St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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12 THE IGNATIAN or tousled hair-that was impossible-must be avoided at all costs-simply wasn't done. Then a strange thing happened, an incident at which Fate herself must have smiled when she planned it. J. Bent- ley Partmour dropped his cane. Now Partmour knew that no one could go up the Avenue in the afternoon without a cane, no matter how urgent the reason, so he leaned over to pick it up. And then the very gods laughed. The stevedores were already around him, but J. Bentley, intent upon more important things, heeded them not. One jostled him-his eye glass dropped to the ground. Deftly his cane was kicked from under his nose. It was soon con- verted into tooth-picks. A massive foot came down on his eye glass. A tiny heap of crushed glass showed where it had fallen. J. Bentley began to see red. Slowly he raised him- self to his full height and then out of his throat rose a low, ungodly growl-a growl that might have come from the Gre- cian line as it stood at Salamis, or from XVellington's Grays as they crossed VVaterloo, or from the trampled fields of any football stadium when twenty-two young heroes convert them- selves into human catapults. It was a growl of defiance, of battle-and it issued unrestrained from the lips of the very proper J. Bentley Partmour. An instant later he suited the action to the growl, if we may modify a time-worn saying to further the great cause of Literature and Truth. To describe J. Bentley 's strategy in this momentous bat- tle would require a genius for narration far above my powers. Suffice it to say that he covered a great deal of ground-in more ways than one-and, to paraphrase the ancient chron- iclers, he smote and was smitten with right hearty goodwill. I must add here, fit is my duty as a faithful historian to do sol, that J. Bentley used his feet and his teeth also to ex- cellent advantage. How long the battle raged, Partmour never knew. His first returning consciousness to the realities of polite life was when he Was dragged f1'0H1 the Scene of conflict by two police-

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FIGHT 'EM HARVARD ll was guarding the dock, f'What is the matter here, anyhow? XVhy that bunch of men over there? t'Oh! them fellows? They're stevedores-on strike-- laying for any seabs that try to load up the boat, calmly replied the special. '4That's nice, grinned Parker, I sail on that boat to-day, for Yucatan. H 4'Not to-day, I'm afraid. It'll take ,ein a day more to load her even after the cops come down an' clear these here strikers off. You better wait till the boys from the station come before you try an' cross this dock. I 'Yes that 's an excellent thought-one is liable to receive a stone in the head from one of those bruisers, exclaimed Partmour. A f'Oh come on across. replied Parker, Hwhat's the dif- ference? 7 !7 Partniour never had an opportunity to explain to Parker just what the difference was, for scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when the mob, as if by common impulse, swept down upon them. b Self-preservation was the first thought of the guard. and with one whoop he raced for his life. Parker, on the other hand, with the old football spirit surging in his veins, a broad grin on his face, quietly awaited the rush. Partmour was petrified-never in his eminently proper life had he been face to face with a situation such as this. All the poise that he had acquired through numerous siegfes at the tea-table, a.nd the evolutions of dancing, and campaigns of flirtation, suddenly abandoned him. It was not physical fear that possessed him. It was the bad form of a. street-row. J. Bentley Partmour mixed up with stevcdores in a dock fight! How would that look in newspaper headlines U? And even if it were kept out of the papers-for that could be ac- complished-the very idea of a collar awry, a battered face,

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FIGHT 'EM HARVARD 13 men and unceremoniously dropped upon some bales of hay. When he was able to grasp things and persons more clearly, he realized that Parker-a rather bloody Parker-with a smile that was lacking two teeth, was wiping his face with a soiled handkerchief. Also, Partmour observed, Parker seemed highly elated over something, and was repeating in a sort of chant, The higher breed, the higher breed-Fight 'em, Harvard, Fight 'eml .... The higher breed!- I knew he had it in him! Then it dawned upon J. Bentley that the paean was dedicated exclusively to his, J. Bentleyfs prowess in the con- flict, whereupon he drew himself solemnly, though unsteadily to his feet, and through very puffed lips, said with unruffled dignity: I say, Parker, you 're entirely wrong-entirely. Mere- ly entered the brawl to chastise the brutes that-that forgot their place. Really, you must understand, it was merely in the form of a reprisal-a reprisal, and all that sort of thing and you must understand it as such, really. And then, as Parker laughed in loud, uproarious mirth, vague memories of the late conflict arose in J. Bentley's brain. He remembered now that he had heard the cry as from a distance in the thickest of the fight Fight 'em, Fight 'em, Harvard! He remembered-but no, it could not be-that he too had repeated and repeated and revelled in the words., He stopped, puzzled-he looked for an an- swer into the laughing, though blackened, eyes of Parker. Did I really, Parker? he said. The answer was emphatic. J, Bentley, you did! fig