Evening Star Newspaper, November 13, 1935, Page 13

INSTALLMENT 1. P! ... Down!...onya, belly! . . . on ya back! | ...on ya right side! . .. on ya left! . . . now all up on ya feet! . . . Standing run now! And let's see ya go. Go like hell! Any one with lead in his dogs can plug straight for the showers. We don't want any traffic cops out | here. “OK. ... OK. now. Everybody up! C'mon, get a hustle on. Step on it. We're not out here to pick daisies. ‘Smatter Red? Got a type- writer in ya breeches? No? Well then what in hell’s name’s holdin’ ya | wild and wooly high school stuff. This | provement in my strong and manly | back? You've been draggin’ horse 'round here for a week. See if | va can't shake it, will ya . . . Remind me of a bunch of creampufls . . . you guys.” An ominous scowl of affected in- dignation and deep concern dark- ened Dan McBriar's face as the players hurriedly gathered around | him. He knelt on one knee, and the players knowing that when he did that it always meant that he wasi about to give instructions for the | practice session, crowded closer. His | sharp eyes scanned the faces of his | charges. His big undersiung jaw as- sumed a deliberate angle. “Listen up!” he barked. “You birds know as well as I do we've got & job on our hands. Two | weeks from $aturday we meet Sen- ford. You know what they've got, and ya know what we've got. ‘Sfar | as I can see we've got nothing but a bunch of half crippled dodoes. In two out of three we've taken it. on the chin. But if I've got anything to say about this Sanford battle, and 1 know right well I have, we're go- ing to take ‘em, and take ‘em right. “What's more we're goin' to start | right now. All season you birds have | been hugging that dummy instead of | cracking it. You've been pickin’ off each other as though you were bow- | ing your old Aunt Elizabeth into a rockin’ chair, instead of rattling each other's back teeth. And you've been gettin’ busted up every time you | tackled a man or hit the line. Well,| bustin’ up or no bustin’ up, Charlie- | horses or no Charlie-horses, from now | on youTe gonna go, go until we take Sanford. or my name's not McBriar. | We start right now . . . righ® her Listen up*now and get these assig ments.” The squad cocked its ears. Mc- Briar fumbled in the torn pockeis of his dirty old coaching knickers. Un- rewarded, he ferked his nands out of his pockets and yanked off Lis | slopping felt hat. He'd worn it ever | since he first came to Colb-rn five years before. It was his luck charm. At least he thought so. But the students were beginning to dourt ifs | magic. Sanford had won for two | vears straight even though McBriar | had worn the charmed chapeau at both games. Prom the hat, he snatched a crumpled bit of yellow paper. “Here's | ver instructions. Get 'em mnow, and get 'em straight! . . . Listen up! . .. Tackles and guards on the charging | blocks, 15 minutes. Ten on the dummy for——" He got no further.: ‘The penetrating beep . . . beep of a powerful automobile horn drowned | out his words. His face flushed crim- | son. He stood up and glared past | the crowd of fellows along the side- line to fasten his eyes on Chuch Ar- | nold. who was sitting behing thei wheel of his smart-looking roadster, | fussing furiously with the horn but- ton and looking directly at McBriar. | For fully a minute the big-framed. | heavy-jowled coach stood staring at Arnold, while the piercing “beep” of | the horn disrupted the practice ses- | sion. The players looked at Arnold with expressions of disgust. McBriar \’ clasped his hands over his huge stomach, and with evident restraint id to the squad huddled at his feet, ask you fellows, wouldn’t you know 12" Then his anger asserted itself. | “Get that machine out of here. | Arnold, before I come out there and | throw you out of here. What's the big idea of blowin’ a tin hern in our ears around here anyway? We all know you're here. Stop that darn thing from blowin’, and stop it quick.” “I'm sorry, coach,” velled back Ar- nold apologetically, “but the darn thing's stuck. I can't stop it.” “Can't stop it. You can get that car outta here, and mighty fast at| that. Just like you to come around | here and add to our troubles, with| the Sanford game right at hand. And you, too, Johnson . . .