Programme No. 2.
| 1. Piano, four hands, 'Hochzeitsmusik' | Jensen |
| 2. Female Chorus, 'Rest Thee on this Mossy Pillow' | Smart |
| 3. Violoncello Solo, 'Love Scene' | Victor Herbert |
| 4. Soprano Song, 'Parting' | Rogers |
| 5. Violin Solo, 'Romance' | Mrs. Beach |
| 6. Male Quartet, 'It was not So to Be' | Nessler-Vognih |
"And then," said Mrs. Martin, "you could finish with the Kinder Symphony as a merry ending, or add one or two numbers to those I have suggested, and keep the Kinder Symphony for a separate evening's entertainment. At all events, I hope you will find that I have inspired and helped you a little, and that you will carry out the plans I have laid down."
"Yes, we will!" cried all the young people, in a breath; and Bertram, putting his note-book in his inside coat pocket, said, dreamily, "It's awfully late; suppose we go in and take the gift of sleep!"
[OLD-TIME THANKSGIVING.]
BY M. L. VAN VORST.
Come, will you help me harness the bay?
Come, will you help me hitch up the gray?
Grandfather's lent us the great big sleigh.
Hip hurrah for Thanksgiving-time!
Chestnuts and cider and fire's glow,
Five good miles through the woods to go,
Clear cold winds and a driving snow.
Hip hurrah for the bells achime!
Fly by the hedge of the country-side,
By the gleaming fields and the farm-lands wide.
Hey for the boys and the girls as they ride!
Hip hurrah for the gray and the bay!
Snow-wreaths hang on the fir and pine,
And the bells are ringing like silver fine;
Bright cheeks are glowing and bright eyes shine.
Hip hurrah for the jolly sleigh!
Come, will you go with us, one and all,
To the games and romps in the country hall,
Where the rafters ring with our shout and call?
Hip hurrah for the fun and cheer!
Months of the holly and mistletoe
We would hold you fast, for we love you so.
Thanksgiving and Christmas and sparkling snow
Gladden the days of the dying year.
[THE HANGING OF TEDDY.]
Halloween was sure to see a variety of pranks played in Scottsville. It was a fortunate front fence which had its own gate the next morning. All of which shows that there were boys in Scottsville.
"Well, gates are good enough if you can't do any better," said Teddy, on the afternoon of a last day in October, "but I'm getting tired of them."
"What about signs, then?" asked Joe.
"Signs are all right—genuine signs up on buildings—not these pasteboard cards saying 'To Rent,' and sewing-machine boards nailed on fences, and such stuff."
"You don't think you could get a big store sign down, do you?" asked Fred.
"Yes, I do."
"Whose?"
"Oh, a lot of 'em. Mr. Parks's would be an easy one."
"But it's up over the door, and runs clear across the front of the building!" protested Joe. "And it's fastened up with irons!"
"Don't care if 'tis. We're good for it, if we only think so. I've been looking at it. The irons are loose, and there's room to stand on the ledge behind it. It would be just as easy as nothing to take it down."
"What would you do with it?" asked Joe.
"Well," answered Ted, slowly, "it says on it, 'M. Parks. Cheap Cash Grocery.' I think it would look sort of funny to take it up and put it on the school-house."
The other boys instantly fell in with this idea, though they still doubted their ability to get the sign down. Then Fred thought of the village's night watchman, who spent most of his time in the business part of town.
"But what about Billy Snyder?" he asked.
"Oh, my pa says Billy goes to sleep every night at nine o'clock," answered Teddy, confidently. "He says burglars might pull Billy's boots off and he'd never know it."
"Well, if he sleeps all night, he must walk in his sleep," said Joe, who lived farther down town than the others. "I've been awake 'way in the night sometimes, and heard him tramping round."
"But, don't you see, to-night he'll be up town looking out for fellows lugging off gates," returned Teddy, not to be convinced that there was any danger from the watchman. "Besides, Billy can't run for shucks."
It was accordingly arranged that the boys should meet that night across the street from Mr. Parks's store at half past ten; and promptly at that hour they were all on hand. It was a dark night, and the streets were deserted.
"It's—it's pretty dark, isn't it, Ted?" said Joe, in a loud whisper.
"Course," answered Teddy, contemptuously. "Want it dark, don't we?"
"Y—yes. Seen anything of Billy?"
"Oh, he's all right—way off somewhere. He won't be down here to-night."
They tiptoed cautiously across the street, and looked up at the sign.
"Has he been raising it?" said Joe, very earnestly.
"No, of course not," answered Teddy, impatiently.
"Well, it never looked so high to me before," insisted Joe.
"Oh, you're scared!" returned the brave Ted. "Better run home."
"I'm not scared. How are you going to get up?"
"Climb the eaves-spout on the corner. It's easy as nothing," and he started up.
