Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 76: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

866 fans. Maybe if they had got a hand they might have licked some of those lions. The cheering for us lasted until we got to our bench on the north side of the field, and then the boys squatted in blankets and we watched Harvard practice. They looked good, and ran through a fast drill, up and down the field a few times, and then slipped into their blankets and sat down. It was our cue for action. I let ’em sit, though, looking over at us for maybe a full minute, the crowd all eyes too, and then I says: ‘““How do you figure the the wind, Hali- but?” Haines wet a finger, held it up, eyed the big flag above one end of the Stadium, and says: ‘“ She’s fresh north to northeast, and ‘about twenty points off the west goal.” ‘ All right,” I says; “ go out and do your stuff.” I tossed him a ball. ‘Barnes and Murray,” I says, “ go down behind that goal and shag it.” Halibut walked out to the fifty-five yard line and, half facing that wind, drop-kicked into it and made the prettiest goal you ever saw. It was uncanny, and everybody knew it. Nobody could believe his eyes. I could see the Harvard coaches and players sit up suddenly, then slump back in their seats, staggered. Side of me Higgins, the right tackle, just says, “My God!” and that went for everybody. For a second there was dumb stupefac- tion, and then that Stadium let go a roar that could have been heard back in Ken- tucky. Men and women stood up and tried to shake those big gray stands till they rat- tled, looking down all the while on a stocky little fellow out in that big field all alone, sweatered to his ears, but seemingly as in- different to what he had done as 2 dip who’s lifted a copper’s pistol. “Who is he?” you could hear buzzing around the field, and even on our bench, my having kept this wonder-kicker strictly under cover. There was commotion on the Harvard bench. Everybody was leaning forward and talking excitedly. They’d looked at Hali- but, at the wind flag, then down the field at the distant goal. Drop-kicking a goal from the middle of a gridiron is a job any Th ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. day. But drop-kicking one with a cross wind and allowing to the fraction of a nicety for the wind’s velocity is art. Only a bird who had spent all his life in fish- ermen’s sloops, who knew winds, and who had practiced kicking in all kinds of weath- er, could have done what Halibut Haines did. There was a hush. He stepped back to the sixty yard line. With an easy motion he dropped the oval, came the terrific thud of his boot against the leather, and up rose the ball. It spiraled in the wind, described a long, revolving arc, and then, as pretty as a picture, cleared the bars for as perfect a goal from the field as you’ll ever hope to see. The cheering became thunder. Up in the press stand on the Stadium roof, I could see movie men turning the cranks of their machines furiously. The crowd was on its feet, a giant, swaying mass, cheering and idolizing Halibut Haines. He kicked three more goals from different parts of the field, and then I wagged him to the bench. He walked off while the mob went fran- tic, rattling programs as they compared the number on his back and shouted his name. I tossed a blanket around him, introduced him to the boys as Barnes and Murray hurried up and shook both his hands. Then f ordered everybody around me, and this is what I said: “Boys, Harvard is worried. Peek over across that field and you can see the scare in their eyes. They’re all nice, game boys, same as you, but no football team can have confidence knowing a man like Halibut Haines can walk out and drop-kick a goal from the field any time he wants to. But listen! That’s all that bimbo can do—get me? It’s up to you boys to go out there and fight your heads off to keep Harvard from scoring. Haines will go in once every quar- ter, and once every quarter he'll kick a goal. You can bank on that. That gives you a twelve point edge. Is that enough?” Did they cheer? No, sir! They were all filled up, tears in their eyes and their voices husky. The sudden surprise of having a wonder man on their team had got ’em away down deep where it hurt. They just silently gripped my hand, one by one, turned away, and I knew Harvard was COMME NOOKXS»EO