| It you weren't afraid of soilin’ your | hands you'd be right out here with| the rest of us where you belong, in-| stead of sailing around in that bus o’ yours raisin’ merry cain.” Just then the horn stopped blowing. In the excitement McBrair had walked off the field toward the car. Arnold didn't move. “I'm mighty sorry the horn got stuck, coach,” he said as Mc- Brair came to a halt just beside him, “but I don’t see what right you've got to try to tell me what I ought and ought not do.” For a second McBrair was taken back. He didn't know what to say. “Tell you what to do?” he finally blurted out. “Why if I were the presi- dent of this institution I'd toss you out of here so fast you couldn’t tell your face from third base. It's you and others like you who cause this college to lose games. But what's the use of talkin’? You know it all. You're the great I Am. You're too good a foot ball player for Colburn. You should'a gone to Harvard . . . or somewhere.” Arnold tried hard to hold his tongue. But he hated McBrair ever since that Fall afternoon of his fresh- man year when the frosh team scrim- maged the varsity. Even as he sat there trying desperately hard net to tell McBrair what he thought of him, the picture of that disiliusioning day of a year ago flashed across his mind. Arnold was Dpiloting the yearling eleven in grand style. The varsity was ylelding ground before the frosh team’s strategically directed attack. McBrair was pacing up and down the sidelines in a fit of rage It was an insult to his coaching ability to have the freshman team whip the varsity. Somehow the cocky air and self-as- surance of Arnold, who was handling his backs in masterful style, got under McBrair's thick skin. ‘The varsity pilot called for a punt. A high climbing spiral twisted up toward the clouds. Arnold raced to meet it as it dropped, but a puff of wind shunted it off ‘hi: hands and a varsity player dropped on the ball. McBrair, seizing the opportunity, blew his whistle for a time-out. He crossed the fleld, his eyes set on Arnold. The varsity players as well as the timid > freshmen awaited his words with trep- | ~ - . |1t was highly proper and sound foot that Charlie- | . idation. They knew Arnold was in for it. “Say, Napoleon,” he snarled, “who ever taught you to catch punts on the fly? That's what I'd like to know.” Arnold looked at him in amazement. He had caught the ball on the run that way for years, and always believed ball. Before he could say a word, Mc- Brair continued: “Here at Colburn our quarterbacks are instructed to get under the ball while it's still high | in the air, or else let it bounce. No crazy chances like you just took. No| is college foot ball now, da ya get me? | .. Well, why don't ya say somethin'? | Are ya dumb?” Arnold was stunned. He had al- ways thought of the varsity coach as| a man to look up to and admire. Freshman foot ball was but a neces- | sary apprenticeship to the varsity team, which he then had high hopes of attaining later on. He: knew he| could play foot ball. He knew he could then pilot a team. But McBrair's cruel, cutting words and despicable at- titude, however, turned him llmns!,i the whole thing. Right then -and there he had decided that he would | never subject himself to the tyranny of such a coach, regardless of any- thing and everything. With this picture came all the old | scorn for this man who had robbed | him of all zest for the sport he once | loved. “McBrair,” he burst out, no longer able to restrain himself, “if I were to say what I thought of you, I'd | be arrested. You're not a coach you're a driver. You're not a man,| ycu're a bully.” McBrair swung ‘round as though | to strike Arnold, who sat boldly still at the wheel. He caught himself, | however, and without saying another | word, walked back to the players, who, | amazed at Arnold’s audacity, were | looking at him in wonder and resent- | ment. ! After a bit of nervous coughing, Mc- | Brair regained his self-control and | started to bellow his instructions | again.' Arnold started to back his car onto the driveway leading out of the | fleld, but shut off the engine to watch the practice instead. The students, who had walked around the car to listen to the argument between the coach and Arnold, walked back to the sidelines, chatting, in groups. Some of them glanced over their shoulders at Arnold as they talked. Uneasy over the situation, and con- | scious of the remarks that he knew were being made about him, he was torn between a desire to drive away | and an impulse to remain just to show the coach and the students he didn't | care what they said or thought| about him. After watching the prac- | tice for about 10 minutes he drove | off to his room. 1 Arnold sat in his easy chair, reached | for a text book and started to read | his soclology assignment for the fol- | lowing day. It was useless to try to| read, though. McBrair's burly face| seemed to find its way to every page, and the incident of the horn