ON THE SCREEN
Parkinson played Chancellor on the latter’s home field this year,
and a good half of the school accompanied the team to Mount Wansett
Saturday morning. Dick, of course, went with the squad of twenty-one
players that left on the ten-forty-three train, and others of our
acquaintance followed after an early dinner, reaching Mount Wansett
with just time to reach the field before Babe Upton kicked off. The
line-up for the visitors at the start was, with one exception, what it
would be for the Kenwood game a week later. Gleason was at left guard
in place of Cupp, the latter being out because of a bad ankle. Stone
started at quarter-back and played a good defensive game but was, as
usual, slow in getting at the attack. Toward the last of the second
period, when Parkinson had finally worked the ball down to Chancellor’s
twenty-seven yards, Dick took his place, bearing instructions to try
a forward-pass and, should that fail, to score on a field-goal. Stone
had been intent on hammering the enemy line for a touchdown, without
apparently realising that Chancellor was getting more invulnerable with
every plunge and that time was working in her behalf. The attempt at a
forward almost succeeded, but not quite, and on third down, standing on
Chancellor’s thirty-five-yard line, Kirkendall dropped a pretty goal
directly over the centre of the bar. That was the only score of the
half, and it was becoming apparent to Parkinson rooters why Kenwood had
been able to win from Chancellor by only one score, and that a field
goal.
To Dick’s surprise, Cardin started the third period, and played an
excellent game. In fact it was due to Cardin that Parkinson secured a
second score soon after play was resumed. A muffed punt on Chancellor’s
twenty yards had been captured by Bob Peters and two plunges had
carried the pigskin on to the fourteen yards. There, however, a mass
attack on the left of the home team’s right tackle had resulted in no
gain and a try-at-goal seemed necessary, with the probabilities against
success since the ball was at a wide angle with the goal. Cardin solved
the difficulty by faking a kick and, after hiding the ball until the
Chancellor line had broken through, dodging his way around the enemy’s
left for enough ground to secure the down. From there Kirkendall and
Warden had alternated and had eventually carried the ball across.
Later, Chancellor, not for a moment acknowledging defeat, pulled off
two long forward-passes that took her from her own thirty yards to
Parkinson’s twenty-eight. Two line attacks netted five more and a third
was stopped for no gain. Then a long-legged back put a neat field-goal
over for the home team’s first score. Dick went back at the beginning
of the final quarter and, with a line-up consisting largely of second-
and third-string players, did his best to hold the enemy at bay, and
succeeded, although there were some heart-stirring moments for the
visiting audience. When the last whistle blew the score was 10-3 in
Parkinson’s favour and she had the satisfaction of having bettered
Kenwood’s performance against the opponent. For Chancellor had scored
a touchdown against the Blue but had failed to seriously threaten
the Parkinson goal-line. At that, however, the Brown-and-White’s
superiority over the Blue was still questionable, and wise prophets
refused to be unduly optimistic as to next Saturday’s contest.
When Dick arrived home long after six o’clock and made a hurried trip
to Sohmer to leave his suit-case and prepare sketchily for supper,
he found a letter awaiting him. It was from Sumner White, he saw,
and he concluded that it could wait until after supper. But, at the
last moment, he seized on it as he hurried out of the room and tore
the envelope open as he took the stairs three at a time, and skimmed
the first page on the way along the Yard to Alumni Hall. At the bottom
of the page he came on something that brought him up standing. With a
perplexed frown he started back and re-read the beginning.
“I suppose you saw what we did to Norristown (Sumner wrote.) It was a
corking game and Sid Nellis got his wrist broken and a lot more of us
got pretty well scrapped. The score was 14 to 6, but we sure had to
work for it. Jim Cleary played most of the game at full-back and was
a wonder, better than Ed ever was. But I guess you read all this. The
big news is that three or four of us, maybe more, will be over on the
twenty-third to see you play in the Kenwood game. Charlie Stone and
Will Meens and Theo Harris and I sure, and maybe Cleary and Townsend. I
guess you saw the swell articles in the _Sentinel_ last week. I meant
to send you a copy, but it got lost, and anyway I guess your father
saw to it. I met him on High Street a couple of days ago and he asked
me what I knew about that article and I said nothing and he said it
was confounded nonsense, but he acted like he thought it was pretty
fine just the same, Dick. We’re coming over on the midnight from Philly
and that will get us to Warne about noon Saturday. Lucky we haven’t
any Saturday game, isn’t it? We hold last real practice Friday and
then only do some signal drills Monday and Tuesday. So we have lots of
time. Charlie Stone’s old man is sort of financing the trip, he and Mr.
Harris, but we are all paying part. You mustn’t put yourself out on our
account, for we know you’ll be awfully tied down that day. But we’ll
dig around to your room when we get in and see you for a few minutes.
Then maybe after the game we can have a good chin. Great, isn’t it?
Gee, I’m crazy about it. Hope you whale Kenwood good. I’ll write again
about Wednesday and let you know if any other fellows are going. A lot
of them want to only they haven’t got the coin.”
Dick read that remarkable letter over twice and then stuffing it into a
pocket, took up his hurried journey again. He didn’t know whether to be
pleased or peeved. Of course, it was flattering that his old team-mates
should want to come all that way to see him play, and he supposed he
really appreciated it, but somehow it made him feel sort of foolish
too. It wasn’t as if he was the captain, or even the first-choice
quarter. If fellows here in Parkinson heard of it they’d think him
beastly conceited and probably laugh like anything. Besides, hang it
all, how did he know he would even get in on Saturday? Suppose Stone
played the game right through! Of course, the coach would probably let
him in for a minute or two at the end, just as he would Cardin, to get
his letter, but what a fool he would feel in that case! Folks coming
all the way from Leonardville, Pennsylvania, to see him do stunts
and he sitting on the bench all the time! Gee, that would be fierce!
