Left Guard Gilbert by Ralph Henry Barbour
CHAPTER XXI
THE DOCTOR TELLS A STORY
TUESDAY, with the return of all first-string players to the line-up andthe appearance of Tom Hall once more at right guard, practice went abouta hundred per cent better, and those who turned out to watch it wentback to the campus considerably encouraged. The showing of the teamnaturally had an effect on the spirit of the mass meeting that evening.Ever since the Southby game the school had been holding meetings and"getting up steam" for the Claflin contest, but they had been tameaffairs in contrast with tonight's. Brimfield was football-crazy now,for the Big Game loomed enormous but four days away. Fellows readfootball in the papers, talked football and, some of them, dreamedfootball. The news from Claflin was read and discussed eagerly. Thefortunes of the rival eleven were watched just as closely as those ofthe home team. When a Claflin player wrenched an ankle Brimfield gaspedexcitedly. When it was published that Cox, of the blue team, had droppedfourteen goals out of twenty tries from the thirty-five-yard line andat a severe angle, depression prevailed at Brimfield. The news that theClaflin scrubs had held the first to only one touchdown in thirtyminutes of play sent Brimfield's spirits soaring! Fellows neglectedlessons brazenly and during that week of the final battle there was ascholastic slump that would undoubtedly have greatly alarmed the facultyif the latter, rendered wise by experience, hadn't expected it.
The first team players were excused from study hour subsequent to Mondayin order that they might attend blackboard lectures and signal drills inthe gymnasium. On Tuesday night, after an hour's session, and inresponse to public clamour, they filed onto the platform just before themeeting was to begin at nine-fifteen and, somewhat embarrassedly, seatedthemselves in the chairs arranged across the back. Mr. Fernald wasthere, and Mr. Conklin, the athletic director, and Coaches Robey andBoutelle, and Trainer Danny Moore, and Manager Morton and Childers,captain of the baseball team. And Steve Payne was at the piano. Also,sitting beside Mr. Robey, was Doctor Proctor.
Childers, who was cheer leader that Fall, presided, and, after theassemblage had clapped and shouted "A-a-ay!" as each newcomer appearedon the platform, opened proceedings with the School Song. Then Mr.Fernald spoke briefly, Captain Edwards followed, each being cheeredloudly and long, and Childers introduced Mr. Robey. "What we are allanxious to know tonight," said Childers, "is whether we're going to winnext Saturday. Mr. Fernald has said that he _hopes_ we shall, CaptainEdwards has said that he _thinks_ we shall, and now we're going to hearfrom the only one who _knows_! Fellows, a long cheer for Mr. Robey, andmake it good! Are you all ready? Now then! One--two--three!"
"Brimfield! Brimfield! Brimfield! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, rah! Rah,rah, rah! Brimfield! Brimfield! Brimfield! Robey!"
When the cheering, and the shouting and clapping and stamping thatfollowed for good measure, had quieted down, Mr. Robey said: "Fellows,Captain Childers is much too flattering. I'm not gifted withsecond-sight, even if he thinks so. I don't know any more than he doesor you do whether we're going to win on Saturday. Like Mr. Fernald, I_hope_ we are and, like Captain Edwards, I _think_ we are." Cheersinterrupted then. "But I don't want to make any prediction. I'll say onething, though, and that is this: If the team plays the way it _can_play, if it makes full use of the ability that's in it, there's only onething that can happen, and that's a Brimfield victory! I've got everyreason to expect that the team _will_ do its utmost, and that is why Isay that I think we'll win. We must remember that we're going up againsta strong team, a team that in some ways has shown itself so far thisseason our superior. I don't say that the Claflin eleven is any betterthan ours. I don't _think_ so, not for a moment. Our team this Fall isas good as last year's team. We've had our little upsets; we always do;but we've come down to practically the eve of the game in good shape.Every fellow has done his best and, I am firmly convinced, is going todo a little better than his best on Saturday afternoon. And that littlebetter is what will decide the game, fellows. After the coaches havedone their part and the players have toiled hard and earnestly andenthusiastically, why then it all comes down to _fight_! And so it'sfight that's going to win the game.
