A TRIP TO THE CITY
On Monday, Morris and his sister and May Burnham made the journey to
New York. Mr. Brent had advanced to them the difference between what
had been paid in by subscribers to the Fund and the ninety dollars at
which they had figured the purchases. They set off in fine spirits, for
the day was what Morris called a “perfect corker,” and all were flushed
with the spirit of adventure. They had luncheon on the train, Morris
acting the part of host, and reached the Grand Central Terminal a few
minutes after they had finished. Visits to New York were infrequent
enough to make them feel quite breathlessly excited as they followed
Morris to the street. Morris was all for getting to the furniture store
by subway, but the girls wanted to see the sights, they declared, and
refused to be beguiled underground.
“I always feel like a human mole down there,” said Louise. “And I’m
frightened half to death besides.”
“And we want to see the streets and the shops and the people,” added
May. “It’s a perfect waste of opportunity to come to New York and spend
half your time in subways, Morris!”
So Morris gave in with fairly good grace, grumbling a little at the
foolishness of girls, and boarded a surface car. He made the mistake
of turning eastward instead of toward the west when they alighted at
Eighteenth Street and had to stand some joking from his companions when
the error was discovered. Marsden’s proved to be a huge establishment
occupying a building of its own, with floor after floor of wonderful
things. For over an hour they trotted around, in and out of elevators,
up and down endless aisles, at the heels of a most imposing gentleman
in a frock coat and immaculate gray trousers. Morris declared
afterwards that he didn’t have much chance to see the furniture, he
was all the time admiring the creases in those trousers and wondering
whether they were starched! May, on the other hand, confessed that she
had been quite hypnotized by the salesman’s lovely whiskers! So, if we
believe them, Louise was the only member of the Purchasing Committee
able to give her entire attention to the matter at hand. And Louise
did, occasionally reprimanding the others for their levity, or begging
them to please help her decide. It was, in fact, really Louise who made
the purchases, for when the others were not exchanging whispered jokes
they were usually wandering around far from the article in discussion.
It was no easy task to decide, either, for Marsden’s showed so many
styles and values that Louise was quite at sea. But at last everything
on the list was accounted for and, to their delight, the total, after
deducting the discount, was well under the ninety dollars. Even the
filing-cabinet, which Morris had predicted they would have to look
elsewhere for, was obtainable at Marsden’s. At the last, because they
still had several dollars left unexpended, Louise ordered a handsome
wastebasket of Japanese woven ware, the color of which almost exactly
matched the mahogany of the other things, on her own authority. They
gave Mr. Brent’s address, obtained the salesman’s promise to have the
goods shipped by freight not later than the next afternoon, paid the
bill and emerged triumphant.
“I think we did beautifully,” exulted May as they joined the throng on
the sidewalk outside. “And we have nearly four dollars left!”
“Yes,” agreed Morris, with a grin, “I think we did pretty well myself.
I don’t want to seem to be taking too much credit, but I must say that
without my assistance in there――――”
“_Your_ assistance!” interrupted Louise almost crossly. “You were both
about as much use as――as nothing at all! I think you acted horridly. I
know that man thought you were crazy.”
“He’s got nothing on me, then,” laughed Morris. “I’m mighty sure I
thought he was! Say, if the salesmen dress the way he does, Sis, what
do you suppose Marsden himself wears? Bet you he’s covered with purple
velvet and gold lace. Gee, I’d like to see him!”
For another hour or more the two girls shopped, Morris dangling along
and complaining at every doorway. They didn’t buy much, but they had
the finest sort of a good time and, or so Morris averred, were in such
a condition of amazed and delighted awe that their eyes very nearly
popped from their heads! And then, of a sudden, Morris, who had been
standing on first one foot and then the other, and who had been
buffeted and pushed and squeezed and jammed, and who was more tired
than if he had put in a hard two hours of football practice, discovered
to his joy and relief that they had just time to reach the station to
get the train home, and literally dragged the girls from the store they
were in. But before they could reach the car-line the brilliant windows
of a famous confectioner sprang into view and May squealed with delight
and refused to go home until she had had an ice-cream soda. After that
it was a close shave, but they eventually reached the train before it
pulled out and, thoroughly breathless and tired, sank into their seats
and viewed each other in triumph.
“I’ve had the loveliest time,” announced Louise exultantly, “and I’m
simply tired――to――death!”
[Illustration: “‘I’ve had the loveliest time,’ announced Louise
exultantly.”]
“Tired!” grumbled Morris. “Don’t talk to me about being tired! I’m one
big ache from head to toes, and my feet feel as if they’d been pounded
by a spile-driver! I don’t mind _buying_ things, but when it comes to
_shopping_――_excuse me_!”
And the odd part of it was that Morris’s tiredness stayed with him
all the next day, and when, at practice, he tried to kick some goals
in the course of his half-hour instruction of the candidates under
his charge, he made awful misses! The Scrubs played the Varsity to
a standstill that afternoon, and all the driving of which Dick and
Lanny were capable, and all the entreaties of Chester Cottrell and of
Perry Hull, who took his place finally, failed to bring about a score.
The Scrubs were as proud as turkey cocks and remained so until the
next day, when, smarting under the ignominy of those forty scoreless
minutes, the Varsity came back and literally tore the other team wide
open and scored three touchdowns, two of which Morris converted into
goals. The best that the Scrub Team could do was to force a safety on
the Varsity when Tupper misjudged a punt.
