The lesson was a needed and a remembered one.  Laura and Belle took their afternoon walks in peace thereafter.

CHAPTER XI

Dies football teach real nerve?

“Get in there, Ripley!  Don’t be afraid.  It’s only a leather dummy.  It can’t hurt you!  Now, tackle the dummy around the hips—–­hoist!”

A laugh went up among the crowd as Fred, crouching low, head down, sailed in at that tackling dummy.

Young Ripley’s face was red, but he took the coach’s stern tone in good part, for the young man was determined to make good on the eleven this year.

“Now, Prescott!  Show us that you can beat your last performance!  Imagine the dummy to be a two hundred and twenty pound center!”

Dick rushed in valiantly, catching the dummy just right.

“Let go!” called the coach, laughingly.  “It isn’t a sack of gold!”

Another laugh went up.  This was one of the semi-public afternoons, when any known well-wisher of Gridley was allowed on the athletic field to watch the squad at work.

For half an hour the young men had been working hard, mostly at the swinging dummy, for Coach Morton wanted much improvement yet in tackling.

“Now,” continued the coach, in a voice that didn’t sound very loud, yet which had the quality of carrying to every part of the big field, “it’ll be just as well if you fellows don’t get the idea that only swinging leather dummies are to be tackled.  The provisional first and second teams will now line up.  Second has the ball on its own twenty-yard line, and is trying to save its goal.  You fellows on second hustle with all your might to get the ball through the ranks of the first, or School eleven.  Fight for all you’re worth to get that ball on the go and keep it going!  You fellows of the first, or School eleven, I want to see what you can do with real tackling.”

There was a hasty adjusting of nose-guards by those who wore that protection.  The ball was placed, the quarter-back of the second eleven bending low to catch it, at the same time comprehending the signal that sounded briskly.

The whistle blew; the ball was snapped, and quarter-back darted to the right, passing the ball.  Second’s right tackle had been chosen to receive and break through the School’s line.  On School’s left, Dick and Ripley raced in together, while second’s interference crashed into the pair of former enemies as right tackle tried to go through.  But Fred Ripley was as much out for team work this day as any fellow on the field.  He made a fast sprint, as though to tackle, yet meaning to do nothing of the sort.  Dick, too, understood.  He let Ripley get two or three feet in the lead.  At Ripley, therefore, the second’s interference hurled itself savagely.  It was all done so quickly that the beguiled second had no time to rectify its blunder; for Fred Ripley was in the center of the squirming, interfering bunch and Dick Prescott had made a fair, firm, abrupt tackle.  In an instant the ball was “down.”  Second had gained less than a yard.