He went up for five or six feet, but found it harder work than he expected. He stopped and rested a moment, then struggled on. This he did twice, feeling his hold weakening all the while. The last time he stopped he looked down. It seemed a long ways. His hold suddenly grew still weaker, and he slid back and rolled over on the ground.
"Are you hurt, Ted?" anxiously inquired the other boys.
"Of course not," answered Teddy, impatiently. "Came down to rest and put a little dust on my hands," and he went out into the street and spatted his palms on the ground.
"We ought to had Tom Ketcham along," said Joe, when Teddy came back. "He's a bully climber."
"Oh, pshaw!" said Ted. "If Tom Ketcham can climb any better'n I can I'd like to know it. Just watch me now;" and he started up again.
Thanks to the street dust or to a determination to show Joe that he was as good a climber as Tommy, he managed to get up this time and wriggle in on the cornice, which made a sort of ledge behind the sign. He loosened the iron on that end of the sign, and walked cautiously along, taking a piece of clothes-line out of his pocket, with which he intended to lower it. Just then footsteps were heard approaching.
"Billy's coming!" cried Fred, in a hoarse half-whisper, and he and Joe started down the street.
"Hold on there!" called Teddy to the younger boys, in a fierce tone. "Get in the doorway and keep still."
The others obeyed, and Ted himself lay down on the ledge behind the sign and flattened out as much as possible. It proved to be only a man on his way home, and he passed without seeing the boys.
Teddy's heart was thumping pretty hard as he thrust his chin over the edge of the sign and whispered, "You fellows down there?"
"Yes," answered the boys.
"Well, what you so scared at?" he asked, tauntingly, as a way of keeping up his own courage. "Look out, now, and I'll have this sign down there before you know it." He rose up and started to hurry along the cornice, but stumbled over something and went down with a great thump. Fortunately he fell on the ledge, and the sign kept him from rolling into the street.
"What's the matter, Ted?" asked the others, excitedly.
"Nothing. Don't know. Fell over something." He felt about in the darkness, and added: "Iron thing to put a big flag in. Forgot it was here."
He crawled on to the other end, and readily pulled up the other iron that held the sign in place. Then he crept back to the middle, looking out for the flag-staff bracket this time, and tied one end of his clothes-line around the sign. He took a half turn with the line around the flag-holder, which he stood astride, lifted up on the sign to release it from the supports on which it rested, and began to lower it slowly. "Get ready, there!" he whispered to the other boys. The sign was heavier than he had expected, and the rope hurt his hands. But he shut his teeth together and hung on, and slowly paid out the line. Just then there came the sound of a heavy step up the street. Teddy tried to let the rope go a little faster, but it suddenly shot through his hands. The sign struck the stone sidewalk broadside with a report like a gun, and the end of the rope, which was entangled with his feet, jerked him off the ledge, and he shot down after the sign. But the flag bracket which had tripped him up before saved him this time. Its upturned end caught under the back of his jacket, and stopped him with a jerk, his shoulder-blades against the front of the ledge, and his legs dangling in the air above the doorway. Between the crash of the falling sign and the heavy footsteps, which sounded precisely like the watchman's, the other boys had been too frightened to think, and had scampered down the street faster than they had ever run before.
Teddy's first thought was to call for help, but he was too frightened to call; and by the time he had found his voice he had concluded that it would be best to wait a few minutes, since he was not particularly uncomfortable, and see if he could not get himself out of the fix he was in without being caught. The approaching footsteps had ceased, and there was not a sound to be heard. "Billy has stopped and is trying to make out what all the racket is about," Teddy thought to himself. "If I keep still he may not see me in the dark, after all." His jacket was drawn pretty tightly across his chest, and there was a good deal of strain on the buttons, but he knew his mother had sewed them on and that there was not much danger of their giving way. But it was rather hard to breathe. He wriggled about a little, and tried to get his elbows up on the cornice in the hope of raising himself, but he couldn't do it. Nothing more was heard of Billy, and the earth seemed to have swallowed up Joe and Fred. It seemed to Teddy that he had hung there half an hour, though it probably wasn't more than three or four minutes, when he ventured to call, in a subdued voice, "Joe!"
"Is that you, Ted?" came from directly beneath him in Tom Ketcham's voice.
"Yes, Tom. I'm caught. Help me down, somehow."
"Is that you hanging up there?"
"Yes. I'm caught on the flag-holder."
"Yes; we heard it fall. Phil's with me."
"Was that you I heard coming? Thought the walk sounded like Billy."
"We—we had a gate, and I guess that made us walk pretty heavy."
Just then Joe and Fred crept back, emboldened by the sound of the voices. The four boys on the sidewalk now held a whispered consultation as to the best way of getting Teddy down, but they reached no decision. Tom thought Ted ought to take his knife, cut off his buttons, and drop out of his jacket, but Teddy objected to this. Joe thought a ladder was the only hope, but Fred was of the opinion that if they had a long pole he could be got down with that; but no one knew where either a pole or ladder could be found. Teddy himself thought that if two of the boys should climb up on the ledge that they could pull him up, and as Phil shared this view it was decided to try it.
