The Plastic Age - Percy Marks (classic literature books txt) 📗

His Arms,  Slapped His Neighbor On The Back Or Hugged Him

Wildly,  Threw His Hat In The Air,  If He Had One--And,  So Great Was His

Training,  Keeping An Eye On The Cheer-Leader,  Who Was On The Platform

Going Through A Series Of Indescribable Contortions. Suddenly He

Straightened Up,  Held His Hands Above His Head Again,  And Shouted

Through His Megaphone: "A Regular Cheer For The Team--A Regular Cheer

For The Team. Make It Big--Big! Ready--!" Away Whirled The Megaphone,

And He Went Through Exactly The Same Performance That He Had Used Before

In Conducting The Regular Cheer. Gifford Looked Like An Inspired Madman,

But He Knew Exactly What He Was Doing. The Students Cheered Lustily,  So

Lustily That Some Of Them Were Hoarse The Next Day. They Continued To

Yell After The Cheer Was Completed,  Ceasing Only When Gifford Signaled

For Silence.

 

Then There Were Speeches By Each Member Of The Team,  All

Enthusiastically Applauded,  And Finally The Speech Of The Evening,  That

Of The Coach,  Jack Price. He Was A Big,  Compactly Built Man With Regular

Features,  Heavy Blond Hair,  And Pale,  Cold Blue Eyes. He Threw Off His

Coat With A Belligerent Gesture,  Stuck His Hands Into His Trousers

Pockets,  And Waited Rigidly Until The Cheering Had Subsided. Then He

Began:

 

"Go Ahead And Yell. It'S Easy As Hell To Cheer Here In The Gym; But What

Are You Going To Do Saturday Afternoon?"

 

His Voice Was Sharp With Sarcasm,  And To The Shouts Of "Yell! Fight!"

That Came From All Over The Gymnasium,  He Answered,  "Yeah,

Maybe--Maybe." He Shifted His Position,  Stepping Toward The Front Of The

Platform,  Thrusting His Hands Deeper Into His Pockets.

 

"I'Ve Seen A Lot Of Football Games,  And I'Ve Seen Lots Of Rooters,  But

This Is The Goddamndest Gang Of Yellow-Bellied Quitters That I'Ve Ever

Seen. What Happened Last Saturday When We Were Behind? I'M Asking You;

What Happened? You Quit! Quit Like A Bunch Of Whipped Curs. God! You'Re

Yellow,  Yellow As Hell. But The Team Went On Fighting--And It Won,  Won

In Spite Of You,  Won For A Bunch Of Yellow Pups. And Why? Because The

Team'S Got Guts. And When It Was All Over,  You Cheered And Howled And

Serpentined And Felt Big As Hell. Lord Almighty! You Acted As If You'D

Done Something."

 

His Right Hand Came Out Of His Pocket With A Jerk,  And He Extended A

Fighting,  Clenched Fist Toward His Breathless Audience. "I'Ll Tell You

Something," He Said Slowly,  Viciously; "The Team Can'T Win Alone Day

After To-Morrow. _It Can'T Win Alone!_ You'Ve Got To Fight. Damn It!

_You'Ve Got To Fight!_ Raleigh'S Good,  Damn Good; It Hasn'T Lost A Game

This Season--And We'Ve Got To Win,  _Win_! Do You Hear? We'Ve Got To Win!

And There'S Only One Way That We Can Win,  And That'S With Every Man Back

Of The Team. Every Goddamned Mother'S Son Of You. The Team'S Good,  But

It Can'T Win Unless You Fight--_Fight_!"

 

Suddenly His Voice Grew Softer,  Almost Gentle. He Held Out Both Hands To

The Boys,  Who Had Become So Tense That They Had Forgotten To Smoke.

"We'Ve Got To Win,  Fellows,  For Old Sanford. Are You Back Of Us?"

 

"Yes!" The Tension Shattered Into A Thousand Yells. The Boys Leaped On

The Chairs And Shouted Until They Could Shout No More. When Gifford

Called For "A Regular Cheer For Jack Price" And Then One For The

Chapter 6 Pg 38

Team--"Make It The Biggest You Ever Gave"--They Could Respond With Only

A Hoarse Croak.

 

Finally The Hymn Was Sung--At Least,  The Boys Tried Loyally To Sing

It--And They Stood Silent And Almost Reverent As The Team Filed Out Of

The Gymnasium.

 

Hugh Walked Back To Surrey Hall With Several Men. No One Said A Word

Except A Quiet Good Night As They Parted. Carl Was In The Room When He

Arrived. He Sank Into A Chair And Was Silent For A Few Minutes.

 

Finally He Said In a Happy Whisper,  "Wasn'T It Wonderful,  Carl?"

 

"Un-Huh. Damn Good."

 

"Gosh,  I Hope We Win. We'Ve _Got_ To!"

 

Carl Looked Up,  His Cheeks Redder Than Usual,  His Eyes Glittering. "God,

Yes!" He Breathed Piously.

 

Chapter 7 Pg 39

 

The Football Season Lasted From The First Of October To The Latter Part

Of November,  And During Those Weeks Little Was Talked About,  Or Even

Thought About,  On The Campus But Football. There Were Undergraduates Who

Knew The Personnel Of Virtually Every Football Team In The Country,  The

Teams That Had Played Against Each Other,  Their Relative Merits,  The

Various Scores,  The Outstanding Players Of Each Position. Half The

Students At Sanford Regularly Made Out "All American" Teams,  And Each

Man Was More Than Willing To Debate The Quality Of His Team Against That

Of Any Other. Night After Night The Students Gathered In Groups In

Dormitory Rooms And Fraternity Houses,  Discussing Football,  Football,

Football; Even Religion And Sex,  The Favorite Topics For "Bull

Sessions," Could Not Compete With Football,  Especially When Some One

Mentioned Raleigh College. Raleigh Was Sanford'S Ancient Rival; To

Defeat Her Was Of Cosmic Importance.

