The Wolf Willow Dominion Day Celebration Committee were in session in the schoolhouse with the Reverend Evans Rhye in the chair, and all of the fifteen members in attendance. The reports from the various sub-committees had been presented and approved.
The programme for the day was in the parson's hand. "A fine programme, ladies and gentlemen, thanks to you all, and especially to our friend here," said Mr. Rhye, placing his hand on Larry's shoulder.
A chorus of approval greeted his remark, but Larry protested. "Not at all. Every one was keen to help. We are all tremendous Canadians and eager to celebrate Dominion Day.""Well, let us go over it again," said Mr. Rhye. "The football match with the Eagle Hill boys is all right. How about the polo match with the High River men, Larry?""The captain of the High River team wrote to express regret that two of his seniors would not be available, but that he hoped to give us a decent game.""There will only be one fault with the dinner and the tea, Mrs.
Kemp."
"And what will that be, sir?" enquired Mrs. Kemp, who happened to be Convener of the Refreshment Committee.
"They will receive far too much for their money," said Mr. Rhye.
"How about the evening entertainment, Larry?" he continued.
"Everything is all right, I think, sir," said Larry.
"Are the minstrels in good form?" enquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
"This is your last appearance, you know, and you must go out in a blaze of glory.""We hope to get through somehow," said Larry.
"And the speakers?" enquired Mr. Rhye.
"Both will be on hand. Mr. Gilchrist promises a patriotic address.
Mr. Alvin P. Jones will represent Wolf Willow in a kind of local glorification stunt.""This is all perfectly splendid," said Mr. Rhye, "and I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you all. We ought to have a memorable day to-morrow."And a memorable day it was. The weather proved worthy of Alberta's best traditions, for it was sunny, with a fine sweeping breeze to temper the heat and to quicken the pulses with its life-bringing ozone fresh from the glacier gorges and the pine forests of the Rockies.
The captain of the Wolf Willow football team was awake and afoot soon after break of day that he might be in readiness for the Eagle Hill team when they arrived. Sam was in his most optimistic mood.
His team, he knew, were in the finest condition and fit for their finest effort. Everything promised victory. But alas! for Sam's hopes. At nine o'clock a staggering blow fell when Vial, his partner on the right wing of the forward line, rode over with the news that Coleman, their star goal-keeper, their ultimate reliance on the defence line, had been stepped on by a horse and rendered useless for the day. It was, indeed, a crushing calamity. Sam spent an hour trying to dig up a substitute. The only possible substitutes were Hepworth and Biggs, neither of them first class men but passable, and Fatty Rose. The two former, however, had gone for the day to Calgary, and Fatty Rose was hopelessly slow.
Sam discussed the distressing situation with such members of the team as could be hastily got together.
"Dere's dat new feller," suggested Joe.
"That's so," said Vial, familiarly known as Bottles. "That chap Sykes, Farwell's friend. He's a dandy dribbler. He could take Cassap's place on left wing and let Cassap take goal."With immense relief the team accepted this solution of the difficulty. But gloom still covered Sam's face. "He's only been here two weeks," he said, "and you know darn well the rule calls for four.""Oh, hang it!" said Bottles, "he's going to be a resident all right. He's a real resident right now, and anyway, they won't know anything about it.""Oh, cut it out," said Sam, suddenly flaring into wrath. "You know we can't do that sort of thing. It ain't the game and we ain't goin' to do it.""What ain't the game?" enquired Larry, who had come upon the anxious and downcast group.
Farwell told him the calamitous news and explained the problem under discussion. "We'd play Sykes, only he hasn't been here a month yet, and Sam won't stand for it," he said.
"Of course Sam won't stand for it, and the Captain is right,"said Larry. "Is there nobody else, Sam?" Sam shook his head despondently. "Would I be any good, Sam? I am not keen about it, but if you think I could take Cassap's place on left wing, he could take goal."Sam brightened up a little. "Guess we can't do no better," he said doubtfully. "I mean," he added in answer to the shout of laughter from the team--"Aw, shut up, can that cackle. We know the Master hates football an' this is goin' to be a real fightin' game. He'll get all knocked about an' I don't want that. You know he'll be takin' all kinds of chances.""Oh, quit, Sam. I am in pretty good shape," said Larry. "They can't kill me. That's the best I can do anyway, so let's get to them."The situation was sufficiently gloomy to stir Joe to his supremest efforts and to kindle Sam's spirit to a blazing flame. "We don't need Sykes nor nobody else," he shouted to his men as they moved on to the field. "They can wear their boots out on that defence line of ours an' be derned to 'em. An', Bottles, you got to play the game of your life to-day. None of your fancy embroidery, just plain knittin'. Every feller on the ball an' every feller play to his man. There'll be a lot of females hangin' around, but we don't want any frills for the girls to admire. But all at it an' all the time." Sam's little red eyes glowed with even a more fiery hue than usual; his rat-like face assumed its most belligerent aspect.
Before the match Larry took the Eagle Hill captain, a young Englishman who had been trying for ten years to make a living on a ranch far up among the foothills and was only beginning to succeed, to his mother, who had been persuaded to witness the game. They found her in Kathleen's care and under instruction from young Farwell as to the fundamental principles of the game. Near them a group of men were standing, among whom were Switzer, Waring-Gaunt, and Jack Romayne, listening to Farwell's dissertation.
