Evening Star Newspaper, October 27, 1935, Page 96

Magazine Section 14 -~ All Behind the ROM the beginning he protested stren- uously against her folly. “‘Son,"” said Lydia Markham, ‘‘why did I, a lone widow, raise a young man like you, if I am not to be allowed a few privileges? You say you can't afford to play ~ football. I say you can’t afford not to, with vour ability. It isn’t just the fun, the sport. It’s the opportunities, the contacts — " *But, mother — "’ “Of course you can't stoke furnaces and what-not while the season is on. Your sum- mer earnings, you say, will carry you past that time for actual needs, but you must have clothes and thing8 — I'd want you to be bet- ter than presentable — if you are to travel with the team from New York to New Orleans — perhaps even to California — " *I can see America later.” Lydia’s blue eyes shone upon her gorgeous, growling man-child. She was five feet two inches tall if she stretched. He stood six feet one in his socks, flat of stomach, slim in the hips, but with the chest and shoulders of a , prize-fighter. Above that he was clear-eyed, fresh-hued, very young —and oh, so wise! And self-sacrificing. And brave. “I've saved this little bit of money. Please!” “From lamp-shade commissions? Show it to me!” “Draw out a hundred dollars in cash — to encourage pickpockets? Besides, Bob, if some- thing doesn't fit or it proves defective, it can be returned much more easily on a charge account than if it has been paid for. Come on. We'll have a shopping tour. We'll stretch the money and finish with lunch at that snappy Rathskeller I heard about the other day. We've had so tew sprees, youand 1.” But Robert remained doubtful. “I thought you needed a new winter coat.” “I never buy such things befcre the Jan- _2ary sales. Come now.” But it wasn't easy to stretch the money, even with Lydia’s nose for bargains. Bob's body lines were fitted best by mcre expensive models. She had expected possibly to pay thirty dollars for a suit on sale, but the cheap- est one that looked well on him cost forty-one. It was a dark gray worsted. Years of buy- ing had taught Lydia that the material was sturdy, that theseams weresecureandstraight. It might have been made to order for the boy. To see him in it, you'd never have dreamed that he had ever got up at 2 A.M. to go out and start a milk route, that he had ever worked in overalls in the kitchen quarters of fraternity houses. It was Bob's suit. However, there were still to be bought an overcoat, shoes, a hat, shirts perhaps. Eleven dollars was one fourth of a month's rent in the apartment Lydia had to keep, so that the boy had always a home to return to. Eleven dol- lars would buy her nourishing meals for two _weeks. She must eat properly. She couldn't afford ever to be ill. She saw Bob looking at himself ——and the suit — in a mirror. . “We'll take it,” said Lydia Markham. The stadium rocked with cheers. Bands blared crazily. Lusty young voices rose and tell in waves of song. Feet stamped against a penetrating cold when time out was called but forgot the weather when play was resumed. It was the last game of the season. It would decide the championship of the Middle West. Old State was battling an invading eleven from the North as the climax of a big home- coming week. Old State was a slight favorite to win, the odds being given because of the flashing work of a great half-back, Bob Markham. “And when I say great, fellows, I mean great,” shrieked the radio announcer. ‘“That man is a streak.” Lydia Markham curled up i a big chair with Niblets, the cat, for company and chewed fresh-roasted peanuts from a bag and scat- tered shells and listened greedily. Bob had wanted her to see the game. Up to the day THIS WEEK October 27, 1935 America, 1935 great halfback was a mother's struggle to live her moment by SHIRLEY SEIFERT “My son, gentlemen,” she said to the intruders, and turned back to the radio before, to keep him happy, she had said she would come. Then she had written a special delivery letter, saying she had a horrid cold and mustn't travel. “Oh —oh! Old State is penalized fifteen yards for holding.” Lydia bridled defensively. “Third down and fifteen to go."” The doorbell rang. Violently. Twice. “Old State is in a huddle. They come out of it now.” The doorbell rang again. More violently. Only beggars and collectors made that much noise. Lydia put her hands to her ears, but she had to take them down. “Zeigler is back in punt formation. He —- it's going to be a pass —it's going to be a pass!"” The announcer's voice was lost in a Hlustration by C. R. Chickering howl of delirium as the doorbell was all but pushed through the doorjamb. Lydia in desperation jumped up and flung the door open. “Come in,come in!" she cried, hardly notic- ing who stood there. ‘‘Listen.” “Complete!” howled theannouncer. ‘‘Mark- ham takes it on the thirty-yard line. He's away — he's over. A touchdown! Score Old State 13, Northern Tech 6." *‘Beg pardon, ma'am.”’ The intruder was a little man. middle-aged, with spectacles, in a rusty overcoat. He car- ried a small, but longish notebook binder, quite thickly filled with blue pages. The binder was held open by his thumb over a tlat rubber band at one of these pages. On it any one could read, “Mrs. L. Markham to Bradley and Co., Clothiers." Lydia knew the man, anyhow. She'dseen him before. ‘‘Listen. Sh!"’ she said. “Markham will try to convert - - " The buzzer from the back door broke into the game. Here stood a tall young man who drove a truck for the Garfield Electric Com- pany, Radios and Re- frigerators. He had a pink ticket. “But you can't take it now,"'" said Lydia. *I've got the game on, It’s the final quarter. Old State is winning."’ Surely this one, being voung “Sure enough?" He was young. He strode into the tiny liv- ing room purposefully, but he stopped on the threshold. The radio announcer was doing more vocal hand- springs. ‘‘State kicked off. Walker of Tech took the ball but wasdropped in his tracks by Mark- ham. Boy, Tech can’t do muchagainst ateam that goes down the field as fast as the ball goes through the air. That fellow Markham is all over the place. ‘Robert Louis Markham, my friends. all- American back - - "' The tall young man looked at his pink ticket. The oldish man in the shabby overcoat looked at the blue statement under his thrumb. They looked at each other. Lydia swallowed hard, then held Niblets tightly against her throbbing throat. ‘*“My son, gentle- men," she said. She knew sheoughtnt to have had that radio installed. The down payment had taken what she had meant to pay on the clothing company’s account. Still ——- 3 ““There goes the L gun!'’ cried the an- nouncer. ‘“The game is over. Old State wins, 14 to 6. Now, friends, my pal, Jimmie Price, is down on the field. He'll try to get a player or a coach to speak to you. Bob Markham, if possible,” said the announcer. Bob's voice came a moment later, breath- less, but vibrant, through space. *‘Hello, mother? You listening? How's your cold?"” Lydia dropped her face on Niblets and sobbed. When she looked up, the two strangers were gone. Oh, bless their hearts! They would come back, of course, just as soon as they reached headquarters with their silly excuses, maybe sooner than that. Still - to leave her now!