projected | itself on the screen of his mind re-| peatedly. | “Hello, Chuck,” said Sam Barkley, | his roommate, as he threw open the door, scaled a book to a divan on the other side of the room. and started to undress. “What's all this stuff I hear | about you getting into a mess again?” | “What mess?” % ! “With Dan McBrair, Why, it's all over the campus. At least I'd judge ! it 1s. I heard it in three different | places and in three different ver- | sions.” | “I might have known it,” Chuck murmured. “A forest fire has noth- | ing on campus rumors for sprend-| ing fast and distorting facts. Well, | 80 on with the sad news, Sam, what | did you hear?” ! “The first report I heard was down | at the barber shop just after I came | out of my ‘eccy’ class. Garrulous God- | frey was giving Joe Nelson a shave, | and he certainly was right in form. | He didn't know I roomed with you, | 5o he talked on blithely as ever. He | said that fool Arnold had the nerve | to threaten to take a sock out of Coach | McBrair when they had a run-in| down at the practice field this after- noon. Naturally, I was curious to| get the ‘low-down,’ 50 I pumped him | for more information. He went on | to say that he heard that you drove | up to the fleld in your roadster and started to blow the horn as loudly as | you could just when he was about to | give the squad its assignments for | the afternoon. I told him the whole | story was a lle. That you wouldn't | do such a thing, and he got real hum- ble and said that he didn't think it was true, but he was only repeating waat he heard. I was peeved, so I jumped out of the chalr with my hair | half cut, as you can see, and told him | point blank to keep his mouth shut and stick to barbering. “Version No. 1,” smiled Chuck a bit sourly. “Well, the next thing I heard was | at a bridge game in Norcross Hall. I Played & few hands for Bill Harrison while he finished up an English theme that’s due this evening. Ed Gormley Was talking a bit freely. He said that 0 far as he knew, the only bird in the college that had any guts was Arnold. T asked him what made him think that. He was amazed that I hadn't heard. He went on to tell me that just as the foot ball practice was about to start this afternoon you | walked up to Dan McBrair and told | him he was a. lousy, dull-witted, use- less coach who ought to have the good sense to resign. What's emore, Har- rison roared, I agree with him. I was 30 amazed that I don't think I said anything. As soon as the hand was played I rushed up here to see what | really did happen. On the way Dick Chase stopped men to tell me that he heard that you punched McBrair in the face when he threatened to put you off the field for blowing'the horn of your car. Will you tell me what in Jupiter'’s name did happen?” “Boy, oh boy,” said Chuck. “Can you bend that for twisting things? As & matter of fact, Sam, McBriar and I did have an argument, but that’s all it was. We both got a little hot under the collar, but it blew over all right. I can't understand how fellows can lie so nonchalanty about such a thing.” “I knew there wasn't any truth to the talk that you poked McBriar on the chin. Not that you wouldn’t like to. I would myself. But they'd toss you out on your ear for that. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. Why, that ill-shaped mule driver hasn't the brains to keep out of the rain, much less coach & team. And do you know, Chuck, the follows are getting wise to him. He’s got the team pretty well | duck over to the gym to take my tri- | class?” | exercises and you'll be the hegvyweight | | Chuck never forgot. i THE EVENI under his thumb. They're scared to death. But I hear that the alumni are pretty sick of his iron-hand tac- tics and are considering buying off his contract. It has one more year to | run after this. I'd like nothing better than to see him taking a fast train out | of here. How about it, Chuck? Now | give me the dope on the big run-in." | Chuck settled back in his chair, | about to relate the happenings which | took place on the fleld, when Sam re- membered his compulsory gym class at 4 pm. “Wait, Chuck, I've got to weekly ‘builder-up.’ Notice the im- physique since I subjected myself to| the Spartan rigors of the calisthenics | And he threw out his rather | puny chest in an attitude of Hellenic | heroics. “A mighty Samson,” shouted | Chuck, as he whacked his roommate lustily on the chest. “Keep up your wrestling champion of the college yet.” “And what I won't do to you then,” bubbled Sam, pulling on his gym togs | and throwing a robe around him.