"And hurry up," pleaded poor Ted, "'cause I'm getting pretty tired of this, and can't hardly breathe."
Tom and Phil accordingly started up the leader, and soon wriggled on to the ledge as Teddy had done. The sign being gone, there was great danger of their slipping off into the street, and they crept along very cautiously. When they found themselves over the suspended Ted, they rose up on their feet, stooped over, and each got a good hold on his collar with one hand. Then they lifted together with all their strength, but they might as well have lifted on a thrifty oak-tree for all they accomplished. Ted had settled down so far that his shoulders were half drawn under the cornice, and though he tried to wriggle about and help them as they lifted, his wriggling really consisted of nothing but thrashing his legs about in the air.
"We can't do it, Tom," said Phil.
Tom felt around on the front of the building, and replied:
"'Fraid we can't. If there was only something for us to hold on to we could lift a good deal more; but there isn't."
"Not a thing. And if we lift another pound we'll pull ourselves into the street and break our necks. What shall we do?"
"Don—don't leave me," implored Teddy, with just a suspicion of a whimper in his voice. "Wish I'd never heard of the sign. It's my last sign if I ever get down."
"We'll get you down some way, Ted," answered Tom. "Just you keep a stiff upper lip."
"I—I am," returned Teddy. "But I can't hang much longer. Feel like I was going to die, or something."
Just then distant footsteps were heard on the sidewalk.
"Ssh!" said Phil. "Somebody's coming. Get in the doorway, you fellows down there."
Joe and Fred obeyed, and the footsteps came nearer.
"That's Billy's walk, for sure," whispered Tom. "Can't fool me on that. Lie down, Phil," and the two boys flattened out on the ledge.
Poor Teddy could do nothing but hang, as if he were a sign put out in front of a store where small boys were kept for sale. Nearer and nearer came the footsteps, till they were almost in front of the building. Then there was a sudden stumble, a smothered ejaculation, and a man fell full length on the walk, while something which showed a little point of light went rolling along the walk. It was Billy, and he had fallen over the sign, and his dark-lantern had rolled away. The boys all had hard work to keep from laughing, except Teddy.
"Geewhillikans!" howled Billy, as he scrambled to his feet and made a dive for his lantern. "What's all this?"
The next second he flashed his bull's-eye on the walk, and began an investigation.
"WELL, WELL! IF THERE AIN'T A BOY, THEN I'M A GOAT!"
"You may shoot me if it ain't old Parks's sign!" he went on, throwing the stream of light along the board. "More Halloween monkey business, I s'pose. I'd like to catch the scalawags! Wonder how they got it down?" He stepped back to the edge of the walk and turned the light upward.
"Well, well! If there ain't a boy, then I'm a goat! Come down here, you young imp!"
Teddy only swung his legs.
"Come down, I say, or I'll—I'll—I'll—" and Billy paused, unable to think of anything terrible enough.
"I—I can't, Billy," Teddy managed to get out.
"Hung up, hey? Good enough for you. You ought to be hung up by the heels a week! I'll get you down, young man. Just you be calm till I fetch Whitney's ladder," and Billy started up the street on a trot, muttering to himself.
The new danger sharpened Master Teddy's wits, and made him think faster than he had ever done before.
"You fellows get down quick as you can," he cried to Tom and Phil. "Hurry!" The boys scrambled along the ledge and slid down the leader. "Get hold of that sign, the whole four of you, and stick one end of it up here like a ladder," went on Teddy, his voice all in a tremble, but the words coming with a rush. Up came the sign beside him. He got his legs over and around it, half wriggled his back onto it, reached his arms over his head, and by exerting every muscle in his body to the utmost, managed to pull and kick himself up enough to release his coat. Then he shot down the steep sign like a toboggan, and struck the ground all in a heap. Billy was coming down the street with his ladder and lantern. "Down with it!" said Tom, and he put his shoulder against the sign.
"No you don't," cried Teddy; "I've had enough of signs and Halloweens. Let's git;" and he did with all his might, a sadder but a wiser boy.
There has not been a case of sign lost on Halloween or any other day or night since in Scottsville.
[THANKSGIVING.]
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.
When the Indians used to prowl
Round the house at dead of night,
And the north wind's angry howl
Sounded fierce by candle-light;
When the very babies learned
How to whisper when they cried,
And the young boys early earned
Right to carry arms with pride—
In those wild exciting days,
Often hungry, often cold,
Men uplifted songs of praise,
Women's hearts were strong and bold.
And amid their penury,
In their want and peril, they
Set apart, with courage free,
Their first brave Thanksgiving day.
Over harvests gathered in
With a stealthy foe anear,
Over scanty byre and bin,
Over joys which cost them dear,
Gallant souls that would not bend
Met their trustful grace to say,
Heart to heart and friend to friend;
So they kept Thanksgiving day.
