FOOTBALL.
None of our crowd had reached what the grown-ups call "the boy age." We
had our heroes of romance that it was difficult for any of the male
persuasion in real life to live up to. Tweedles declared that Zebedee
was boy enough for them; although Dum thought if she ever met a Prosper
le Gai she might consider him; while Dee had an idea a boy like Laurie,
in "Little Women," would be some sport and she might be willing to knock
around with him a bit. Jane Eyre's "Mr. Rochester" was my beau ideal.
"I want a dark, masterful lover who could tie the poker up in a bowknot
if he had a mind to; a rude man who could bring tears to my eyes by his
gruffness, and then, with the gentleness of a woman, soothe my aching
head."
"Oh, Page," chimed in Annie Pore, "how could you want such a ruffian? I
like Henry Esmond, so kind and courteous and dignified----"
"Yes, and as stiff as a poker. My 'Mr. Rochester' could tie him up in a
bowknot in no time----"
"And soothe your aching head with him, too, I fancy. I think a man who
is rude enough to make a woman cry and strong enough to tie up pokers
would be more than likely to beat his wife with said poker." This from
Mary Flannigan, who was in our room during the discussion of our
favorite heroes. "I want 'Charles O'Malley' or nothing. Give me a man
who is gay and rollicking, at the same time good-tempered and kindly if
quick to fight withal."
We had to laugh at Mary. She was such a little Mother Bunch, with her
crinkly red hair bushing out around her fat freckled face,--hardly a
likely person to attract a hero of romance. Mary wore as many petticoats
as Mammy Susan and all of them were tied around her waist with draw
strings. I verily believe that she and Mammy Susan were the only persons
left in the world who wore red flannel petticoats. In that day and
generation when slimiky skirts were the rage, you can fancy how Mary
looked with her gathered skirts. She also had a leaning toward deep
ruffles around her neck, which more than ever gave her the look of a
clown dog.
She had a way of breaking into the conversation very much as the clown
dog breaks into the ring, and no matter how serious she was, we simply
had to laugh at her. She was very good-natured and not the least bit
touchy. We laughed at her general bunchiness just because we couldn't
help it, but one and all liked her for her good temper and ready wit and
respected her for her excellent standing in her classes, where she was
the youngest pupil. We also envied her the delightful stunts that I
believe I have mentioned before.
"I'd rather be able to go like a dog, the way Mary can, than make the
finest statue of one that ever was done," sighed Dum.
"Nonsense, Dum. Anybody can go like a dog with a little practice, but to
make one in clay is going some. But to return to our lovers: what do
you girls say to taking in the football game over at Hill-Top? The
seniors are going, one and all, and Miss Peyton says any of us can go
who wish. Miss Cox will chaperon the sophomores."
Hill-Top was a boys' school on the other side of the village from
Gresham Academy, and young ladies from our school were always invited to
the match games there; and our school in turn sent a formal invitation
to the pupils of Hill-Top when an interesting basketball game was to be
played at Gresham.
"Oh, do come, all of you. I've never seen a game of football in my life
and I'm just wild to," I begged.
"I guess I won't go," said Annie.
"Well, I think you've got another guess coming, unless you have a
powerful good reason," I exclaimed.
"My only reason is that I am so embarrassed with boys," and poor Annie
gave her usual painful blush.
"Oh, you won't have to speak to the boys. They never notice the Sophs,
anyhow, but give all their twaddle to the Juniors and Seniors. If a
boy, old enough to walk 'loney, breaks through Mabel Binks' guard, he is
a hero for fair," laughed Dee.
So, Annie's objections overcome, we hurried her and Mary off to put on
their hats and wraps, and quickly donning our own, got downstairs just
in time to form in line with the Sophomores, who were starting under the
leadership of Miss Cox for the game at Hill-Top.
"I'm glad to see you are going, Page," said Margaret Sayre, as she
hooked her arm in mine. "I am to help Miss Cox keep order, although I
don't really think I am needed. Sophomores are never boy crazy. The
Juniors are the ones, as a rule, that need quieting. Sometimes I wonder
where all the bad Juniors go to and where all the good Seniors come
from."
"Well, I reckon the bad Juniors were once good Sophomores and they can
just as easily turn into good Seniors," I responded.
The Juniors at Gresham were a rather wild lot and they had as a leader
Mabel Binks, who, although she was a Senior, chose her friends entirely
among the Juniors. The truth of the matter was, as Mammy Susan used to
say, Mabel would rather be a "king among buzzards than a buzzard among
kings." The Seniors would have none of her leadership and among them she
had to take a back seat; while the Juniors welcomed her to their ranks
with joy, not realizing why she had chosen them, and flattered by her
notice.
The long line of girls, two abreast, wound its way through the streets
of the little town and out into the country again to the boys' school.
It was really a very pretty sight, this row of blooming, happy girls,
all ages and sizes, dressed in the universally becoming dark blue, with
their jaunty velvet sailor hats perched at every conceivable angle on
heads of hair of every conceivable color.
"Doesn't Annie Pore look pretty in her new hat?" whispered Miss Sayre.
These velvet sailors were ordered by the school and every pupil was
obliged to have one. All of us were glad that Annie was forced to
discard her forlorn-looking crepe hat that looked for all the world
like a last year's bird's nest. The black velvet sailor was exactly
right for her, throwing into pleasing contrast her milk-white skin, and
bringing out the wonderful tints in her ripe-wheat hair. Jo Barr with
wonderful tact had managed to change the hang of her dragging skirt and
it was now even around the bottom.
