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Updated: May 26, 2025
Smell that air even I can smell it!" He sniffed dolefully. Mother Corey sighed again. "Well, it'll give the boys something to do," he decided. "When a man gets old, he likes a little comfort, cobber. Nice things around him..." Gordon found what had been his old room and dumped his few things into it. Sheila watched him uncertainly, and then took possession of the next room.
Captain Halsey, of the college team, saw instantly that it looked like a long pass and a sprint around Gridley's left end. A football general must change front swiftly. At the signal, Cobber disposed itself to bunch against the High School left. The whistle blew. Winters got the ball, and made the movements for a kick. Cobber men, in the air on the jump, halted somewhat uncertainly, some of them.
The lucky ones got breakfast during the forenoon, those who were lazy dodged fatigues and slept in out-of-the-way corners in the sun, and so Mac and his cobber Bill might have been found comfortably dozing on a great pile of onions on the aft boat deck.
Stop halfway, and the halls are closed to you. Pretty soon, they'll be trick-proof, anyhow; they're changing over to electric eyes. Eh, you haven't forgotten me, cobber?" Gordon hadn't. The old wreck had demanded five per cent of his winnings for tipping him off. Mother Corey had too many cheap hoods among his friends to be fooled with.
Had Cobber tried any kicks, Gridley would have had the ball, and would have known what to do with it. But Captain Halsey knew that. He depended, now, wholly on heavy mass rushes and plays. Yet the Gridley boys were by no means asleep -or lazy. "I won't tire our men all out in the first half," muttered Badger to himself. "But I won't let them stroll through our line."
"In many respects your play has been better than Cobber's. Weight is your poor point." Nevertheless the coach made several suggestions in the time that was allowed him. "Whenever you get a proper chance, Captain, and have the ball, open up the play as much as you can. Don't give Cobber a chance to bump you any when it can be avoided."
Get you in a cop's outfit, and you'll turn honest. No place here for an honest cop not with elections coming up, cobber. Well, I guess you gotta find out for yourself. Want a good room?" Gordon's lips twitched. "Thanks, Mother, but I'll be staying inside the dome, I guess." "So'll I," the old man gloated. "Setting in a chair all day, being an honest citizen.
Corey stuck his head out of the door at the back of the hall as Gordon entered, and started to retire again until he spotted Murdoch. Gordon explained the situation hastily. "It's your room, cobber," the old man wheezed. He waddled back, to come out with a towel and key, which he handed to Murdoch. "Number forty-two." His heavy hand rested on Gordon's arm, holding the younger man back.
Then, reaching his right hand aloft, his eyes turned toward the sky, he recited, in a deep bass voice: "I have pledged my honor, as a gridiron specialist, that Gridley H.S. shall lug away all the points of the game from Cobber Second.
Maybe the old man was right. "If the dome gives them a perfect cover, why let me make a jackass of myself, Mother?" he asked numbly. Corey shook his head, setting the heavy folds of flesh to bouncing. "Gave them something to live for here, cobber. And when you get over this, you're gonna announce new plans to try again. Yes, you are! But right now, you get yourself drunk!"
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