Ours to-day a happier fate:
Royal wealth on us outpoured,
Wide our pleasant land, and great
Is the throng about our board.
Run the dear old flag aloft;
Let it float from ship and spire!
Wake Thanksgiving, field and croft,
House and home, and child and sire.
[MARTY'S PUMPKINS.]
BY RAY STANNARD BAKER.
"M-a-rty! Mart—e—e!" called a shrill voice from the woodshed door.
The speckled rooster stopped scratching in the chip-pile, raised his head, blinked his eyes, and chuckled protestingly.
"Mart-e-e!" called the voice again, and a plain woman in a calico dress stepped out into the morning sunlight. "I wonder where thet child has gone. She'd try the patience of a saint. Mart—e—e!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Come right here this minute."
Around the corner of the chicken-coop ran a little figure with flying hair.
"Where hev you been?" demanded Mrs. Tucker, impatiently.
Marty's bare brown toes burrowed in the chip-pile, and she hung her head. She was a slender girl, and a pair of big, wistful eyes looked out from under her sun-bonnet.
"Out lookin' after my punkins," she answered, shyly.
"Your punkins!" said Mrs. Tucker, explosively. "You won't have punkins long ef you don't answer when I call."
"I didn't hear you, ma'am."
"Stuff an' nonsense! I tol' Eb it wa'n't good sense to put such punkin notions in yer head. Now take this cup an' run over to Mis' Wiskins an' ask the loan of some yeast."
Marty's feet twinkled as she ran, and Mrs. Tucker was so surprised to see her back so soon that she sent her on another errand. But at last Marty was free to hurry again into the corn-field. Here she went about among the shocks, and lifted the yellow pumpkins, one by one, and carried them to a "double-decker" wagon that stood not far away, climbed up on a stepladder, and dropped them in. Some of them were so large that when she tried to reach around them the sleeves of her outgrown gingham dress drew up over her sunburnt elbows. But she tugged and staggered and wrinkled her freckled nose until the wagon was heaping full. Just as she was completing her task old Ebenezer Tucker came out to the field.
"Got 'em loaded?" he asked, gruffly.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, we'll take 'em to town to-morrow and see what they'll bring."
Marty jumped up and clapped her hands.
"Oh, Uncle Eb—"
"There! neb mind," he said, but there was a note of kindness in his voice.
The sun had gone down and the air was frosty and still. Marty's bare toes tingled with the cold, but her face glowed with joy as she trudged toward the house at her uncle's side. She would have liked to take hold of his hand, not only to rest her tired legs, but because her happy heart wanted to show the affection of which it was so bubbling full, but she was afraid.
Marty was happier than she had ever been before in her life. That wasn't saying much, for Marty's mother had died when she was very young, and had left her and little Tim alone in the world. They had been passed around from relative to relative for a number of years, and Marty had taken care of Tim, and lavished on him all the affection of her timid heart. While they were together she hadn't minded poor clothes and hard work, but when Uncle Ben had taken "the boy," and Uncle Eb had taken her, Marty's heart was quite broken. For Uncle Ben lived in Shelbyville, miles away, and how would little Tim get along without her?
Aunt Tucker was known and respected in the community as a "good provider" and a good Christian, but she didn't understand Marty. Besides that, she had Elly and Susie and John, her own children, to look after. Marty was shy and timid and dreamy, and so it happened that she became little maid-of-all-work, a kind of country Cinderella. But she tried to keep a brave face, and dreamed of the time when Tim would be big enough to earn his own living and could take her away.
As the summer passed, Marty had grown more and more lonesome; she felt as if she hadn't a friend in the world. One day she was in the barn-yard, and Dot—Uncle Eb's old white cow—looked around at her so sympathetically with her big, kind eyes that a knot tied itself in Marty's throat, and she ran and threw her arms around Dot's neck.
"You'll be my friend—won't you, Dot?" she sobbed.
Dot was evidently about to say something sympathetic, when Marty felt a hand on her head. It was Uncle Eb's.
"What's the matter, Marty?" he asked, and his raspy voice sounded as if it had just been oiled.
She had always been afraid of Uncle Eb. He was big and silent, and his bushy eyebrows scowled. But she said:
"I'm lonesome. I want to see Tim."
The old farmer stopped and patted her head, and then sat down to milk. One day he said,
"Want to earn some money, Marty?"
Marty's head swam. With money she could see Tim. Her face flushed faintly.
"Yes, sir," she said.
"Well, you pick up the pumpkins in the corn-lot and load 'em on the wagon every day, and I'll give you one load."
There were a great many loads of pumpkins, and it was very hard lifting for Marty; but she worked bravely, because she remembered Tim. She could have finished the loading much sooner if Aunt Tucker hadn't called her so often—Aunt Tucker didn't like the pumpkin idea; she said she didn't believe in children having money. But now, after weeks of work, the last load stood in the field.
