# The Boys of Columbia High on the Gridiron/Chapter 5
#### CHAPTER V
##### THE SIGNAL PRACTICE

The next day was Friday.
And with that battle of the gridiron gladiators looming up just ahead, it can be readily understood that Mr. Amos Wellington, not to mention Mr. Oswald, and the women teachers in Columbia High School, found it a most difficult task to get any satisfaction out of the many classes before them that day.
Football was in the air! The very tang of the frosty morning seemed to suggest ideal weather conditions for the coming struggle. Wherever boys congregated, on the campus befo±'e the morning session, or down in the lunch room during intermission, when they sampled the various types of sandwiches and pies supplied by Mrs. Louden, nothing was talked of but the chances of Columbia against the seasoned players of Clifford.
"They're heavier than our men," one would lament.
​"But the day of weight in football is gone," cried another, quickly.
"Yes, for the game as played to-day calls for agility and pertinacity more than heft. And we've got the boys who can do stunts, believe me, fellows!" remarked a third deeply-interested student.
"They practice for the last time this afternoon, don't they?"
"Yes, but mostly on signals, I understand. Now the team has been selected, they want to work in harmony," remarked the fellow who seemed to know, because he had a big brother on the eleven, and that was a great honor for the entire family.
"There's one weak spot," grumbled another prophet of evil.
"Name it, Sandy."
"Yes, tell us where it is. I've gone over the whole bunch ever so many times, and with the new men I think it couldn't possibly be improved."
"That's just it; you've put your finger on the sore the first thing. Now, don't all jump on me at once, and say I'm knocking, for I'm not. I think a heap both of Ralph West's playing and that of Bones' Shadduck. They're crackerjacks, and far superior to the fellows they displaced."
"Then what are you kicking about, Sandy?" demanded Molly Manners, the dudish student, who, while no athlete himself, always felt a decided ​interest in the accomplishments of his more muscular comrades.
"Lack of practice in common will bankrupt us. That's what worries me. You see, Bones and Ralph jhaven't worked with the rest, to any extent, at least. How can they fill their parts in the machine? I'm dubious, that's all, even while hoping for the best," went on the croaker.
"Well, now, don't let that keep you awake tonight. Coach Willoughby has been training the scrub just as he did the regular team. They know the same plays, and once the signals are decided on the whole thing will move along like a well greased machine. He's done wonders with the raw material. And if Columbia wins this year, much of the credit belongs to the trainer, our old Princeton grad."
"Hear! hear! Three cheers for Coach Willoughby!"
And they were given with a will.
Frank and Ralph came together at intermission. While they munched a bit of lunch, they naturally fell into conversation, and, of course, their talk must be in connection with the stirring events of the preceding night.
"Have you met Tony?" asked Frank, with a chuckle of amusement.
"No. You see, he's a junior and I'm only a soph, ​so we run in different grooves. What about him, Frank?" asked the other, eagerly.
"I was sent into Miss Condit's room with a message from Mr. Wellington, and, of course, I felt a little curious to know how Tony looked. While I waited for an answer to the note I carried, I glanced over to where he sat. Would you believe it, he had turned deliberately around in his seat, so that his back was toward me."
"Then perhaps I did put my mark on him?" suggested Ralph, eagerly.
"Well, now, you certainly did. As I glanced further along I saw a mirror at the side of the room, and just then discovered that he was facing it. He turned fiery red when he caught my look, for I really couldn't keep from grinning, because, as sure as you live, my boy, our friend Tony is nursing a most beautiful black eye!"
"It serves him right. He had no business to bother me so. I only struck in self-defense, and everyone is entitled to that privilege," declared Ralph.
"Well, I should say so," remarked his friend, quickly, "and I hope you did as well by that sneak of an Asa. But he was wise enough to stay home to-day. When you get that fellow off his guard uou can catch a weasel asleep."
The ending of the recess brought their ​conversation to a close, but after school, Ralph, possessed by a sort of fascination to behold his work, haunted the campus until Tony appeared, surrounded by several of his set.
The two rivals met face to face at the exit of the grounds. Tony glared at the author of his woes, and his two chums made threatening gestures; but, of course, they did not dare place a finger on Ralph at such a time.