"I think she is beautiful and she is really very fine in many ways. I
have grown so fond of her. All of us have. And I think Dum and Dee are
having a splendid effect on her spirits, for she is not nearly so
lugubrious."
"Dum and Dee may be having a fine effect, too," laughed Miss Sayre, "but
a girl named Page Allison is doing her part. All the faculty notice it.
I wish someone like you could be in every class, someone to leaven the
whole lump with a certain quality of camaraderie. Annie Pore was as
forlorn a specimen of humanity as ever stepped out of a 'bus that first
day here, and now look at her!"
Annie was laughing heartily as Mary Flannigan made a noise like a sick
kitten, throwing her voice, with her powers as a ventriloquist, so it
seemed to come from a clump of sumac by the roadside. Dee was peering
eagerly into the bushes before she caught on to the joke. Annie Pore
certainly did not look like the same girl. No one would think of
nicknaming her "Orphan Annie" now. The name clung to her, however, among
a certain class, thanks to Mabel Binks, who had not been able to forgive
or forget the laugh raised against her by Annie on the first day of
school.
Hill-Top was built much in the same style as Gresham, and it, too, had
the Parthenon effect with its big white pillars. The view was not quite
so fine as ours, but from the little experience I had had of boys, I
imagined they did not go in for views to any great extent.
"A primrose by the river's brink,
A common primrose was to him and nothing more."
For that matter, I noticed that mighty few of the girls at Gresham
appreciated the view, and as Miss Sayre said, thought more of dessert
for dinner than of the view of the mountains.
The game was just starting as we arrived, so we seated ourselves on the
benches provided for the visitors with as little stir as possible. Dum
got on the other side of me to put me on to the points of the great game
of football.
"It seems too foolish and backwoodsy for me never to have seen a game,"
I said, "but at Milton everyone is too old to do more than walk through
a set of croquet or too young to do more than bounce a rubber ball.
Father occasionally threatens to go up to Richmond for the
Virginia-Carolina game at Thanksgiving, but somebody is always coming or
going (I mean getting born or dying), and we have never made it yet."
"Never mind, honey," and Dum gave me a hug, "you'll learn all the points
of the game to-day, and some time when we are back in Richmond, Zebedee
will give us a great football party. We always go to the Thanksgiving
game. I don't see what Zebedee will do without us this year."
"Who, that good-looking pa of yours?" said Mabel Binks, who was seated
right in front of us, with the Juniors, as usual. "Why, I'll wager he
can find someone to take your place. I bet he's having a pretty good
time with you kids off his hands."
Dum's hands clinched and unclinched. Her eyes were closed and her lips
moving. I had not lived with the Tucker Twins for several weeks without
finding out what that meant. When Dum did that way, it meant she was
trying to control her temper. Her lips formed these words: "Oh, God,
make me good! Don't let me biff Mabel Binks! Don't let me biff Mabel
Binks!"
For a moment the wicked wish came into my heart that she would "biff
Mabel Binks"; but when I thought of the consternation it would arouse in
Gresham and the disgrace to our class, to say nothing of poor hot-headed
Dum, I felt ashamed of myself for harboring such a militant desire. I
slipped my hand over Dum's clenched fist and in a moment I felt it
relax.
"Thank you, Page. God answered my prayer quicker than usual, thanks to
you," and Dum gave a great sigh of relief. "It seemed to me almost like
it would be wrong if I didn't hit her. Zebedee would fight for us any
day and I don't see why I can't fight for him."
"Well, when you come down to facts, Dum, Mabel Binks did not say
anything derogatory of your father. She said he was good-looking and
intimated that he was naturally popular. I fancy she would like to go to
the Thanksgiving game herself with him. There is nothing for you to
fight about. I have an idea that Mr. Tucker can take care of himself
enough not to take her to the game at least," I whispered; and Dum
laughed aloud so that Mabel turned around and asked, "What's the joke?"
And Dum had the satisfaction of saying in honeyed tones: "One of the kid
jokes that I fancy you would not appreciate."
The game of football at first impressed me as little more than a tangle
of legs, and a dog fight at Bracken had more sense to it; but as Dum
explained the points, I began to see some method in the seeming madness
of twenty-two boys lying down on one poor ball and yelling. Needless to
add, I very soon became as enthusiastic about that game as all other
games I ever had any knowledge of, and before the football season was
over I was as rabid a rooter as the Tuckers themselves.
"I believe you are a born lover of games, Page," said Miss Sayre,
smiling as my enthusiasm got the better of me and I let out a piercing
shriek in honor of a short, bow-legged boy who had seized the ball at a
crucial moment and literally dodged his way through the Seniors and made
a goal. The game was between the Seniors and Sophomores, and of course
the Sophomores of Gresham were in honor bound to root for the Sophomores
of Hill-Top.
"Who's all right? Who's all right?
Shorty!--Shorty! Out of sight!"
yelled the class for their bow-legged hero, and then the Seniors gave
him fifteen 'rahs. Seniors always have a special feeling for Sophomores
and a game between them is usually a very friendly bout. Of course the
Seniors do not exactly want to be beaten, but they take a great delight
in the prowess of their pet class. In spite of Shorty's good playing
and a great deal of good playing from the other ten Sophomores, the
Seniors won, which was quite meet and proper. The younger boys had put
up a good fight and were much applauded by their elders.