 

There Was A Game Every Saturday. About Half The Time The Team Played At

Home; The Other Games Were Played On The Rivals' Fields. No Matter How

Far Away The Team Traveled,  The College Traveled With It. The Men Who

Had The Necessary Money Went By Train; A Few Owned Automobiles: But Most

Of The Undergraduates Had Neither An Automobile Nor Money For Train

Fare. They "Bummed" Their Way. Some Of Them Emulated Professional

Tramps,  And "Rode The Beams," But Most Of Them Started Out Walking,

Trusting That Kind-Hearted Motorists Would Pick Them Up And Carry Them

At Least Part Way To Their Destination. Although The Distances Were

Sometimes Great,  And Although Many Motorists Are Not Kind,  There Is No

Record Of Any Man Who Ever Started For A Game Not Arriving In Time For

The Referee'S First Whistle. Somehow,  By Hook Or By Crook--And It Was

Chapter 7 Pg 40

Often By Crook--The Boys Got There,  And,  What Is More Astonishing,  They

Got Back. On Monday Morning At 8:45 They Were In chapel,  Usually Worn

And Tired,  It Is True,  Ready To Bluff Their Way Through The Day'S

Assignments,  And Damning Any Instructor Who Was Heartless Enough To Give

Them A Quiz. Some Of Them Were Worn Out From Really Harsh Traveling

Experiences; Some Of Them Had More Exciting Adventures To Relate Behind

Closed Doors To Selected Groups Of Confidants.

 

Football! Nothing Else Mattered. And As The Weeks Passed,  The Excitement

Grew,  Especially As The Day Drew Near For The Raleigh Game,  Which This

Year Was To Be Played On The Sanford Field. What Were Sanford'S Chances?

Would Harry Slade,  Sanford'S Great Half-Back,  Make All American? "Damn

It To Hell,  He Ought To. It'Ll Be A Stinkin' Shame If He Don'T." Would

Raleigh'S Line Be Able To Stop Slade'S End Runs? Slade! Slade! He Was

The Team,  The Hope And Adoration Of The Whole College.

 

Three Days Before The "Big Game" The Alumni Began To Pour Into Town,

Most Of Them Fairly Recent Graduates,  But Many Of Them Gray-Haired Men

Who Boasted That They Hadn'T Missed A Sanford-Raleigh Game In Thirty

Years. Hundreds Of Alumni Arrived,  Filling The Two Hotels To Capacity

And Overrunning The Fraternity Houses,  The Students Doubling Up Or

Seeking Hospitality From A Friend In a Dormitory.

 

In The Little Room In The Rear Of The Sanford Pool And Billiard Parlors

There Was Almost Continual Excitement. Jim Mccarty,  The Proprietor,  A

Big,  Jovial,  Red-Faced Man Whom All The Students Called Mac,  Was The

Official Stake-Holder For The College. Bets For Any Amount Could Be

Placed With Him. Money From Raleigh Flowed Into His Pudgy Hands,  And He

Placed It At The Odds Offered With Eager Sanford Takers. By The Day Of

The Game His Safe Held Thousands Of Dollars,  Most Of It Wagered At Five

To Three,  Raleigh Offering Odds. There Was Hardly An Alumnus Who Did Not

Prove His Loyalty To Sanford By Visiting Mac'S Back Room And Putting

Down A Few Greenbacks,  At Least. Some Were More Loyal Than Others; The

Most Loyal Placed A Thousand Dollars--At Five To Two.

 

There Was Rain For Two Days Before The Game,  But On Friday Night The

Clouds Broke. A Full Moon Seemed To Shine Them Away,  And The Whole

Campus Rejoiced With Great Enthusiasm. Most Of The Alumni Got Drunk To

Show Their Deep Appreciation To The Moon,  And Many Of The Undergraduates

Followed The Example Set By Their Elders.

 

All Friday Afternoon Girls Had Been Arriving,  Dozens Of Them,  To Attend

The Fraternity Dances. One Dormitory Had Been Set Aside For Them,  The

Normal Residents Seeking Shelter In Other Dormitories. No Man Ever

Objected To Resigning His Room To A Girl. He Never Could Tell What He

Would Find When He Returned To It Monday Morning. Some Of The Girls Left

Strange Mementos....

 

No One Except A Few Notorious Grinds Studied That Night. Some Of The

Students Were,  Of Course,  At The Fraternity Dances; Some Of Them Sat In

Dormitory Rooms And Discussed The Coming Game From Every Possible Angle;

And Groups Of Them Wandered Around The Campus,  Peering Into The

Fraternity Houses,  Commenting On The Girls,  Wandering On Humming A Song

That An Orchestra Had Been Playing,  Occasionally Pausing To Give A

"Regular Cheer" For The Moon.

 

Hugh Was Too Much Excited To Stay In a Room; So With Several Other

Chapter 7 Part 41

Freshmen He Traveled The Campus. He Passionately Envied The Dancers In

The Fraternity Houses But Consoled Himself With The Thought,  "Maybe

I'Ll Be Dancing At The Nu Delt House Next Year." Then He Had A Spasm Of

Fright. Perhaps The Nu Delts--Perhaps No Fraternity Would Bid Him. The

Moon Lost Its Brilliance; For A Moment Even The Sanford-Raleigh Game Was

Forgotten.

 

The Boys Were Standing Before A Fraternity House,