"Thet's yours," Uncle Eb had said, quietly.
And that is why Marty's heart was almost bursting with joy.
The Tuckers were up at sunrise the next morning. For Uncle Eb was going to town with Marty's pumpkins.
"You're foolish to whim thet child," said Aunt Tucker, complainingly; "you're treating her better'n you do yer own kith an' kin."
Uncle Eb didn't reply; but an hour later he and Marty were perched on the high wagon seat, and the sun was looking jolly at the end of the long road to town. Marty wore Elly's hat and a plain but clean dress, and her eyes sparkled with joy. She wanted to tell Uncle Eb how happy and thankful she was, but she didn't dare to. So she tapped her precious pumpkins with her toes as she was bounced about on the high spring seat.
How proud she felt when they reached the Centre and the men on the street nodded to Uncle Eb! She wondered if they knew that the pumpkins were all hers, and that she would soon have the money for them. Only once in her life had she ever had any money of her own, and that was only ten cents, which had looked as big as a silver dollar when she first spied it lying at the road-side.
Now they had passed the post-office and were slowly climbing the Weymouth hill toward the depot. The Centre lay in a deep valley, with the railroad skirting the top of the hill to the east. It was a steep, smooth hill, and the backs of the horses straightened and strained under the crupper straps. Marty puckered up her lips and lifted on the seat, as if to ease the load of her weight. At the middle of the climb they stopped where a "thank you, ma'am," ribbed the hill.
"Get up," said Uncle Eb, after the horses had rested.
Just as the wheels jogged forward Marty heard a sharp crack, and then a loud plumping and plopping from behind. She looked around and gave a cry of alarm. For the back board of the wagon had broken out, and down the hill her precious pumpkins were dancing and bobbing with a mellow rumble. Before Uncle Eb could say a word, Marty sprung from the wagon and darted behind.
"Stop! stop!" she shouted; but the renegade pumpkins acted as if they didn't hear a word, and rolled on down the hill. In two minutes the wagon was empty. Some of the pumpkins split open, and their rich dewy halves, full of seeds, lay gaping in the sunshine. Farther down the whole hill was speckled with bobbing bits of yellow, and the boys of the Centre had begun a hilarious chase. The pumpkins seemed possessed. They went careering through open gates and bumping against doors and casings. They broke their heads on fences and the edges of the sidewalk, and they sent Nick Dusenberry's old white team, that hadn't run away before in fifteen years, snorting up the street. All the dogs barked, and the boys shouted, and the Centre stood in its front door and cheered. Such excitement had not stirred the village since Marston's store burned down.
In the middle of the hill sat Marty, each arm clasping a fat pumpkin, and the tears streaming down her freckled nose. The horses had been frightened and had run up the hill, Uncle Eb doing his best to control them.
"OH, MY PUNKINS!" SOBBED MARTY.
"Oh, my punkins!" sobbed Marty.
"Are you hurt? Can I help you?" asked a pleasant voice.
Marty looked up. It was the postmaster's wife.
"Oh, my punkins!" choked Marty.
But the postmaster's wife bent over and questioned kindly, and Marty told her about Tim and Uncle Eb and the pumpkins, and when she was through there were tears in the eyes of the postmaster's wife. By this time a crowd of men and boys had gathered. It bruised Marty's sensitive heart that they should laugh and joke about her precious pumpkins. When Uncle Eb came back with the team he was scowling, and when Marty asked him to let her pick up the pumpkins he said:
"Let 'em go. I don't want 'em."
And all the way home he was silent, and Marty sat beside him biting her lips to keep from crying. It seemed to her since her pumpkins were gone that nothing else remained in life. As she crept off to bed that night she heard Aunt Tucker say,
"Now, Ebenezer, you see what comes from foolin' with children's bringin' up."
All the next day Marty's heart ached, although Uncle Eb had said, while he was rubbing his curry-comb and brush together, "Never mind, child," in a tone that showed her that he was still kindly. Towards evening the Perkins boy came with the mail.
"Here's a paper fer you, Uncle Eb," he said, "an' a letter fer Marty."
Marty flushed and trembled. The whole family looked at her. She had never before received a letter.
The Perkins boy was holding it out. "It's a fat one, too," he said.
Uncle Eb took it, put on his spectacles, and turned it over and over. Then he passed it to Aunt Tucker, and Elly and Susie and John all had a peep at it. Marty stood with a rapt expression on her face and her heart was throbbing wildly.
"Is it from Tim?" she asked.
"No, Tim can't write," said Susie, impatiently, for Susie could not help being envious.
"Here, Marty, open it," said Uncle Eb.
