Neil was holding a levee. Livingston shared the couch with him. Foster reclined in Paul's armchair. Sydney Burr sat in the protesting wicker rocker, his crutches beside him, and South, his countenance much disfigured by strips of surgeon's plaster, grinned steadily from the table, where he sat and swung his feet. Paul was up-stairs in Cowan's room, for while he and Neil had quite made up their difference, and while Paul spent much of his leisure time with his chum, yet he still cultivated the society of the big sophomore at intervals. Neil, however, believed he could discern a gradual lessening of Paul's regard for Cowan, and was encouraged. He had grown to look upon his injury and the idleness it enforced with some degree of cheerfulness since it had brought about reconciliation between him and his roommate, and, as he believed, rescued the latter to some extent from the influence of Cowan.
"Doc says the shoulder is 'doing nicely,' whatever that may mean," Neil was saying, "and that I will likely be able to get back to light work next week." The announcement didn't sound very joyful, for it was now only the evening of the fourth day since the accident, and "next week" seemed a long way off to him.
"It was hard luck, old man," said South.
"Your sympathy's very dear to me," answered Neil, "but it would seem more genuine if you'd stop grinning from ear to ear."
"Can't," replied South. "It's the plaster."
"He's been looking like the Cheshire cat for two days," said Livingston. "You see, when they patched him up they asked if he was suffering much agony, and he grinned that way just to show that he was a hero, and before he could get his face straight they had the plaster on. He gets credit for being much better natured than he really is."
"Credit!" said South. "I get worse than that. 'Sandy' saw me grinning at him in class yesterday and got as mad as a March hare; said I was 'deesrespectful.'"
"But how did it happen?" asked Neil, struggling with his laughter.
"Lacrosse," replied South. "Murdoch was tending goal and I was trying to get the ball by him. I tripped over his stick and banged my face against a goal-iron. That's all."
"Seems to me it's enough," said Foster. "What did you do to Murdoch?" South opened his eyes in innocent surprise.
"Nothing."
"Nothing be blowed, my boy. Murdoch's limping to beat the band."
"Oh!" grinned South. "That was afterward; he got mixed up with my stick, and, I fear, hurt his shins."
"Well," said Neil, when the laughter was over, "football seems deadly enough, but I begin to think it's a parlor game for rainy evenings alongside of lacrosse."
"There won't be many fellows left for the Robinson game," said Sydney, "if they keep on getting hurt."
"That's so," Livingston concurred. "Fletcher, White, Jewell, Brown, Stowell--who else?"
"Well, I'm not feeling well myself," said Foster.
"We were referring to players, Teddy, my love," replied South sweetly.
"Insulted!" cried Foster, leaping wildly to his feet. "It serves me right for associating with a lot of freshmen. Good-night, Fletcher, my wounded gladiator. Get well and come back to us; all will be forgiven."
"I'd like the chance of forgiving the fellow that jumped on my shoulder," said Neil. "I'd send him to join Murdoch."
"That's not nice," answered Foster gravely. "Forgive your enemies. Good-night, you cubs."
"Hold on," said Livingston, "I'm going your way. Good-night, Fletcher. Cheer up and get well. We need you and so does the team. Remember the class is looking forward to seeing you win a few touch-downs in the Robinson game."
"Oh, I'll be all right," answered Neil, "and if they'll let me into the game I'll do my best. Only--I'm afraid I'll be a bit stale when I get out again."
"Not you," declared Livingston heartily. "'Age can not wither nor custom stale your infinite variety.'"
"That's a quotation from--somebody," said South accusingly. "'Fan' wants us to think he made it up. Besides, I don't think it's correct; it should be, 'Custom can not age nor wither stale your various interests.' Hold on, I'm not particular; I'll walk along with you two. But fortune send we don't meet the Dean," he continued, as he slid to the floor. "I called on him Monday; a little affair of too many cuts; 'Mr. South,' said he sorrowfully, 'avoid two things while in college--idleness and evil associations.' I promised, fellows, and here I am breaking that promise. Farewell, Fletcher; bear up under your great load of affliction. Good-night, Burr. Kindly see that he gets his medicine regularly every seven minutes, and don't let him sleep in a draft; pajamas are much warmer."
"Come on, you grinning idiot," said Foster.
When the door had closed upon the three, Sydney placed his crutches under his arms and moved over to the chair beside the couch.
"Look here, Neil, you don't really think, do you, that you'll have any trouble getting back into your place?"
"I hardly know. Of course two weeks of idleness makes a big difference. And besides, I'm losing a lot of practise. This new close-formation that Mills is teaching will be Greek to me."
"It's simple enough," said Sydney. "The backs are bunched right up to the line, the halfs on each side of quarter, and the full just behind him."
"Well, but I don't see--"
"Wait," interrupted Sydney, "I'll show you."
He drew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and passed it to the other. Neil scowled over it a moment, and then looked up helplessly.
"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-pass, always; there's no long passing 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 shell. Neil was getting under the shell.
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.