Johnstown High School - Spectator Yearbook (Johnstown, PA)

Page 8 text:

6 THE SPECTATOR ' The Yellow Man UEURE he's yellow, grumbled the big tackle, as he tugged at his stockings in the dressing room. Well, I don't know, interposed the captain hesitat- ingly, he certainly did tackle Bings prettily this afternoon. Anybody couldtackie a man from behind. Why yes- terday, when Jim got loose, he - ' Now look here, Joe, said the captain sharply, I don't blame the poor dago in the least, and besides, I think he is doing fine, considering that he never say a football un- til he came here, and I want you to cut the beefing. You are enough to discourage the whole team. Five minutes later the captain and the tackle strolled out on the campus arm in arm, leaving the object of their conversation sitting silently on a locker, his head buried in his hands. Poor Domenico! What a change from the exalted pos- ition ofthe son of President Goldare, the chief executive of a little Central American comic-opera republic to a poor scrub of the Bevon Academy eleven. An American friend of Pres. Goldare had urged him to send Domenico to the Statesfor an education, recommending Bevon Academy, his alma mater. Domenico was able to enter the Sophomore class, and as he was tall and wiry, Coach Bangs put him at quarter- back on the scrub eleven. There he played a fast game, but there seemed to be something in him which prompted him to do queer things at critical times. It was what his American schoolmates called-a yellow streak. In his heart, he reviled himself. Notwithstanding, the streak would come out, until Hnally, he decided that after practice the next afternoon, he would hand in his uniform. The practice the following day brought a black cloud over the spirits of the Bevon school. There, in alittle heap, with Coach Bangs supporting his head, lay the 'var- sity quarterback, Andrews. Collar-bone, muttered the coach, and the inert form was silently carried into the dressing room. Looking at the circle of mournful faces around him, the Coach suddenly sprang up and said: Goldare, its up

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I THE -SPECTATOR Another goal is kicked, and now The score stands twelve to naught: When time up comesg both teams run off, All enmities forgot The second half is called, the boys Unto the field draw nighg No spirit lacking, every man Resolved to do or die. Again the kick-off, and the ball Is held just at its fall: We play with all our might, but yet We make no gain at all. Play after play is tried, until The time is almost outg The crowd begins to break and leave 3 There's left no room for doubt. The game is ours by twelve to naught, We've beaten them indeed! But suddenly a man starts toward Our goal at lightninglspeed. A He has the ball ! The field is clear! They'll surely score this timeg But now our men are after him, And passing line on line. One of our men comes up until There's but a yard between: And with a leap he tackles him, And lays him on the green. Once more the whistle blows, and once Again they form aboutg But, ere the signals are begun There comes the cry, Time's out ! The game is ours! Its twelve to naught ! The crowd of rooters cry, For Johnstown High School, V-I-C-T-O-R-Y. Dona W. GRAZIER, '09

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THE.-SPECTATOR 7 to you. Saturday, we play the strong Maine team. You know what it means! Yes, said Domenico quietly, I have changed my mind. But no one understood what he meant. The next Saturday, the team was assembled in the gymnasium, ready to receive the Hnal instructions of the coach. They waited and waited, but 'Goldare failed to ap- pear. Goto Goldare's room and tell him to hurry, said the Coach, impatiently, to one of the scrubs. The boy re- turned in several minutes, his face deathly pale, Goldare's gone, he cried. as ' sr 4 lt was late in January, when one morning Prof. Dean announced in chapel that there would be a special meeting of the Athletic Association at four o'clock. As it was very important, all were requested to attend. At four o'clock, the room was Hlled with boys, who did not have the slightest idea of what was going to take place. Suddenly, a door leading to the platform opened, and, supported by Prof. Dean and Coach Bangs, was Goldare! There was a dead hush as the boy advanced to the front of the stage. A livid scar crossed his unusually pale cheek. His right arm hung limply atbhis side. As he be- gan to speak he leaned heavily on the table. His voice rang out distinctly as he said: Fellow-students, I have wronged you. Ideserted you in your hour of need. Yet, do not blame me unjustly. That night before the game, l received a telegram. lt read, 'My son, your father needs you, come at once, signed, your mother! That night I left unknown, and took the train for New York, there I boarded a steamer and arrived in my beloved Equatan in two days. But what foundl there ? The coun- try was in rebellion. The demon Mordaro, leads an army against my father. We must Hght. My father has the in- fantry, l, the cavalry. We charge! They Ere! My com- rades fall! Still they keep on. We reach the intrench- ments. There, a hand-to-hand Hght ensues. Mordaro shoots me in the arm. His lieutenant slashes me across the I