Marty took it and tore the envelope with trembling fingers, Elly showing her how. Inside there was a fat letter, and inside of that a one-dollar bill. Little John's eyes were popping in wonder. Uncle Eb drew on his spectacles and sat down in his rocking-chair. Marty was so excited that she crowded up and held fast to his coat as if she feared the precious letter might fly away. It was from the postmaster's wife, and this is what it said:
"Dear Marty,—I wish to pay you for the four nice big pumpkins that rolled into our front yard this morning. I've been wanting some pumpkins for pies ever so long, and they came just in time. Mrs. Brainard and Mrs. Peters also received a good supply. We enclose a dollar in payment. Come in and call on me when you go to see Tim, and have a piece of pie."
Marty's eyes sparkled. It wasn't so much the money as it was the fact that the letter was written to her own self, and that some one in the Centre knew about her.
The next day two more letters came—the postmaster's wife had done her work well—and when Marty counted her fortune, she had $4.25.
"That's more'n we'd got fer the punkins at the depot," said Uncle Eb.
The next week Marty, all in a new dress, her money tightly knotted in the corner of a handkerchief with pansies around the border, went to visit Tim. On her way she stopped to see the postmaster's wife and eat some pie made from the "visitin' punkins," as the postmaster called them.
Two of the most important interscholastic games of the year were played a week ago Saturday, the Exeter-Andover game at Andover, resulting in a victory for Andover of 28-0; and the New Britain-Meriden game on the Yale field, resulting in a victory for New Britain, 30-6.
The score of the Exeter-Andover game was somewhat of a surprise to the supporters of both teams. The Exeter team had been looked upon as a very strong one, and in spite of the fact that it was to play on strange grounds it was slightly the favorite. Looking back now it seems strange that this should have been the case, for Andover has nearly twice as many students to draw from, and had the advantage of home grounds. It is possible, however, that the reports of Andover's crippled condition gave Exeter the prestige which she seemed to enjoy before time was called.
The renewal of athletic relations between the two schools was very successfully opened by this game, and all through the day the two bodies of players and spectators did everything in their power to let bygones be bygones, and to contribute toward the success of the occasion.
There was a marked contrast between the playing of the two teams. Exeter entered the competition with a certain confidence which soon became akin to demoralization as the determined spirit of Andover began to exert itself. Andover's play deserves great praise, and her eleven earned every point scored. Exeter was outclassed in rushing and line-work, and was proficient in no especial point. The Andover linesmen opened up generous holes for their rushers when these were needed, and on end plays their interference was compact and effective. Every Andover man knew what was expected of him in the interference, and performed his duty. The tackling of the whole team was sharp and sure, and exceedingly distressing to their opponents, who were forced to call in a number of substitutes before the end of the game.
Andover's victory is all the more creditable when we consider that the regular captain was unable to play, and one of the best guards was not in the game. Quimby, who acted as captain, put up a fine game and commanded the men well. He showed that he has the powers of a good football general. Two other players who give much promise are Elliot, who played full-back, and Schreiber, who played left end. The former made several good rushes, and in individual play there was no superior to him that day. Schreiber broke up every mass of interference that assailed his end, and frequently tackled the runner for a loss. Burdick at right end displayed unusual talent, and from obscurity sprang into prominence by his bearing and skilful rushes. Pierson at centre was a stonewall, and did excellent work in making holes besides.
The Exeter players had but little method in their play, and were deplorably weak in team-work. The line was ragged, and, although heavy, it was no match for Andover's stocky forwards. Shaw, at end, made several brilliant tackles, but made as many costly failures. Highly, at tackle, managed to stop the heavy push plays of Andover, but was not able to break through them so as to down the runner. Sawyer, who played for a short time in the second half, was especially conspicuous for tackling behind the line. The clean play of the game was undoubtedly due to the efficient work of the officials, Messrs. J. H. Morse and Lorin F. Deland, umpire and referee. They watched every detail, and maintained strict adherence to the rules.
The detail of the play deserves some mention, and I regret that space alone prevents me from devoting more than a few paragraphs to the subject. Andover took the north goal, and Miller's kick-off was returned by Quimby. Exeter began her offensive play on the 40-yard line. Whitcomb got five yards at centre, and Miller added two at the same place. Whitcomb worked the same position for several yards, and also left tackle. By short plunges the centre of the field was reached, when Andover held, and got the ball on downs. Elliot immediately booted the leather, and as no Exeter player was ready to receive it, forty yards were gained. Andover prevented Exeter from advancing, and had the ball on her 25-yard line. White got in six yards at right end, and the playing became fierce as Exeter realized the approaching danger to her goal. Exeter braced wonderfully on her 2-yard line, and saved a touch-down by a superhuman effort. The ball was gradually carried out from her goal, and five yards for interference at centre aided materially. When the 30-yard line was covered, Andover got the ball for holding on her rival's part, and Burdick electrified the crowd by coming out of the bunch at left end and running the whole distance for a touch-down. It was a pretty exhibition of sprinting and interference of Andover. The try for goal was a dismal failure, the ball falling short.
