Behind the Line: A Story of College Life and Football

He was off on the instant. As he had told Neil, he didn't believe that Cowan would reveal secrets to Brill or any other of the Robinson people; but–well, he realized that Cowan was feeling very much aggrieved, and that he might in his present state of mind do what in a saner moment he would not consider. At the drug-store he was told that Cowan had left a few minutes before. The only place that Paul could think of where Cowan was likely to be was his room, so thither he went. He found the deposed guard engaged in replacing certain of his pictures and ornaments which had been taken down.

"Hello!" he said. "Thought you'd cut my acquaintance too."

"Nonsense," answered Paul, "I've been trying to find you ever since last night. Where've you been?"

"Oh, just knocking around. I got back late last night."

"I was afraid you had left college. You know you said you might."

"I know. Well, I've changed my mind. I guess I'll stay on until recess anyway; maybe until summer. What's the use going anywhere else? If I went to Robinson I couldn't play; Erskine would protest me. I wish to goodness I'd had sense enough to let that academy team go hang! Only I needed some money, and it seemed a good way to make it. After all, there wasn't anything dishonest about it!"

"N–no," said Paul.

"Well, was there?" Cowan demanded, turning upon him fiercely. Paul shook his head.

"No, there wasn't. Only, of course, you'd ought to have remembered that it disqualified you here." Cowan looked surprised.

"My, but you're getting squeamish!" he said. "The first thing you know you'll be as bad as Fletcher." There was a moment's silence. "What does he say about it?" Cowan asked carelessly.

"Who, Neil? Oh, he–he sympathizes with you," answered Paul vaguely. "Says it's awfully hard lines, but doesn't think the committee could do anything else."

"Humph!"

"By the way," said Paul, recollecting his errand, "I met Brill of Robinson a while ago. He said he'd seen you."

"Yes," grunted Cowan. "I'd like to punch him. Made believe he was all cut up over my being put off. Why–why it was he that knew about that academy business! Last September he tried to get me to go to Robinson; offered me anything I wanted, and I refused. After all a–a fellow's got some loyalty! He asked all sorts of questions as to whether I was eligible or not, and I–I don't know what made me, but I told him about taking that money for playing tackle on that old academy team. He said that wouldn't matter any. But after I decided not to go to Robinson he changed his tune; said he wasn't sure but that I was ineligible!"

"He's a cad," said Paul."

"And then to-day he tried to get sympathetic, but I shut him up mighty quick. I told him I knew well enough he was the one who had started the protest, and offered to punch his nose if he'd come over back of the stores; but he wouldn't," added Cowan aggrievedly.

"You–you didn't let out anything to him that would–er–help them in the game, did you?" asked Paul, studying the floor with great attention.

"Let out anything?" asked Cowan in puzzled tones. "What do you–" He put down the picture he held and faced Paul, the blood dying his face. "Look here, Paul, what do you mean by that?"

"Why, why–"

"You want to know if I turned traitor? If I gave away our signals or something like that, eh?" There was honest indignation in his voice and a trace of pain, and Paul regretted his suspicions on the instant.

"Oh, come now, old man," he began, "what I meant–"

"Now let me tell you something, Gale," said Cowan. "I may not be so nice as you and Fletcher and Devoe and a lot more of your sort, but I'm not an out-and-out rascal and traitor! And I didn't think you'd put that on me, by Jove! I've no love for some of the fellows in this college, nor for Mills, and I wouldn't care if we got beaten–" He paused. "Yes, I would, too; I want Robinson to get done up so hard that they'll throw that cheat Brill out of there. But I want you to understand right here and now that I'm not cad enough to sell signals."

"I beg your pardon, Tom," said Paul earnestly. "I didn't think it of you. Only, when Brill said he'd seen you and that you were feeling sore, we–I–"

"Oh, so it was Fletcher that suspected it, was it?" demanded Cowan.

"No more than I," answered Paul stoutly. "We neither of us really thought you'd turn traitor, but I was afraid that, feeling the way you naturally would, you might thoughtlessly say something that Brill could make use of. That's all"

Cowan looked doubtful for a moment, then he sniffed.

"Well, all right," he said finally. "Forget it."

"You're going out to the game, aren't you?" Paul asked.

"Yes, I guess so. What's Fletcher think of being laid off?"

"Well, he doesn't seem to mind it as I thought he would. I–I don't know quite what to make of him. It almost seems that he's–well, glad of it!"

"Huh! You've got another guess, my friend."

"How's that? What do you mean?"

"Nothing much; only I guess I've got better eyes than you," responded Cowan with a grin. After a pause during which he rearranged the objects on the mantel-shelf to his satisfaction, he turned to Paul again:

"Say, do you think Fletcher and I could get on together if–well, if we knew each other better?"

"I'm sure you could," answered Paul eagerly.

"Well, I think I'd like to try it. He–he's not a bad sort of a chap. Only maybe he wouldn't care to–er–"

"Oh, yes, he would," answered Paul. "You'll see, Tom."

"Well, maybe so. Going? Good luck to you. I'll see you on the field."

Paul hurried around the long curve of Elm Street toward Pearson's boarding-house, where the players were already gathering for luncheon. He found Neil on the steps and dragged him off and down to the gate.

"It's all right," he said. "I found him and asked him, and I wish I hadn't. He was awfully cut up about it; seemed hurt to think I could suspect such a thing. Though, really, I didn't quite suspect, you know."

"I'm sorry we hurt his feelings," said Neil. "It was a bit mean of me to suggest it."

"He's going to stay for a while," went on Paul. "And–and–Look here, chum, don't you think that if–er–you tried you could get to like him better? From something he said to-day I found out that he thinks you're a good sort and he'd like to get on with you. Maybe if we kind of looked after him we could–oh, I don't know! But you see what I mean?"

"Yes, I see what you mean," replied Neil thoughtfully. "And maybe we'd get on better if we tried again. Anyhow, Paul, you ask him down to the room some night and–and we'll see."

"Thanks," said Paul gratefully. "And now let's get busy with the funeral baked beans–I mean meats. Gee, I've got about as much appetite as a fly! I–I wish the game was over with!"

"So do I," answered Neil, as with a sigh he listlessly followed his chum into the house.

CHAPTER XXI

THE "ANTIDOTE" IS ADMINISTERED

High up against a fair blue sky studded with fleecy clouds streamed a banner of royal purple bearing in its center a great white E–a flare of intense color visible from afar over the topmost branches of the empty elms, and a beacon toward which the stream of spectators set their steps. In the tower of College Hall the old bell struck two o'clock, and the throngs at the gates of Erskine Field moved faster, swaying and pushing past the ticket-takers and streaming out onto the field toward the big stands already piled high with laughing, chattering humanity. Under the great flag stretched a long bank of somber grays and black splashed thickly with purple, looking from a little distance as though the big banner had dripped its dye on to the multitude beneath. Opposite, the rival tiers of crowded seats were pricked out lavishly with the rich but less brilliant brown, while at the end of the enclosure, where the throngs entered, a smaller stand flaunted the two colors in almost equal proportions.

And between stretched a smooth expanse of russet-hued turf ribbed with white lines that glared in the afternoon sunlight.

The college band, augmented for the occasion from the ranks of the village musicians, played blithely; some twelve thousand persons talked, laughed, or shouted ceaselessly; and the cheering sections were loudly contending for vocal supremacy. And suddenly on to this scene trotted a little band of men in black sweaters with purple 'E's, nice new canvas trousers, and purple and black stockings; and just as suddenly the north stand arose and the Robinson cheers were blotted out by a mighty chorus that swept from end to end of the structure and thundered impressively across the field: