of course, for a kick. Being right up to the line when play begins it only takes you a fraction of a second to hit it; and then, if the hole's there you're through before the other side has opened their eyes. Of course, it all depends on speed and the ability of the line-men to make holes. You've got to be on your toes, and you've got to get off them like a streak of lightning."

"Well, maybe it's all right," said Neil doubtfully, "but it looks like a mix-up. Who gets the ball in this play here?"

"Right half. Left half plunges through between left-guard and center to make a diversion. Full-back goes through between left tackle and end ahead of right half, who carries the ball. Quarter follows. Of course the play can be made around end instead. What do you think of it?"

"All right; but--I think I'd ought to have the ball."

"You would when the play went to the right," laughed Sydney. "The fact is, I--this particular play hasn't been used. I sort of got it up myself. I don't know whether it would be any good. I sometimes try my hand at inventing plays, just for fun, you know."

"Really?" exclaimed Neil. "Well, you are smart. I could no more draw all those nice little cakes and pies and things than I could fly. And it--it looks plausible, I think. But I'm no authority on this sort of thing.

Are you going to show it to Devoe?"

"Oh, no; I dare say it's no use. It may be as old as the hills; I suppose it is. It's hard to find anything new nowadays in football plays."

"But you don't know," said Neil. "Maybe it's a good thing. I'll tell you, Syd, you let me have this, and I'll show it to Mills."

"Oh, I'd rather not," protested Sydney, reddening. "Of course it doesn't amount to anything; I dare say he's thought of it long ago."

"But maybe he hasn't," Neil persuaded. "Come, let me show it to him, like a good chap."

"Well--But couldn't you let him think you did it?"

"No; I'd be up a tree if he asked me to explain it. But don't you be afraid of Mills; he's a fine chap. Come and see me to-morrow night, will you?"

Sydney agreed, and, arising, swung himself across the study to where his coat and cap lay.

"By the way," he asked, "where's Paul to-night?"

"He's calling on Cowan," answered Neil.

Sydney looked as though he wanted to say something and didn't dare.

Finally he found courage.

"I should think he'd stay in his room now that you're laid up," he said.

"Oh, he does," answered Neil. "Paul's all right, only he's a bit--careless. I guess I've humored him too much. Good-night. Don't forget to-morrow night."

Mills called the following forenoon. Ever since Neil's accident he had made it his duty to inquire daily after him, and the two were getting very well acquainted. Neil likened Mills to a crab--rather crusty on the outside, he told himself, but all right when you got under the sh.e.l.l.

Neil was getting under the sh.e.l.l.

To-day, after Neil had reported on his state of health and spirits, he brought out Sydney's diagram. Mills examined it carefully, silently, for some time. Then he nodded his head.

"Not bad; rather clever. Who did it; you?"

"No, I couldn't if I was to be killed. Sydney Burr did it. Maybe you've seen him. A cripple; goes around on a tricycle."

"Yes, I've seen the boy. But does he--has he played?"

"Never; he's been a crip all his life." Mills opened his eyes in astonishment.

"Well, if that's so this is rather wonderful. It's a good play, Fletcher, but it's not original; that is, not altogether. But as far as Burr's concerned it is, of course. Look here, the fellow ought to be encouraged. I'll see him and tell him to try his hand again."

"He's coming here this evening," said Neil. "Perhaps you could look in for a moment?"

"I will. Let me take this; I want Jones to see it. He thinks he's a wonder at diagrams," laughed Mills, "and I want to tell him this was got up by a crippled freshman who has never kicked a ball!"

And so that evening Mills and Neil and Sydney gathered about the big study-table and talked long about gridiron tactics and strategy and the art of inventing plays. Mills praised Sydney's production and encouraged him to try again.

"But let me tell you first how we're situated," said the head coach, "so that you will see just what we're after. Our material is good but light.

Robinson will come into the field on the twenty-third weighing about eight pounds more to a man in the line and ten pounds more behind it.