"You fellows must do your part, though. You must be right back of theteam, every minute--and let them know it. Cheering helps a team to win,no matter what anyone may say to the contrary. Only cheer at the righttimes, fellows. Just making a noise indiscriminately is poor stuff. ButI don't need to tell you this, I guess, because your cheer leader knowswhat to do better than I do. But let the team know that you're rightwith them, backing them up all the time, fighting behind them, boostingthem along! It counts, fellows, take my word for it!
"And now there's one other thing I want to say before I make way forsomeone who can really talk. It's this, fellows. Don't forget the teamthat has helped us all season, the team that doesn't get into thelimelight. And don't forget the coach, who has worked just as hard,perhaps a good deal harder, to develop that team than I've worked. I'mgoing to ask you to show your appreciation of the unselfish devotion ofCoach Boutelle and one of the finest second teams Brimfield has everhad!"
Mr. Robey bowed and retreated and Childers jumped to his feet.
"A cheer for Coach Boutelle, fellows!" he shouted. "A long cheer and awhopper!" And, when it had been given lustily: "And now one for thesecond team!" he cried. "Everyone into it! One--two--three!" Theenthusiasm was mounting high now, and, after the cheer had died away,there were demands for a song. "We want to sing!" proclaimed themeeting. "_We want to sing!_"
Childers held up a hand. "All right, fellows! Just a minute, please!We've got a guest with us this evening, an honoured guest, fellows.Those of you who know football history know his name as well as you knowthe names of Heffelfinger and DeWitt and Coy and Brickley and--and manyothers in the Football Hall of Fame! I know you want to hear from himand I hope he will be willing to say a few words." Childers glanced atDoctor Proctor and the latter, smiling, shook his head energetically."He says he will be glad to, fellows," continued Childers mendaciously,amidst laughter, "and so I'm going to call first for a cheer for--if thegentleman will pardon me--'Gus' Proctor, famous Princeton andAll-America tackle, and after that we're going to listen veryattentively to him. Now, then, everyone into this! A long cheer forDoctor Proctor!"
"I'm an awfully poor speaker, fellows," began the doctor, when he hadadvanced to the front of the platform. "I appreciate this honour and ifI don't do justice to the fine reputation your--your imaginative cheerleader has provided me with you must try to forgive me. Speaking isn'tmy line. If any of you would like to have a leg sawed off or somethingof that sort I'd be glad to do it free of charge just to provethat--well, that there's something I _can_ do fairly decently!
"I saw your team practice yesterday and I thought then that perhaps anoperation would benefit it. Then I saw it again today and discoveredthat my first diagnosis was wrong. Fellows, I call it a good team. Ithink you've got material there that's equal to any I've ever seen on aschool team. Your coach says he won't prophesy as to your game onSaturday. I've known George Robey for ten years. He isn't a bad sort,take him all around, but he's a pessimist of the most pessimistic sort.He's the kind of chap who, if you sprang that old reliable one on himabout every cloud having a silver lining, would shrug his shoulders andsay, 'Humph! More likely nickel-plated!' That's the sort he is, boys.Now I'm just the opposite, and, at the risk of displeasing George, I'mgoing to tell you that, from what I've seen of the Brimfield footballteam in practice, I'm firmly convinced that it's going to win!"
Loud and prolonged cheering greeted that prediction, and it was fully aminute before the speaker could proceed.
"I've played the game in my day and I've coached teams, boys, and Ithink I've got a little of what your coach disclaimed. I mean a sortof--well, not second-sight, but a sort of ability to tell what a teamwill do from the looks of the players on it. In my profession we have tostudy human nature a lot and we get so we can classify folks after we'velooked them over and watched them awhile. We make mistakes sometimes,but on the wh
"I think I can read in the faces I see here tonight a great deal of thatsame spirit, and if the team has it and you fellows behind the team haveit, why, I wouldn't give a last year's plug-hat for Claflin's chancesnext Saturday!
"Football," continued Doctor Proctor presently, "is a fine game. It'sfun to play and it's a wonderful thing to train a fellow's body andmind. I've heard lots of folks object to it on various scores, but I'venever heard an objection yet that carried any weight. More often thannot those who run football down don't know the game. Why, if it did nomore than teach us obedience and discipline it would be worth while. Butit does far more than that. It gives us strong, dependable bodies, itteaches us to think--and think quick, and it gives us courage, physicaland moral. I'm going to tell you of an incident that I witnessed only afew weeks since if you'll let me. I fear I'm taking up too muchtime----"
There were cries of "No, no!" and "Go ahead!"