But, at any rate, Frank had certainly not understated the facts, for Tony was the possessor of a fine black eye. Of course, it was easy for him to invent a plausible excuse for this mishap; he had run slap against a door when getting up in the dark. And, of course, nobody believed him, though only a select few understood the true origin of his damaged optic.
Ralph said never a word; but he could not keep from smiling a bit as he turned away; and this must have been gall and wormwood to the other fellow.
An hour later and the chosen eleven, together with the substitutes, gathered on the field for their last instructions, and the trial of the signal code. Frank and the coach were frequently in secret confab, and the others regarded this as having more or less significance.
"What did your investigation result in, Mr. Willoughby?" Frank was asking.
​"Just what we expected. I have learned beyond a shadow of a doubt that the secret signals of Clifford were given to Bellport by some traitor. A dozen people I interviewed were positive in that belief. For while there is as yet no proof, they declare that on no other grounds could the Bellports know just what play was coming every time the other captain called out his numbers," replied the coach, in a firm voice.
"Well, it is what may happen to us, unless we change backward at the last minute. That would confuse Clifford, and set them on the wrong track," remarked Frank.
"Just so, and the advantage would be with us. If they can down you boys squarely and fairly, I'll be the last one to knock, but this thing of trickery makes me angry. Because they feel that they were fooled by Bellport is no reason they should want to pass it along, and defeat you imfairly. Tm surprised that there is no clean-mJnded fellow on their team who will positively refuse to take advantage of such a mean game."
"If Cuthbert Lee was still on the Bellport team," said Frank, "I'm sure he'd never have listened to such a thing. It would be just like him to go to the other side and tell them to change their signals, as they had been betrayed. He was a lover of clean sport."
​"Then I only wish there were more like him, Frank. The trouble is, too many boys, yes, and young men, too, believe that anything is fair that promises to bring the advantages to their side. Love of school is all very good, but it should never step in the way of honest dealing," observed the Princeton man, soberly.
"Then we'll go on with the signals as they have been used?" asked the other.
"To-day, yes, but in the morning we'll get the boys together early, and change the whole order, so that things mean just the opposite of what they are now. You get my meaning, don't you, Frank?"
"Yes, and think it a capital idea. I've always been told that the truly wise man is he who grapples with adversities, and makes them work to his advantage. And that is what you propose to do now. Watch Lanky; he's up to some mischief or other. I can tell it in his actions. There he goes after the ball that he purposely kicked into those bushes, I believe."
"Well, he's got it all right, and is calling to Substitute Buster that it's up to him to try for a field, goal," commented the coach, smiHng.
"Yes; notice, however, that Lanky makes no effort to hold the ball for the kick, but has set it there on the ground," continued Frank, who knew the joking propensities of his chum so well that he could ​quickly guess when the other had any lark coming.
"I suppose Lanky doesn't want to take chances of a bad kick, and, considering how near the game is, you can hardly blame him. Perhaps he's had some experience with Buster's kicking before. There he goes now!"
"Look at Lanky, sir, with his fingers in his ears!"
Hardly had Frank spoken when Buster, swooping down, with all sail set, on the inoffensive oval, brought his right foot against the ball with a tremendous effort. The result was certainly astonishing, for there was a sudden heavy detonation, and the football arose about ten feet, in a sadly flattened condition, while the kicker sat down heavily on the ground, looking dazed.
Lanky had substituted some cleverly constructed gas balloon, placed in an old cover, for the genuine article, having previously hidden the fraudulent contraption in those bushes until the chance came to utilize the same.
There was a brief silence, and then a shout went up from the husky band of players, who caught on to the joke. All but the dazed Buster, who, still sitting there and gaping at the seeming remains of a once fine oval football, shook his head and turned appealingly toward the the coach, called out:
"Say, that wasn't my fault, Mr. Willoughby. Now, who pays for that ball, anyhow?" which ​remark brought out renewed shrieks from the others, some of whom fairly fell over with the violence of their merriment.
When the joke was explained to the fat boy, of course he laughed heartily, for his nature could not take offense at anything.