That's bad enough, but she's going to play tackle-back about the way we've taught the second eleven to play it. Her tackles will weigh about one hundred and eighty-five pounds each. She will take one of those men, range him up in front of our center-guard hole, and put two backs with him, tandem fashion. When that trio, joined by the other half and the quarter, hits our line it's going right through it--that is, unless we can find some means of stopping it. So far we haven't found that means.

We've tried several things; we're still trying; but we haven't found the play we want.

"If we're to win that game we've got to play on the defensive; we've got to stop tackle-back and rely on an end run now and then and lots of punting to get us within goal distance. Then our play is to score by a quick run or a field-goal. The offense we're working up--we'll call it close-formation for want of a better name--is, we think, the best we can find. The idea is to open holes quickly and jab a runner through before our heavier and necessarily slower opponents can concentrate their weight at the point of attack. For the close-formation we have, I think, plays covering every phase. And so, while a good offensive strategy will be welcome, yet what we stand in greatest need of is a play to stop Robinson's tackle-tandem. Now you apparently have ability in this line, Mr. Burr; and, what's more, you have the time to study the thing up.

Supposing you try your hand and see what you can do. If you can find what we want--something that the rest of us can't find, by the way--you'll be doing as much, if not more, than any of us toward securing a victory over Robinson. And don't hesitate to come and see me if you find yourself in a quandary or whenever you've got anything to show."

And Sydney trundled himself back to his room and sat up until after midnight puzzling his brains over the tackle-tandem play, finally deciding that a better understanding of the play was necessary before he could hope to discover its remedy. When he crawled into bed and closed his tired eyes it was to see a confused jumble of orange-hued lines and circles running riot in the darkness.

CHAPTER XIV

MAKES A CALL

Despite Neil's absence from Erskine Field, preparation for the crowning conflict of the year went on with vigor and enthusiasm. The ranks of the coaches were swelled from day to day by patriotic alumni, some of whom were of real help, others of whom merely stood around in what Devoe called their "store clothes" and looked wonderfully wise. Some came to stay and took up quarters in the village, but the most merely tarried overnight, and, having unburdened themselves to Mills and Devoe of much advice, went away again, well pleased with their devotion to alma mater.

The signals in use during the preliminary season had now been discarded in favor of the more complicated system prepared for the "big game."

Each day there was half an hour of secret practise behind closed gates, after which the a.s.sistant coaches emerged looking very wise and very solemn. The make-up of the varsity eleven had changed not a little since the game with Woodby, and was still being changed. Some positions were, however, permanently filled. For instance, Browning had firmly established his right to play left-guard, while the deposed Carey found a role eminently suited to him at right tackle. Stowell became first choice for center, and the veteran Graham went over to the second team.

Stone at left end, Tucker at left tackle, Devoe at right end, and Foster at quarter, were fixtures.

The problem of finding a man for the position of left half in place of Neil had finally been solved by moving Paul over there from the other side and giving his place to Gillam, a last year subst.i.tute. Paul's style of play was very similar to Neil's. He was sure on his feet, a hard, fast runner, and his line-plunging was often brilliant and effective. The chief fault with him was that he was erratic. One day he played finely, the next so listlessly as to cause the coaches to shake their heads. His goal-kicking left something to be desired, but as yet he was as good in that line as any save Neil. Gillam, although light, was a hard line-bucker and a hurdler that was afraid of nothing. In fact he gave every indication of excelling Paul by the time the Robinson game arrived.

One cause of Paul's uneven playing was the fact that he was worried about his studies. He was taking only the required courses, seven in all, making necessary an attendance of sixteen hours each week; but Greek and mathematics were stumbling-blocks, and he was in daily fear lest he find himself forbidden to play football. He knew well enough where the trouble lay; he simply didn't give enough time to study. But, somehow, what with the all-absorbing subject of making the varsity and the hundred and one things that took up his time, the hours remaining for "grinding" were all too few. He wondered how Neil, who seemed quite as busy as himself, managed to give so much time to books.