Mission High School - Mission Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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THE MISSION Who Wins? Jean Ward tapped his second ball lightly, and saw it fall some feet short of the net. Chagrined, he looked over towards the bench and saw the three girls with McDevitt laughing at him. He was disgusted with himself and thoroughly angered at them for their laughter. The tennis game was drawing to an end, and Jean had to finish it in his usual foolish way by missing a returned ball completely. This brought a roar of laughter from the bench, and McDevitt, with his eyes snapping maliciously, took winners and pro- ceeded to play his usual posing game of tennis. Jean walked to the bench thoroughly mad at his inabilities, at himself. Sitting down while pulling on his sweater, he was suddenly jarred to hear the context of what one of the girls just then, said: Oh, what a swell racer he must beg five in a race and he came fifth. And then a Ht of laughter. Jean burned. That was meant for him. McDevitt's work. It was a popular joke around school, Jean's trying to run. He had grown so abruptly, and to such proportions, that he found himself unable to control his limbs rationally. He was clumsy. But, like all boys, he wanted to be a hero of some competition. So, he had tried out for his school's track team, and attempted the mile run where he thought his lack of speed would not count. CVery old story.j However, his first few races told him that a miler must be somewhat of a sprinter also. And now, McDevitt, the school's fastest and most egotistical man, had belittled him. Poor Jean-his thoughts were bitter. Why Cfor the moment he was delirious? he knew he could beat McDevitt in anything but his favorite events, the century and furlong. The unspeakable sneaking fellow! For fear you may think Jean a cripple, I here say that he was a very normal boy of sixteen, with the similar clumsy strength of a fast-growing puppy. He gazed truculently at the net with his sweater half on, thinking. He had no knowledge of how ridiculous he looked at that moment. Then McDevitt slammed a ball into the net a few feet from his head. His stare was changed into an active glance, and he looked around to find the girls smiling at his posture. He blushed, got to his feet, and walked home. He started off briskly enough, but his thoughts were so vibrant with unthinkable deaths he hoped McDevitt might suffer that he slowed down to the merest walk. Rancor Hooded his brain. He hated lVIcDevitt. He hated himself for being unable to handle his limbs. just in the middle of a delightful picture of Georgey Cas the girls called himl falling off the top of a twenty story building with naked fear in his face and clutching hands, and himself riding down in a parachute, laughing, just out of reach, he was frightfully awakened by a screeching motor horn. He was rooted to the ground for the moment, then he leaped for the curb and made it. There in his palpitating, bitter condition, he over-flowed and stormed. He muttered to himself forcefully until his being Hooded with self-pity and he caught himself wanting to cry. l20 l

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MISSION HIGH SCHOOL He didn't sleep well that night. Pictures of McDevitt drifted before his mind, that satisfied smile, that tan face, those sunken black eyes, those curling locks over that strong forehead, of his, McDevitt's, George's, Georgey's. Jean swung a wicked right hook through the ozone that connected with his pillow, he grunted, and slept. Ward's was not a revengeful nature, but his own inferiority and George's utter superi- ority kept him rancorous. Thinking in his study class the following day of numerous heroic things that yet could be done in the world and how he would do them, his mind settled on an enormous thought. He would challenge McDevitt to a track meet, to prove whether he had a right to criticize or to belittle. No, the thought was preposterous. He felt weak. One side said, No, no, no ,no! and the other side persisted in arguing the issue with, What's wrong with you? You're afraid. All you do is dream of doing things. Do something for once! Challenge him! Challenge him! The argument of the second part gained strength during the day. That night also saw him with little sleep. It took immense courage--but the next day, holding himself under strict control, he walked up to McDevitt and challenged him. McDevitt, you sneakingly told those girls down at the park of my poor track ability. Right now I challenge you to a track meet to prove your superiority to me, if any. Each of us will pick any three events he likes. If you refuse, I'll tell your friends that you're afraid. McDevitt looked shocked. For a few minutes, while he was assimilating this news, he was silent. Then he spoke and smiled, Afraid? Huh . . . Sure, I'll do it, and I'l1 bring a gallery with me. When do you want it to happen, I mean, when do you want to get beat? U Right then Jean felt sorry he had ever spoken. It seemed so childish a thing, and he felt afraid that he might lose. Then he answered, Next Sunday all right? Remember it won't be me that'll be beaten. Sure,,' George answered. The following three days tested Jean's nerves to the utmost. He felt afraid, mad at himself, mad at lVIcDevitt, mad at the world, and afraid again. He thought of lNIcDevitt's ability. When lVIcDevitt ran he always had an alibi-sore leg, sprained ankle, to be used in case he lost. If he won- He won in the face of all opposition. Ward never had an alibi. He would have looked foolish using it, and he thought it just as honorable to come in last as first. Fear held jean through all his reasoning, fear of nothing, for if it were more definite, he could have conquered it. The day came. With trembling knees, jean VVard awaited at the track adjoining their school, for the coming of George McDevitt. George came and he felt weaker. George's friends made ready for a jubilee at Jean's expense. Ward had decided before that he would bring no friends though some were there having heard of the challenge at school. McDevitt asked him if he had chosen his events. He had. They were the mile, the half-mile and the discus. Jean felt weaker. He asked McDevitt what his events were. McDevitt said, Hundred, two-twenty, and shot. Toss up, from the crowd. l21l