The Plastic Age by Percy Marks (e book reader android .txt) 📖

The Freshmen Go

                 To Cheer--

 

                 Sanford!

                 Sanford! Rah,  Rah!

                 Sanford! Sanford!

                 San--San--San--

                 San--Ford,  San--Ford--San--Ford!"

 

 

 

 

While The Upper-Classmen Were Singing The Last Stanza The Freshmen

Slowly Closed In On The Dying Fire. At The First Word Of The Cheer,  They

Stopped,  Turned Toward The Grand Stand,  And Joined The Cheering. That

Over,  They Broke And Ran For The Bleachers,  Scrambling Up The Wooden

Stands,  Shoving Each Other Out Of The Way,  Laughing And Shouting.

 

The Football Captain Usually Made A Short And Very Awkward Speech,  Which

Was Madly Applauded; Perhaps The Coach Said A Few Words; Two Or Three

Cheers Were Given; And Finally Every One Rose,  Took Off His Hat If He

Wore One--Nearly Every One But The Freshmen Went Bareheaded--And Sang

The College Hymn,  Simply And Religiously. Then The Crowd Broke,

Straggling In Groups Across The Campus,  Chatting,  Singing,  Shouting To

Each Other. Suddenly Lights Began To Flash In The Dormitory Windows. In

Less Than An Hour After The First Cry Of "Peerade!" The Men Were Back

In Their Rooms,  Once More Studying,  Talking,  Or Playing Cards.

 

It Was The Smoker Rallies,  Though,  That Hugh Found The Most Thrilling,

Especially The Last One Before The Final Game Of The Season,  The "Big

Game" With Raleigh College. There Were 1123 Students In Sanford,  And

More Than 1000 Were At The Rally. A Rough Platform Had Been Built At One

End Of The Gymnasium. On One Side Of It Sat The Band,  On The Other Side

The Glee Club--And Before It The Mass Of Students,  Smoking Cigarettes,

Corn-Cob Pipes,  And,  Occasionally,  A Cigar. The "Smokes" Had Been

Furnished Free By A Local Tobacconist; So Everybody Smoked Violently And

Too Much. In Half An Hour It Was Almost Impossible To See The Ceiling

Through The Dull Blue Haze,  And The Men In The Rear Of The Gymnasium Saw

The Speakers On The Platform Dimly Through A Wavering Mist.

 

The Band Played Various Sanford Songs,  And Everybody Sang. Occasionally

Wayne Gifford,  The Cheer-Leader,  Leaped Upon The Platform,  Raised A

Megaphone To His Mouth,  And Shouted,  "A Regular Cheer For Sanford--A

Regular Cheer For Sanford." Then He Lifted His Arms Above His Head,

Flinging The Megaphone Aside With The Same Motion,  And Waited Tense And

Rigid Until The Students Were On Their Feet. Suddenly He Turned Into A

Mad Dervish,  Twisting,  Bending,  Gesticulating,  Leaping,  Running Back And

Forth Across The Platform,  Shouting,  And Finally Throwing His Hands

Above His Head And Springing High Into The Air At The Concluding

"San--Ford!"

 

The Glee Club Sang To Mad Applause; A Tenor Twanged A Ukulele And Moaned

Various Blues; A Popular Professor Told Stories,  Some Of Them Funny,

Most Of Them Slightly Off Color; A Former Cheer-Leader Told Of The

Triumphs Of Former Sanford Teams--And The Atmosphere Grew Denser And

Denser,  Bluer And Bluer,  As The Smoke Wreathed Upward. The Thousand Boys

Leaned Intently Forward,  Occasionally Jumping To Their Feet To Shout And

Cheer,  And Then Sinking Back Into Their Chairs,  Tense And Excited. As

Each Speaker Mounted The Platform They Shouted: "Off With Your Coat! Off

With Your Coat!" And The Speakers,  Even The Professor,  Had To Shed Their

Coats Before They Were Permitted To Say A Word.

 

When The Team Entered,  Bedlam Broke Loose. Every Student Stood On His

Chair,  Waved 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

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 10

 

 

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

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 Ralei Him Homage. Love Seizes The Lucky Moment,

And Prepares To Shoot His Bewildering Arrow At Shiva. But The Great

God Sees Him,  And Before The Arrow Is Discharged,  Darts Fire From His

Eye,  Whereby Love Is Consumed. Charm Falls In A Swoon,  Shiva Vanishes,

And The Wretched Parvati Is Carried Away By Her Father.

 

 

 

 

_Fourth Canto. The Lament Of Charm_.--This Canto Is Given Entire.

 

  The Wife Of Love Lay Helpless In A Swoon,

    Till Wakened By A Fate Whose Deadliest Sting

  Was Preparation Of Herself Full Soon

    To Taste The Youthful Widow's Sorrowing.

 

  Her Opening Eyes Were Fixed With Anxious Thought

    On Every Spot Where He Might Be,  In Vain,

  Were Gladdened Nowhere By The Sight She Sought,

    The Lover She Should Never See Again.

 

  She Rose And Cried Aloud: "Dost Thou Yet Live,

    Lord Of My Life?" And At The Last She Found

  Him Whom The Wrathful God Could Not Forgive,

    Her Love,  A Trace Of Ashes On The Ground.

 

  With Breaking Heart,  With Lovely Bosom Stained

    By Cold Embrace Of Earth,  With Flying Hair,

  She Wept And To The Forest World Complained,

    As If The Forest In Her Grief Might Share.

 

  "Thy Beauty Slew The Pride That Maidens Cherish;

    Perfect Its Loveliness In Every Part;

  I Saw That Beauty Fade Away And Perish,

    Yet Did Not Die. How Hard Is