As on the first kick-off, Quimby caught and returned inside the centre of Exeter's territory. Whitcomb got his length at centre, and Miller added four yards to that. Syphax on a tandem play got two yards at left tackle, and Miller the same amount nearer the centre. The middle of the gridiron became the battle-ground, when Andover secured the ball on downs. Andover did not want to rush, but Elliot punted well down the field, and the Exeter half-back fumbled the ball, allowing Wheeler to get it for his side. The referee allowed Andover five yards for interference at centre, which put the ball on Exeter's 35-yard line. The identical play that resulted in giving Andover her previous touch-down was repeated by Burdick, with an improvement in the interference. Elliot did not miss his second try for goal. Then for the third time Quimby returned Exeter's kick-off, this time much closer to the goal-line.
Exeter could not gain at end or centre, and resorted to kicking, Miller punting outside. Andover did not wait to rush, but kicked back, getting the ball on her antagonist's 15-yard line because of a fumble. Elliot was credited with four yards at centre. Holladay could not make an impression on the line; but Burdick was equal to the emergency, and eluded all tackles at right end, and scoring a touch-down—from which Elliot got his goal.
Right after the next kick-off a series of kicks were exchanged between the teams, until Andover gained the advantage at the middle line of the field. The play still continued to be through the air, till finally Andover settled down to a steady forward march for Exeter's goal by reeling off rushes, at the rate of ten yards each, made by different players in the line. When the teams lined up on the 18-yard line, Exeter had captured the ball on downs. Miller's kick was blocked, owing to the slowness of the pass, but Pyton was on hand to keep it in Exeter's possession. On the 15-yard line Elliot was signalled for a goal from the field, which did not materialize, the ball rolling in front of the goal-posts. Time was called soon after for the end of the half.
At the start of the second half, Exeter started to rush, ignoring the brisk wind at her back, which Andover had used so continuously and advantageously. When a kick did come, Quimby hurried the ball back to its original resting-ground. Elliot, by a remarkable run, in which he leaped over an upright Exeter player, accumulated sixty yards. Play was now being stopped after every other scrimmage for some injured Exeter player to recuperate or be taken off. Andover resumed her plugging away in the direction of the enemy's goal-line, getting only one setback by losing the ball on downs; and another touch-down was scored by Elliot.
Although the final game of the Connecticut Interscholastic Football League, between New Britain and Meriden high-schools, was in many respects not so good an exhibition as that given by Hartford and Bridgeport last year, it was nevertheless an interesting occasion. In one respect, however, this year's game surpassed any school game that has ever been played on the Yale field. This was in the display of a system of interference by the New Britain team which proved almost irresistible to their opponents. The backs ran in a line headed by an end. The end was followed by one of the backs, after whom came the man with the ball, followed by the two other backs and the second end. This formation worked almost every time it was used, and most of New Britain's gains were due to its practice.
The defence of both elevens was weak, Meriden's, of course, being the weaker. Lane of Meriden was the best back of either team. He ran hard and fast. Hubbard of Meriden worked to his greatest strength, but he was unable to achieve much on account of a lack of interference. All the Meriden men were remarkably good at tackling, Lane leading in this branch as well. O'Donnell of New Britain made four of New Britain's touch-downs, and put up an excellent game. He did some excellent line-bucking, and is undoubtedly the cleverest full-back among the Connecticut schools. Meehan of New Britain at quarter-back is a sure passer, and made many hard tackles. McDonald of New Britain had it all his own way with his opponent, Hirschfield, and made holes for the backs whenever these were called for. He is a good tackler and a capable ground-gainer. Porter of New Britain proved by his play in this game that he is undoubtedly the best end-rusher in the Connecticut Interscholastic League. He made numerous tackles, and it was but on rare occasions that the Meriden team was able to make distance around his end. Fitch, Flannery, and Griswold likewise did good work.
As for the detail of the game: In the first few minutes New Britain scored by end plays and by going through Hirschfield, right tackle. The same sort of work was kept up by New Britain until the team had scored five touch-downs, from only one of which a goal was kicked. New Britain started again to force her way over the Meriden line, but lost the ball on the 20-yard mark. It was passed back to Lane, who jumped through a hole through Buckley, and with Hubbard interfering for him, he made a beautiful run of ninety yards and scored for Meriden. This was the most brilliant play of the day. In the second half Meriden pulled herself together and held New Britain much better than she had been able to do in the first part of the game. New Britain, however, succeeded in scoring again before time was finally called, and the score was left 30-6.
AROUND RIGHT END,—IN THE HOPKINSON-C. H. AND L. GAME, BOSTON.
The feature of the play in the recent game between Hopkinson and Cambridge High and Latin, in the Senior League of the Boston Interscholastic Association, was the splendid interference formed for end plays. The accompanying illustration gives an excellent idea of how Hopkinson made her gains. The picture shows Huntress, Hopkinson's left half-back, taking the ball to circle right end; the left end and tackle can plainly be seen getting into the interference on the opposite side of the line. The camera shows distinctly the failure of the C. H. and L. right end to put into practice what he ought to know of the game, and follow the play around.
