Stacy can do everything. He’s a splendid sprinter. There’s only one other boy in the school that can equal him, and that’s a red-headed boy they call Woodpecker. He has longer legs than Stacey and of course takes a longer stride, and that counts. But Stacey is livelier and puts in four strides to three of the Woodpecker’s, so they are pretty nearly equal. Stacey is a prettier runner, too. He does it just as easy, while the Woodpecker works all over, arms and legs, and bites on his handkerchief, and his eyes pop out, and when it’s all over he falls in a heap and looks as if he were dying, while Stacey takes another lap in better time than the last, just for fun.
Stacey rides the bicycle, too, splendidly. He has one of those big wheels and he can manage it with his feet and do all sorts of tricks with his hands. He has been giving me points on bicycle riding. He picked out my safety for me, and has been coaching me how to manage it. He says I am the best rider for a little chap that he ever saw, and that he means to make me win the race at the inter-scholastic. I tell you Stacey is a trump. He’s an all-around athlete. He dances, and he rides, and he shoots in the summer when he goes hunting with his uncle; and he fences, and he’s stroke on the crew, and he’s our best high jump and there isn’t anything that he can’t do, except his lessons—sometimes—but they don’t count. He says that if it wasn’t for the beastly lessons school would be heavenly, and we all agree with him. Ricos said that he would head a petition to have lessons abolished and the boys would all sign it, but Stacey said that parents were so unprogressive he didn’t believe they would, and he was afraid the head master wouldn’t pay much attention to such a petition unless it bore the parents’ signatures.
I’ve written an awfully long letter, but I like to write to you, and it was rainy to-day, and we couldn’t go to the grounds, and I’ve hurt my ankle by falling from my bicycle so that I could not practise in the gymnasium. Now don’t go and get scared, like a girl, and disapprove of athletics for such a little thing as that. It was only a little sprain, that will all be well before the drill, and I only barked my shin the least bit, nothing at all to what the Woodpecker does most every day.
I hope I shall be big enough to go on the foot-ball team next year. I know you think it’s dangerous, but I’ve calculated the chances of getting hurt and they are so very slight that I guess I’ll risk it. Why, out of the whole eleven last year there were only nine that got hurt.
Be sure you all come to the exhibition drill. I enclose two tickets and Stacey sends two more. He wants it distinctly understood that you and Miss Roseveldt are his guests. So you can give mine with my compliments to Miss T. Smith and Miss Winnie De Witt. I don’t send any for that Vaughn girl, for Buttertub knows her and told me he was going to invite her.
No more at present,
From your affectionate brother,
James Halsey Armstrong.
P. S. Stacey sends his regards to Miss Roseveldt.
P. S. No. 2. And to you.
Letter No. 2.
The Barracks, April.