| “Just watch me go.” | Sam had just left the room when | some one yelled up from downstairs: “Hi! Arnold . .. a special for you. I'll sign.” | “Thanks, Cliff,” recognizing Cliff Herd's voice. down for it in a few seconds Chuck raced down the stairs, picked up the letter, which he knew was from Nancy, and three-stepped it up to his room again. He opened the letter. “Chuck Dearest: “I'm terribly sorry shouted Chuck, “I'll be | to disappoint | you again, but I will not be able to attend the dance with you the eve- ning of the Colburn-Sanford game. Father is in a fury. You know how silly h> is about foot ball. Well, he’s getting worse. I think it's the antici- | pation of the Sanford game that has| him this way. Mother and 1 have | come to dread this season of the year. | The doctor said it's bad for his heart. | How any one can get so excited over foot ball is more than I can under- stand, but he certainly takes Colburn's fate on the gridiron to heart. “He resents terribly your not going out for the team, although you know it doesn't make a bit of difference to me. He goes around raving about col-' lege loyalties and a lot of other things, and claiming that you haven't any love for alma mater or you'd play. I tried to convince him that you like Colburn immensely, but that you just don’t care to be bothered with foot ball. | “Well, the outcome of it all is that he absolutely refuses to allow me to g0 to the dance with you. I can't defy him. much as I'd love to be there with you. All this foot ball talk of his makes no impression whatever on | me, darling, but it would make things a lot easier and more pleasant for both | of us if you just made a pretext at | playing. Maybe if you asked the coach for a uniform, and sat with the players, father would think you were on the team. I guess not, though, ‘cause he reads the Colburn Daily News carefully every evening, and he | boasts about knowing the weight and | abilities of all the players on the first team. | “I don’t like to be a wet blanket, Chuck, and heaven knows this letter is blue enough already, but I over-| heard father tell mother that he | had it from one of the college au- thorities that you were loafing again, and that if it didn't stop soon he would refuse to let you call on me | any more. | “Please use discretion, Chuck. It would be dreadful if father says you | can't see me at all. Only that mother | spoke up for you I'm afrald he would have done so already.” Write me soon, dearest, and tell me when you can drive down again. Lovingly, | “NANCY.” | Chuck was never actually fond of the old man. He always thought of him as a big, afluent, egotistic alumnus whose foot ball improved | the longer he was out of college. Now | that three decades had passed since | he held down the tackle position on the right side of Colburn’s famous | forward wall, he viewed the sport through pink glasses. He talked of it in grandiloquent terms as the great- | | est moral force in molding the char- | acter of adolescent young men. It | was, in his eyes, a rough-and-ready pastime, profitable to the softies of the modern generation. Any fellow who didn’t go out for the team was | nothing short of despicable. He | lacked courage, intestinal fortitude and real college spirit. He didn't belong in college. Not in a college like Colburn. | There was no use arguing with | Mr, Marshall. He had his viewpoint and he made sure everybody around him knew precisely what it-was. He | never liked Chuck from the very first | day he met him. “Arnold . . . Arnold,” he reiterated when Chuck was first presented to him . . . “ahem! . . . let me see, I rather think I've heard that name before. Now I have it . . . Aren't you the fellow who played quarterback on the | frosh team last year and refused to g0 out for the varsity for reasons you didn’t care to make public? . . . Well, how do you do. . . . It's really none of my business, young man, but as a Colburn alumnus I certainly do think you have made a mistake” . . .| was the way he greeted Arnold, d | With the advent of the foot ball season the old man got even more! bitter toward Chuck. He was almost inhospitable when Arnold called on Nancy, and would have little if any- thing to say to him. Naturally, Chuck expected the worst, and this was it. He had looked forward with happy anticipation to the dance on the eve of the Colburn-Sanford battle, but that was off now. He lit a cigarette, sat down and wrote a short letter to Nancy, telling her he understood the situation per- fectly and that he would be down to see her as soon as he could. (To be continued.) LR e For Cold Sufferers. 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