Then the work began in earnest. The efficient coach drilled the players in all the various plays that were apt to come up during the course of the game. He expressed his pleasure at the masterly way these were carried out.
"I'm satisfied that the changes I made have vastly strengthened the whole team," he said, as he and Frank came together during a period of rest, after a fierce foray, in which every player worked systematically, and really clever passes and runs were made around imaginary hostile forces.
In other days they had rubbed up against the scrub team, and practiced all their arts against real foes, but this last practice was to be in secret. Signal work and the drilling of Ralph and Bones in their respective positions, must occupy much of the afternoon.
To keep spectators away from the field, several dozen boys had volunteered to patrol the neighborhood, completely surrounding the open. Thus it would seem that there could be no one close enough ​to overhear when the signal numbers were deliberately called by the captain.
"Still, I'm under the impression that there may be someone hidden in those bushes, or in a hollow tree, watching our work, and drinking in all we say. When fellows descend to such low practices as betraying their schoolmates to the enemy, they become very crafty. On the whole, it will be better to change the code just before the game to-morrow," remarked the coach, later on, during another rest.
Frank said no more. Secretly, however, he was planning to find out, if it could be possible, that this idea of Mr. Willoughby had reason back of it. In other words, he had made up his mind that when the crowd of players went back to town, he would find some opportunity to drop behind, and keep watch over that field.
For the third and last time, play was resumed. Again did the coach follow the carefully arranged maneuvers. Up to the present he had found it necessary to stop them in the midst of the play to start afresh, because of some inaccuracy. Not once did this occur now.
"Well, sir, how was that?" asked Frank, as, with disheveled hair and soiled clothes, he came out of the fracas and sought the side of the man who knew.
There was hardly any need to ask. Coach Willoughby's bronzed face was all smiles.
​"Fine! I never saw the thing executed better, even by the leading colleges. Depend on it, my boy, if you and your men do as well as that to-morrow, and there's no treachery shown, you're going to mow Clifford down far worse than she suffered at the hands of Bellport. I congratulate you, every one, for the fine form you show. It does my heart good to see it. And now, home, lads, and see to it that you don't overeat to-night, and go to bed at a reasonable hour. That's all from me, and I feel that my work is well done!"
The afternoon had worn away while they strained and labored, trying for the last time some of the plays by means of which they hoped to carry the ball into Clifford territory during the coming gamf.
Each member of the team felt more or less weary when the coach declared that they had done enough, and dismissed them for the day.
"Don't forget the secret directions given for an early morning meet in the place selected, to go over the changed signals," was spoken in the ear of every fellow before they started back to town.
Frank held out behind the rest, pretending to be busy with a number of things that fell to his lot as captain of the eleven. He had whispered his intentions to Lanky, and the latter, while laughing at his fears, promised to keep any of the the others from ​returning to look for the leader, should they notice his absence.
Watching his chance, Frank dropped behind some bushes. Then, without wasting any time, he started to crawl back to where he might have a view of the wooded side of the athletic field.
Perhaps, after all, the fears of the coach had been groundless. He would spend a short time watching, and then, if nothing developed, he could hasten home.
At the same time, the thought of how Clifford had been deceived and beaten by the too free handling of their secret code, gave Frank an uneasy feeling.
When he had gained a position that would allow him to observe the ground he deemed most suspicious, he waited for developments.
"What was that?" he asked himself in another minute; for it seemed to him that he had heard a sharp crack, as of a rotten branch giving way.
Then his attention was attracted toward a certain spot, where something had undoubtedly fallen to the ground. Eagerly he riveted his eyes on the place, and in this way became aware of the fact that something was certainly moving up among the branches of the pine tree.
Then an object came heavily to the ground, rolled over once or twice, and scrambled half erect. Though some little distance away, Frank could see ​that this was no animal, but a human being, a boy at that, who was rubbing his elbow furiously, as though it had been smartly tapped in his fall.
No need to put a label on this fellow to signify what his presence meant. Frank knew that he was looking on a spy, who had been perched among the thick branches of that pine tree during the better part of the afternoon, making notes of the signal play of the Columbia eleven!
And he was now moving off, possessed of information that was of tremendous value to the Clifford team!