Milford High School - Oak Lily and Ivy Yearbook (Milford, MA)

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OAK, LILY AND IVY. 7 “No, the Middle West,” Jim replied in the same tone. Perry sighed hope¬ lessly and rose. “Well, I guess Fll be toddling,” he said in a louder voice, and say, Colcord if you decide to accept my offer, come over to the field any afternoon and I’ll try you out.” Without lifting his head, Colcord replied succinctly “most assuredly not!” and Perry went out in an abashed silence and softly closed the door. The day appointed for the big game with Fisk University drew nearer and nearer and still no signs of bettering the team. “St. Tim’s” had won every game so far, but so had Fisk Academy, so Perry could draw but meager conso¬ lation from that fact. True, one afternoon Colcord had come out to watch the practice and by accident, the football bounded away out of reach of the players, shooting straight towards the sidelines. It was a nasty kick, the kind that bounces crookedly and is extremely hard to catch. But Francis moved a little way out on to the field, and as the pigskin bounded, he stepped backward, catching the ball neatly. Then, at the coach’s request, he returned the ball by a punt. And, oh, what a perfect kick! It sailed up—up—up—in a long curve, skimming along like a bird , and finally it dropped, landing exactly in the mid¬ dle of the group of players who had been watching the feat. Apparently, the same thought came to each of the pigskin chaser’s minds simultaneously, for they all exclaimed in unison “Very good Eddie!” and Colcord thought as he walked away, Guess they must have mistaken me for someone else, for they couldn’t possibly know my name is Francis Edward!” Great Scott,” soliloquized the young captain as he went off the field that night, By hook or crook, I must get that fellow on the team. I’ve heard some stories about the Fisk men, but I’d be ready to bet my bottom dollar that they haven’t a player who could hold a candle to Colcord. Maybe Jim could help me in the good work,” and he brightened a little, resolving to see Jim that very night. But Northrop could give him no encouragement. “You know I’m as crazy for football as you, Perry,” he protested, “and I’ve given Colcord football lore ’till it’s a wonder he doesn’t sing it in his sleep. He sure understands the situation by now. That is,” he added as an afterthought, if he understands anything. Sometimes, when he turns that ‘nobody home’ look on me full power, I have my doubts. But,” he continued seriously, he says that his aspirations are entirely along the literary line and I guess he’s tel¬ ling the truth. The other day he read me a poem of his that started like this: ‘I love to roam in the forests wild When the moan is shining bright And the wind is sighing thro’ the pines Like a dying soul in flight.’ He stopped there. Guess he thought I wasn’t an appreciative listener. I’d had enough anyhow. He sure would make a fine player though.” What Jim had told Perry was correct. He had hammered “footballology”

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6 OAK. LILY AND IVY. the evil, thereof. As it was the roommate, Jim Northrop, invited Bancroft to his rooms one night to talk over old times. As Perry entered he glanced quickly over the apartment, and his eyes lighted on a youth whose huge body filled the chair completely as he sat at the table studying. As the door opened, Goliath Jr. lifted his head showing the visitor a regu¬ lar Mama’s boy face” as Bancroft said afterward. He had a pink and white complexion, and a square chin which somewhat belied the impression his dreamy, blue eyes gave. But the thing that struck Bancroft as most ludicrous was the fact that this great hulking man-creature wore his mop of yellow hair parted exactly in the middle. The “mixture” as Perry inwardly termed him, rose, pulled himself together and extended his hand to Bancroft, who was being introduced. Though he looked straight at Perry all the while, he appeared not to see him. As Perry said afterward “you experienced a rather disconcerting impression when Colcord looked at you.” In fact one felt as if he were merely a minus quantity as far as he was concerned. As soon as formalities had ceased, Colcord sank back again and resumed his work, exhibiting no interest in the further doings of his roommate and the football captain. But Perry was not so indifferent to him. In a low voice, he inquired of Northrop who the new boy was, whence he came, what college he had attended previously, and various other questions which Jim answered to the best of his ability. When Perry found he had exhausted his friend’s store of in¬ formation, he decided to apply to headquarters. So he opened the attack with “Oh—I say Colcord!” Francis lifted his head and regarded Perry with a vacant, dreamy stare. “Yes?” he interrogated. Perry had intended to lead up to the crucial ques¬ tion gradually, but Colcord’s blank, inquiring gaze drove every thought from his mind but the most important one. “Do you play football?” he queried abruptly. “I have indulged in the murderous sport, so-called, in former days, but now I have no desire to distinguish myself on the gridiron. My aspirations are entirely literary.” This remark took the wind out of Perry’s sails, figuratively speaking, for at least five minutes, but presently he said: “But you have played?” “Yes,” Colcord admitted, “I am ashamed to acknowledge that I have in¬ dulged in the barbarous game.” “How did you get along?” was Perry’s next query. “I believe that I was considered a fair player,” was the modest reply. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to come over and practice tomorrow after- noon with the boys?” Perry asked wistfully. “I have no desire for any future connection with athletics. I am devoted to the art of writing poetry,” and Longfellow, the Second, resumed his work placidly as if to him the incident was closed. Perry turned despairingly to Jim. “Say, where did they import that crab from anyways?” he queried, sotto voce, “China?”