He wished Sumner White and Charlie and all the others, especially
including the editor of the _Sentinel_, would mind their own business!
He was hungry enough for supper to forget the letter in his pocket save
at infrequent intervals. When he did recall it the pucker returned to
his forehead and he thrust a hand over the offending missive to be sure
that it hadn’t got away. It would be awful if he dropped it and someone
picked it up and read it!
Stanley and Blash and Rusty and he had arranged for a movie party that
night. The idea had been Blash’s and Dick had at first declined to go,
pleading that he would be too tired and that, besides, he had a lot of
studying that ought to be done. But he had been persuaded to go, and so
he got through supper rather hurriedly, knowing that the others would
be waiting. He wanted to read that awful letter to Stanley and ask
advice and sympathy, but he would have to wait until they got back from
the movie house. On the way there he was silent, and Rusty, walking
beside him, rallied him on his “pensivity.” Dick was tempted to confide
in Rusty, but he resisted, perhaps wisely, and only responded that he
was tired. As a matter of truth, he was, for even had he not played a
minute, the trip was sufficient to weary one.
“Well, the movies will rest you,” answered Rusty gaily. “They do me,
always, Dick. After I’ve studied too hard or anything I can go to a
movie house and get rested wonderfully. You see, you have your mind
taken from your worries, and you sort of relax your body and there
you are! Besides, Dick, it’s a corking good picture tonight. And then
there’s the weekly review. I like that about as well as anything, I
think. ‘Bath, Maine; Largest schooner afloat is launched from yard of
the builders with appropriate ceremonies.’ ‘Miss Mary Ellen Dingbottle,
daughter of Senator Hiram Dingbottle, breaks a bottle of tomato catsup
over the bow.’ ‘In her native element!’ ‘Los Angeles, Cal., Harold
Whosthis, America’s favourite moving picture star, signs contract
calling for largest salary ever paid to an actor.’ ‘Tie Siding,
Wyoming. Members of Boys’ and Girls’ Hog Club hold annual parade.’
‘Procession passing in review before Mayor Scrugg and invited guests.’
‘Little Willie Dingfingle and his prize porker: Willie is at the left
of the picture.’ ‘Minneapolis, Minn. Fire destroys million-dollar
barber-shop.’ ‘Firemen fighting flames as hundreds of celluloid combs
explode.’ ‘New York City. Twelve thousand----’”
“Shut up!” laughed Dick. “That’s awfully like it, though! And the
picture of the burning barber-shop is thrown on the screen in red.”
“Always! Just as a picture of the Whirlpool Rapids taken from an
airplane is always blue. There are certain laws that can’t be--Well,
here we are. Keep your hand out of your pocket, Dick. This is Blash’s
treat. When Blash shows the least sign of paying for anything, for the
love of mud don’t stop him! I’m all for the encouragement of miracles!
Better get ’em reserved, Blash; there’ll be a crowd tonight!” And Rusty
winked gravely at Dick.
Blash, however, paid no attention to the disinterested advice, but
bought the usual tickets, and the quartette made their way into the
darkened theatre and peered about for seats. Fortunately, Rusty’s
prophecy proved false and there were plenty of vacancies. There did
not, though, appear to be four together, and while Dick suggested
sitting in pairs none of the others seemed to like the notion. “Oh,
no,” whispered Stanley, “let’s keep together. It’s more fun. There’ll
be seats in a minute or two.”
“I see four now,” said Rusty. “On the side there, pretty well front.
Come on!”
Dick thought them rather too close to the screen when he was finally
seated between Blash and Rusty, with Stanley beyond the latter, but the
others declared them to be just right. As Blash was usually a stickler
for sitting well back, Dick was slightly puzzled. The first show was
almost over and they witnessed the final exploits of Dick’s favourite
movie hero through half a reel, pretending not to look. Then the house
lighted and a brief intermission ensued.
“I do hope they have a good weekly tonight,” observed Rusty, “don’t
you, Blash?”
“Yes,” answered the other, rewarding the questioner with a scowl that
Dick saw and didn’t understand. Beyond Rusty, toward the aisle, Stanley
was grinning widely. Dick began to experience the uncomfortable
feeling that the others were enjoying a joke that he was not in on,
and to wonder if the joke was on him! Then the lights were lowered, an
ornate “Welcome” flashed on the screen, the piano began its jig-time
music and the weekly review of current events started. There were the
usual scenes, so like Rusty’s travesty that Dick had to smile. There
happened to be no ship launching on this occasion, but there was a
series of views aboard a United States warship during target practice,
and there was a gorgeous fire, thrown on in crimson hues, and Rusty’s
parade of the Hog Club was overlooked in favour of a poultry show. Then
came the ingenious trademark at the finish and Dick settled back to
enjoy the comedy. But the weekly appeared to have taken a new lease of
life, for another title flashed on the screen. Dick read idly and then
jumped forward in his seat and read again, his eyes fairly popping from
his head, read incredulously and amazedly the legend trembling on the
white background:
TOWN HONOURS HER HERO
Leonardville, Pa.--Twenty thousand citizens in monster outdoor
meeting pay tribute to famous athlete, Richard Corliss Bates.