The score of this game was 34-0 in favor of Hopkinson. Perhaps the weakness of the Cambridge eleven was better shown on this occasion by its inability to hold Hopkinson for four downs more than once. C. H. and L. also failed to make first down by rushing more than half a dozen times; the team seemed to hold the ball only when getting it on kick-offs or after punts. Nevertheless, C. H. and L. put up a plucky game, and the half-backs especially worked hard behind the indifferent interference. Lewis did by far the best work for his side, Donovan ranking next.
In the game between Lawrenceville and the Hill School a week ago Saturday the Jerseymen were victorious by 14-6. The game was played at Pottstown, in the rain and on a very muddy field, and consequently the play was limited mostly to line tactics, although Keiffer, the Hill half-back, got around Lawrenceville's ends twice for thirty-yard runs, and once for a fifteen-yard gain, when he scored.
On the kick-off by Lawrenceville, the ball was regained at once on the ten-yard line by a muff by Hill's full-back, Monypenny, and in a few plays Lawrenceville's first touch-down was made, the goal being missed. During the rest of the first half Lawrenceville made another touch-down, going down the field some forty yards, the plays directed on the line-men, though this goal was also missed.
Shortly after the second half began, with the ball on Lawrenceville's twenty-yard line, Hill sent Keiffer around the end for their only touch-down, to which a goal was added. Lawrenceville's last touch-down was made just before time was called, the goal being kicked this time. Without losing the ball, some sixty yards were covered by the Lawrenceville backs plunging through the line.
Mattis of Lawrenceville outkicked the Hill full-back, Monypenny; and the Hill right guard, Mills, played an excellent game. Cleveland, Lawrenceville's left half, played a very good game, considering his short experience. The Hill School has an excellent team this year, most of last year's players being back, and they consequently put up an unexpectedly strong game against Lawrenceville's green team. Lawrenceville has been unfortunate this year in having a number of mishaps to her players just as these got into condition.
The series of games in the second section of the New York Interscholastic Football League has been won by Trinity; the first section is a tie among De La Salle, Berkeley, and Barnard, Berkeley having lost, 6-0, to De La Salle last week on the play-off of the tie game of the week previous. This all-round tie has necessitated the arrangement of a new schedule which will be played off as follows:
November 20.—Berkeley School vs. Barnard School.
November 24.—De La Salle Institute vs. Berkeley School.
November 28.—Barnard School vs. De La Salle Institute.
December 5.—Championship game between Trinity School, winner of the second section, and the winner of the first section.
This last game between De La Salle and Berkeley was interesting and exciting. The play was sharp, and both teams put forth their greatest efforts to win. In spite of the many good plays, however, there was considerable fumbling by the backs of both sides. The touch-down was made in the early part of the first half. After some good rushing, De La Salle got the ball on Berkeley's five-yard line, and then Tilford was pushed through the line for a touch-down. Carrigan kicked the goal, and there was no scoring done after that, although the ball was a number of times within dangerous proximity to Berkeley's posts. The latter part of the game was greatly interfered with by darkness.
The Trinity-Cutler game, which was played on November 12, was a fine exhibition of football as well, and although the Cutler team proved unable to score against its heavier opponent, it displayed good team-work on several occasions. The game was played in the rain; but in spite of that, both elevens showed considerable snap, and there was not so much fumbling as might have been expected. This game was likewise started so late in the afternoon that darkness came on before the end of the second half, and made the play unprofitable for the players and invisible to the on-lookers.
A rather startling announcement appeared in a New York paper last week to the effect that St. Paul's School, Garden City, had defeated the West Point cadets at football by the score of 16-2. As a number of readers of this Department may have noticed this report, and would naturally expect to find some comment on so unusual an occurrence in these columns, it may be well to state that the report in the New York paper was entirely unfounded. West Point never has played the St. Paul's School team, and never has played a game away from West Point since 1893. The team defeated by St. Paul's on the occasion in question was the Harvard School of New York.
CHELTENHAM MILITARY ACADEMY FOOTBALL TEAM.
Champions of the Inter-Academic League of Philadelphia.
The championship of the Inter-Academic A.A. of Philadelphia was won by Cheltenham Military Academy a week ago by the defeat of Germantown, 16-10. Lack of space prevents further comment this week, but in our next issue I hope to be able to devote to the game the space which it deserves.
"G. S., End," asks the following questions concerning football: 1. If the ball is fumbled, and recovered by a player of the side which fumbled, does it count as first down for that side, or second or third down with a certain number of yards to gain? 2. If, when the ball is fumbled and recovered, it has passed the place where it was put in play, does the gain thus made count the same as if it had been rushed there?
1. It counts as second or third down, as the case may be; see Rule 21, e. 2. Certainly; many a touch-down has thus accidentally been made.