A Goal from the Field
By Leslie W. Quirk
“3—9—6.”
The seven men in the line crouched low; the quarter-back leaned forward, opened his hands suddenly, and snapped the ball to the full-back.
There was a sudden rush straight forward, and a half-dozen players circled in back of the man with the ball. The line of the opposing eleven parted, and the big full-back went through for a good gain.
Out on the side-lines, some of the spectators cheered faintly. Football critics had said that the team-work was poor, and for days the coaches had been drilling the eleven players to move like a machine. It still lacked three days of the big game, and the coaches were satisfied, The team went into play as one man.
“4—2—3.”
This time it was an end run. The quarterback snapped the ball quickly, and was guarding the runner twenty feet away before the scrub eleven discovered which way the play was going.
“First down,” said the head coach. He spoke quietly, but there was satisfaction in his tone. Then his manner changed.
“Line up, there! Don’t take an hour to get into position! Line up, I say, Elton!”
“Yes, sir,” said the little quarter-back. His leg was caught under the body of the burly fullback, but the boy was afraid to tell the coach. He stood a little in awe of the famous man.
They lined up again. The left half-back, who was captain, looked down the field.
“3—6—4,” he said.
The signal for a drop kick was nine. The addition of the first two numbers gave the key to the play.
From force of habit, “Baby” Elton dropped back to kick, The half-backs stood ready to block any opposing players who broke through the line. The ends crept out at either side.
Elton looked down the field, over chalk-line after chalk-line, five yards apart from one another, and the impossibility of kicking a goal at that distance made him speak before he thought.
“It’s too far!” he exclaimed hopelessly.
It was a long distance; even the captain could not deny that fact. The coach had been developing the kicking side of the game, but even the sturdy leg of Baby Elton did not seem equal to the task now before him. The coach, however, was not prepared for complaint.
“Go on,” he said gruffly.
The center snapped the ball, in a long curve, straight into Elton’s outstretched hands. The boy caught it just right, and dropped it, point downward, to the ground, [exactly at the right moment he caught it with his toe, and it went sailing, circling from end to end, toward the goalposts. It fell short, however, by a good ten yards.
“All right,” said the coach, evenly; “that ’s all for to-day. Run in.”
The brawny players broke into a trot, and ran through the gate of the athletic field toward the gymnasium. Baby Elton brought up the rear. He was wondering, a little sullenly, what the coach expected of him. He could n’t kick a goal the whole length of the field; it