Lowell High School - Red and White Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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Page w Seven JONES-MARVEL No. 2 By F. H. KUHNLE IGHT boys, seven of whom were members of the Jackson rugby team, sat in Bob Dawson's room. The seven were all tall and well built- typical football men. The eighth, a newcomer from the West, who sat quietly on a trunk, was about five feet five inches in height and not over-muscular. The team was surely! up against it. Peterson, their only halfback, had left on account of sickness in is family, and there was no one in school to take his place, at least so far as anyone could see. Jack Kingsley mentioned Black, a second-rate player. No one responded. Fifteen gloom minutes passed, and Kingsley spoke again. What's the matter with Jones here? With a little training he might develop into a fair half. Jones whistled softly to himself. This was getting interesting. It was fully a minute before anyone spoke, and Hen,' Barbour voiced the thought of the others when he said: No, he's too light. He would never make it. Besides, we have no time to train an absolutely green fellow. Well, responded Jack, I guess it's either train a fellow in or go without. How about it, Jones, have you ever played before? Y-yes, a little. Too light, though, to make the team, I guess, was all he said. Well, beef is easy to get, if that's all you lack, remarked Tom Langdon. Hen, however, still maintained he was too light. Finally, after much persuasion and a promise from Jack to coach him pri- vately every afternoon, Jones consented to come out. He would at least try. By the way, asked Hen, as they were about to leave, is that 'Marvel' Jones, the great half who played with Eldridge, any relative of yours? N-no, not that I know of-why? True to his word, Jones was down on the field practicing with Jack the next afternoon. He soon picked up the fine points of the game, and Jack saw that if he kept on he would be a fast player. In the very first game Jones came through in splendid shape, as did the whole team, Jackson winning an easy 13-0 victory. The two still continued to practice faithfully every afternoon, and after a month's steady work Jack swore that Jones knew more about the game than he did. From the second month on there was not a single game in which the new half didn't put across some novel idea of his own. And now the Plymouth game, the big game of the season, was only a week away. The Plymouth bunch averaged twelve to fifteen pounds a player heavier, and the Jackson fellows knew they had a hard tussle ahead. Two days before the game Jack was dressing for dinner, and, as was often the case, his collar buttons were missing. He stepped into Jones' room, and, find- ing no one in, helped himself. As he was closing the dresser drawer a shiny object caught his eye. He picked it up. It was a miniature gold football with the letters E-H-S-1917 engraved upon it. In a flash the conversation in Dawson's room that night came to him--how Hen had asked if Jones were related to that Eldridge High School player. Here he was teaching football to a fellow who, most likely, had known more about the game in the beginning than he. What a fool he had made of himself, and how Jones must he laughing up his sleeve at him! A fine feeling it was! He walked gloomily out of the room, resolved not to tell Jones about his discovery until after the big game. Then he would talk as if he had known all the time. Even this thought, however, failed to lessen to any great extent his feeling of chagrin. The morning of the game was crisp and clear. The forenoon dragged slowly, and long before 2:30 the players were in their togs waiting for the Plymouth outfit. A large crowd, nearly a thousand people, had turned out to see the game, and the Plymouth delegation, five hundred strong, were beginning to arrive.

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TAPS The bugle floats upon the evening air: Its melancholy notes hang on each breath. The lights go out. A sentry pacing there Stalks black against a sky as black as death TAPS A bony hand that reeks with carrion smell Taps its message on the dugout door. A figure burned with liquid fire from hell Has freed a soul that asks for nothing more. George C I v l l

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iiifgz, W THE Lowlam. At 2:20 both teams were on the field and Jackson won the kick- off. The great game was on! Jack watched Jones as closely as his own position on the field per- mitted, and the more he watched the surer he became that his protege was the Marvel. As Tom Langdon said afterwards, That halfback may have pulled off some startling stunts before, but those of today were two or three times more startlingf' During the first half neither side scored. Jackson was in danger several times, but Jones came to the rescue with some un- expected play. It was within the last ten minutes of the second half that the real excitement began. Jones got the pigskin un- der his arm and started for the posts. In the words of one en- thusiastic Jackson rooter, Those he didn't cripple for life, he mur- dered. Nothing short of a loco- motive could have stopped him in that rush. lt was the first and last touchdown of the game. 1 Jackson failed to convert, win- ning by a score of 3-0. After the shouting was over, J3Ck looked about f01' Jones and A shiny object caught his eye. He picked it up. found him by the grandstand talking to ali officer of the U. S. Marines. He was about to turn away when Jones called him over. I want you to meet my brother, Jack. Harold, this is the Jack Kingsley I was speaking of. My brother here has been telling me a lot about you and your wonderful playing. He tells me you taught him all he learned. You must be a good teacher, for he played pretty well himself. Say, stammered Jack, isn't he the 'Marvel' that played for Eldridge? No, laughed the officer, that was I. He has never played much before. Well, I'll be jiggered! But, after a moment, I guess I wasn't so far off, after all. He'll be called 'Marvel No. 2' after this? w