"I'll try to be brief. Last Fall I was travelling on a train out my way,to be exact some eighty miles west of Cincinnati, when we had anaccident. A freight train was slow about taking a side track and we camealong and banged into it. It was about five o'clock in the morning andmost of the passengers were asleep. A wreck's a nasty thing in any case,but when it happens at night or before it is light enough to see it isworse. The forward cars of our train and the freight caught fire fromthe engines, and there was a good deal of loose steam around, and thingswere pretty messy for awhile. There happened to be another doctor on thetrain and, as soon as we got our bearings, we started a first-aid campalongside the track. Some of the passengers, mostly in the day coachesup front, were badly burned and we had our hands full.
"There is always more or less confusion in an affair of that sort andit was some minutes after the accident before the rescue work got underway. But one of the first rescuers I noticed was a young chap, a boy infact, probably about seventeen years old. He didn't have a great dealon, I remember, but he was certainly Johnny-on-the-spot that morning! Itwas he who brought the first patient to me, a little dried-up Hebrewpeddler I judged him, who had been caught under some wreckage in theforward day-coach. He had a broken forearm and while I was busy with himI saw this young chap climbing in and out of windows and wading throughwreckage and always coming out again with someone. How many folks hepulled away from the flames and the scalding steam I don't know, but Inever saw anyone work harder or more--more efficiently. Yes, efficientlyis just the word I want! And I said to myself at the time: 'That fellowis a football man! And I'll bet he's a good one!' You see, it wasn'tonly that he had courage to risk himself, but he had the ability to seewhat was to be done and to do it, and do it quick! Why, he was pullinginjured women and children and men from those burning, overturned carsbefore a grown-up man had sensed what had happened! And later on, whenwe'd done what we could for the burned and scalded bodies and limbs, Igot hold of the boy for a moment. I asked him his name and he told it,and then I said: 'You've played football, haven't you?' And he said hehad, a little. He wasn't much of a talker, and when some of us said somenice things about what he had done he got horribly fussed and tried toget away. But someone wanted to shake hands with him, and he wouldn't,and I saw that his own hand was burned all inside the palm, deep andnasty. 'How did you do that?' I asked him as I dressed it. Oh, he didn'tknow. He thought he'd got his hand caught between some beams orsomething; couldn't get it out for a minute. It wasn't much of a burn!Well, the wrecking train and a hospital train came along about then andI lost sight of that chap, and I didn't see him again.
"I've told the story because I think it bears me out when I say thatfootball is fine training. I don't say that that boy wouldn't have beenjust as brave and eager to help if he hadn't been a football player, butI do maintain that he wouldn't have known what to do as readily or howto do it and wouldn't have got at it as quickly. And when the flames areeating their way back from car to car quickness means a whole lot!That's the end of my story, boys. But while I've been telling it I'vebeen looking for some sign to tell me that you recognised the hero ofit. I don't find the sign and I'm puzzled. Perhaps you're so accustomedto heroes here at Brimfield that one more or less doesn't stir you. Forthe satisfaction of my own curiosity I'm going to ask you if you knowwho I've been talking about."
A deep silence was the only answer. The doctor's audience lookedextremely interested and curious, but no one spoke.
"I see. You don't know. Well, perhaps I'd better not tell then." But achorus of protest arose. The doctor hesitated, and his gaze seemed torest intently on a spot at one side of the hall and about half-way back.Finally, when silence had fallen again: "I guess I will tell," he said."It can't do him or you any harm. It may help a little to know thatthere's one amongst you fine enough to do what I've described. I'venever seen that boy from the moment the wrecking train reached the sceneof the wreck until tonight, and so I've never spoken to him again. Butas I sat on the platform here awhile ago I looked and saw him. I don'tforget faces very easily, and as you can understand, I wasn't likely toforget his. As I say, I haven't spoken to him yet, but I'm going tonow."
There was a silence in which a dropped pin would have made a noise likea crowbar. Half the audience had turned their heads in the direction ofDoctor Proctor's smiling gaze, but all eyes were fixed on his lips. Thebreathless silence lengthened. Then the doctor spoke.
"How is your hand, Gilbert?" he asked.