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8 OAK. LILY AND IVY. into Francis’ unwilling ears until at last the would-be poet even began to take interest in the situation. Yet he believed that all this talk about the necessity of his joining the team was absolute rot”. He was only mildly conscious of his ability as a football player and thought all this hubbub about his declining to play was much ado about nothing. Besides, he had a deep-seated prejudice against football. His brother had narrowly escaped permanent injury in a foot¬ ball game the preceeding year, and he had resolved then and there never again to become a participant in the barbarous sport”. But he was only a boy of nineteen, and he had a strong strain of sporting blood in him which was yet be brought out. Before his brother’s injury, Francis had been a passionate lover of football and the affection had not wholly died out. Besidess, he had been an excellent player. Before coming to New York, he had attended a large Western univer¬ sity. As a freshman, he had shown great promise and in his sophomore and junior years had been the star of the team. It was only natural, therefore, that as Jim ' s and Perry’s appeals grew more and more frantic, he should feel strange stirrings in his breast, longings for something he could not define. However, he needed a more violent jolt than he had yet received to get him out of that poetic rut into which he had fallen and restore him to the active, red-blooded American boy he had once been. And he was destined to receive that jolt. Time passed, until it was only two days before the great game. That night Bancroft came to Francis and frantically begged him to alter his decision. How¬ ever, Francis was firm as cement. I do not care to have anything to do with football,” was the gently spok¬ en verdict, and though Perry pleaded and remonstrated and even threatened, it was of no avail. In fact, he felt as if he had run up against an obstacle, so strong and stubborn that it was futile to attempt to overcome it. Under these conditions, he departed, to dream that night that St. Tim’s” was beaten 127 to 0. The fateful day dawned with a clear sky but Perry’s heart was anything but light. The opposing team arrived promptly, escorted by a host of rooters. But the St. Tim” benches were crowded, too, with girls and fellows waving crimson banners and shouting encouraging words. At 3 o’clock the referee’s whistle tooted, the opposing captains shook hands, and the battle was on. It raged hot and heavy for the first few minutes, and then the warriors settled to hard, nerve racking work. The end of the first quarter, however, found the score 7 to 0 in favor of the Fisk men and at the end of the first half, it had jumped to 21 for Fisk Academy and the same degrading cipher for St. Tim’s.” As Bancroft dragged his weary limbs to the gymnasium, he thought de¬ spondently that there was little use playing the last half, for it would only make the score more ignominious and galling to the pride of the St. Tim” men. He was a failure, he told himself drearily, and his heart was heavy within him. It was then he heard his name called, and turning saw some one with whom he was perfecty sure he was not acquainted approaching him on the run and yelling breathlessly. But how could he be expected to recognize dreamy-eyed, poedc Francis Colcord in the excited, wide-awake lad approaching him? Gons wa; t ii