Well, Doane proceeded to punt on first downs, but it was Moxey who did it, not Davis. And Moxey’s punting was as much of a revelation as Byron’s running had been. How those ends did cover his kicks, too! They were shaking hands with Barrows before ever the ball came down, and they worried him so that along in the second period he made a square muff and gave them their third and last touchdown.
Between halves the Coach talked, as coaches will. But the Coach did not scold, because the Coach was a just coach.
“Boys,” he said, “they’ve made us look bad, and I’m taking most of the blame. I thought Davis was their football team, and I made you think the same thing. We paid entirely too much attention to him in practice. I thought if we stopped him, we had all the best of it. I thought they’d quit when they saw that he couldn’t get anywhere. But it seems they have two or three other fellows with speaking parts.
“But the game isn’t over yet, and you boys can still win by fighting. In this next quarter I want you to play the best football you know how, and to play just as if you’d never heard of Davis or anybody else on their team. Forget everything except that we’re behind and must catch up. They’ve had the luck so far, but it’s time for it to break our way. Give them everything you’ve got, and remember some of you are playing your last game. There’s no reason to hold back anything. It’s mostly my fault if you lose. If you win, the credit’s all yours. Now go to it!”
And his men went to it, with spirit and fight, which are better than almost anything except twenty-one points and a team full of confidence. They fought and they fought, and their reward was seven points, just one-third of what Doane had.
There was no problem of defense for the Blue and White to solve in the second half. Whenever Doane got the ball, it was kick, kick, kick. Four times did Coach Belden’s braves push the oval up to the shadow of Doane’s goal, and three times they were stopped just short of a score. Three times Moxey’s good right foot shot the ball back over acres of ground that Belden’s team had fought, yard by yard, to gain.
When the last quarter began, there was a substitute in Davis’ place.
“Their captain’s out,” said Harris.
The Coach did not reply at once. He was thinking.
And in the dressing-room, when the game was history and his poor beaten boys had shed their armor and departed, he spoke.
“Didn’t you think it was funny?” he asked Dana.
“There was no laugh in it for me.”
“Queer, then, if you’d rather,” said the Coach.
“Well,” said Harris, “it was queer that we scouts couldn’t see anything to their team but Davis. How we overlooked Byron and Moxey and those ends is beyond me.”
“I won’t apologize for overlooking them,” said Dana. “When I saw Doane play, all the ends did was catch Davis’ throws, and all the halfbacks did was protect Davis. The information I gave Coach was absolutely correct.”
“All right,” said Harris, “and so was mine. When I scouted them, Davis was the only man besides the center and the ends who had his hands on the ball.”
“Yes,” said the Coach, “and how many times did Davis have his hands on the ball today?”
“Hardly at all,” said Harris.
“Not ‘hardly at all,’ ” said the Coach. “No ‘hardly’ about it. If you’ll look back through that game, you’ll see that Davis never touched the ball except with his foot, and then only when he was kicking goals from touchdowns.”
“By George, you’re right!” said Dana.
“You certainly are!” said Wallace.
“You bet I’m right,” said the Coach. “And that’s what was queer. Here’s a star player, the captain of the team, playing his last game of collegiate football. He can run like a deer, punt pretty well and pass better than anybody you ever saw. But in his final game he kicks three goals from touchdowns and stands there the rest of the afternoon as idle as a goalpost.”
“Smith’s even smarter than we figured him,” said Harris.
“He knew we’d be laying for Davis, and he crossed us,” said Dana.
“He surely did cross us, and I’ll admit that he deserves credit,” said the Coach. “But I don’t believe he’s as much of a strategist as all that. I’ve read a lot about Napoleon, but I don’t recall his ever having kept his best army in the stable during a big battle, just to fool the other side. And did Hughey Jennings ever order Ty Cobb to go up and take three strikes in an important game because the other club expected him to hit? Hardly! If Smith, all by his lonesome, could sit down and think of the scheme they worked on us today, he wouldn’t be coaching football teams. He’d be Thomas A. Edison’s boss.”
“Who helped him, do you s’pose?” asked Harris.
“I’ll know when I see Smith,” said the Coach. “And you bet I’m going to see him.”
The Coach found Smith in the café of Doane’s new fireproof hotel. It was several minutes before he could get him away from a crowd of wild Doane rooters, who could imagine no greater treat than to shake his hand.
“Here’s Belden!” they cried. “What do you think of Smith, Belden? Is he the best coach in America, or isn’t he?”
“He is,” said the Coach, “and I want a chance to tell him so privately.”
So the Coach led his triumphant rival to a table in the corner, as far as possible from the mad throng.
“I want to congratulate you, Smith,” said the Coach.
“Thanks,” said Smith.
“You completely outguessed me, Smith.”
“Thank you for saying so,” said Smith.
“I