That was on Wednesday. Thursday passed without a scrimmage since Dick
was not satisfied with the tackling and handling of the ball. Several
of the Varsity had been showing the weakest sort of work at tackling
and fumbles had been far too frequent. And so on Thursday there was a
hard drill at the dummy and a lot of work in essentials. Cable took the
linemen off to a corner of the field and gave them a long session in
blocking and breaking through, and Morris kept his pupils busy in front
of a goal. It must be confessed that Morris was not a huge success
as an instructor. He knew how to kick goals from placement and from
drops, and he was a good punter, but when it came to imparting his
knowledge to George Tupper and Nelson Beaton, he was far less skillful.
The explanation was that he didn’t really know how he obtained his
results, and if one doesn’t know how he does a thing, it’s well-nigh
impossible to teach another! Morris took infinite trouble, for he was
fully as enthusiastic as Dick about developing the kickers, and he
worked as hard as he knew how, but his method of correcting a pupil was
to say, “No, you don’t get it, George. Now watch me. See? One hand on
each side――get your lacings right――sight your goal――drop it――swing――
There you are! See what I mean?” And Tupper or Beaton would assent
doubtfully and, perhaps, do no better the next time. Still, George
Tupper had made progress; that couldn’t be denied; and Dick hoped for
the best and silently wished he knew more about the gentle art of
drop- and placement-kicking himself.
On Friday the team showed some improvement as a result of the previous
day’s practice, and in the short and not very hard scrimmage with the
Scrubs managed to get by without fumbling. But a spell of unseasonably
warm weather had had its effect on the players of both teams and there
were distinct signs of sluggishness visible. Dick read the signs and
called an early halt. He had been expecting a slump for several days
and now, he told himself, it had arrived. He was relieved rather than
troubled, however, for if there must be a slump――and there usually is
at some time during a football season――it was better to have it now
than two weeks, or even a week later. He hoped for a change of weather
on the morrow, but scarcely dared expect it.
And it didn’t come. If anything, Saturday was warmer and more
enervating than Friday had been, and many of the seventeen players whom
Dick took to Corwin at noon looked dragged and tired. Not a few more
were plainly irritable, always a bad sign, and Dick secretly feared
that Lanny was not destined to be much pleased with the outcome of the
afternoon’s game.
But if the Varsity was not in the best of condition, little fault
could be found with the Scrubs that afternoon. Perhaps the prospect of
having a real game with an outside team buoyed them up and caused them
to forget the fact that they had been listless the day before. At all
events, they trotted on to the field for the contest with the North
Side team looking much alive. Will Scott, who had not been taken along
to Corwin with the Varsity, had been given the management of the Scrubs
for the occasion, which meant that he had his hands pretty full. Not
that the players demanded any attention from him, but he had to look
after the contest itself; find boys to take money at the two gates, see
that Danny Shore’s players were looked after on arrival, arrange for a
referee, an umpire and a head linesman, find a youth to take one end of
the ten-yard chain and perform a number of other duties, which, since
he had never performed them before, caused him a condition of mind and
body closely approaching collapse.
The public turned out generously for that much-heralded game. A large
portion of the audience was composed of workers in the factories, who
were plainly there for two things; to have a good time――and having a
good time with them entailed making a certain amount of noise――and to
see their champions win. When the last spectator had entered and Will
Scott hurriedly counted the proceeds, he discovered that something over
three hundred and twenty persons had paid their dimes at the gates,
which, everything considered, was a good showing.
The Scrubs were playing to-day under the title of the High School
Second Team, a title which carried more dignity and seemed better
calculated to attract an audience. Two of the Varsity substitutes who
were not taken to Corwin lent their strength to Captain Nostrand’s
team. These were Grover, who took Jones’s place at left end, and McCoy,
who ousted Burns at left half. Fudge Shaw was at center, a position
which Fudge had been filling most creditably.
So far as enthusiasm went, that game was notable. The North Siders
rooted loudly and continuously, while the High School adherents,
encouraged by the enemy to expressions of loyalty, greeted the
Second with a hearty cheer when it appeared, and indulged in further
encouragement of a similar nature as the game progressed. The North
Siders were older than their opponents and averaged, especially in the
line, much heavier. But their play was scarcely more than elemental,
and appeared to be built around two very clever backs, Wightson and
Larue. The first of these was a raw-boned Welshman of about twenty, and
the second a black-haired little French Canadian who seemed to be built
of steel, and went into the enemy like a human bullet, and was just
about as hard to stop. Danny Shores, red-headed and shrill-voiced,
played quarterback and made up by grim determination for what he lacked
in experience and science.
It was a very good game, in spite of its raggedness. Fumbles were
plentiful on both sides, and the North Side backs continually missed
the signals. The Seconds showed an over-eagerness that lost them more
than it gained, and Pete Farrar, who played quarter, had his hands more
than full in trying to steady them down. The High School players got
the jump on the adversary in the first few minutes of the game, and so
bewildered them by open plays that, almost before anyone realized what
was happening, they were down on their opponents’ ten-yard line with
every indication of scoring. But an unlucky fumble spoiled their chance
of a touchdown, a fumble which red-headed Danny Shores recovered by
plunging between Fudge’s sturdy legs.