Returning to the discussion on basketball, Betty told her father that one of the girls on the team was just down with mumps and another had a bad ankle. Her father asked her if she wanted to risk getting one, too, but Betty said that her playing was not likely and anyway no worse than the practice games that she was doing now a little.
“I was throwing the ball into baskets in the gym yesterday, Father, and they just begged me to help out, or be where I could legitimately be called on. Carolyn and Kathryn were both after me. And, Father, I’m not going to do a thing in the university but get my lessons, take music and swim!”
“Very well, then. I suppose you must. Vale. Cura ut valeas.”
This was her father’s frequent way of telling them, in the language of Cicero’s Letters, to take care of themselves. He excused himself and left the table, the sound of the car being taken from the garage reaching those left at table as soon as it was possible for Mr. Lee to get there. He was leaving early and the children could get to school by street car.
So it came about that Betty “sat on the side lines” during the last competitive games, when everybody was highly keyed. The seniors, in spite of losses, for another girl came down with mumps in the midst of events, were still eligible to win the contest when their last game was called. It reminded Betty of that other contest, when Mathilde almost succeeded in giving the game to Marcella’s team against whom they were playing. Mathilde was such a cheat. Whenever Betty was inclined to feel sorry for her marrying a boy with a taste for liquor so pronounced, she thought that Jack was not doing so much better. And Mathilde, though not on the team, was not far from Betty today in the familiar old “gym” where quite a crowd had gathered to see the last game that the seniors would play against any of the others. And it was the sophomores again, the class team that had done so well. There sat Doris, rooting for the sophomores, but waving her hand once in friendly fashion at her sister. But it was hard to keep to good sportsmanship. Besides, Betty had had enough successes!
The game was an eager one, tense. The seniors had the advantage of superior public poise, perhaps, and longer experience. The sophomores, however, were out to win. One senior girl finally, to Betty’s dismay, began to blunder and play badly, giving a big advantage to the sophomores, who needed no prompting in regard to taking it. Then the girl was taken out of the game and there was a consultation. Mathilde moved over to Betty’s side, where they were watching the game, and hoped that she would be called to take her place. “I just wanted to jump right up and take that ball!” cried Mathilde. “What made her so stupid?”
“I think she must be sick, Mathilde. Carolyn had her arm around her.” But Betty had felt the same way. Could they win now? They must! Then the championship game would be the last.
But the director was coming in their direction. Mathilde hopped up hopefully, but again was disappointed in having Betty chosen before her. Betty felt almost sorry, though she was in the mood to do anything—all to save the game. Ah, Betty could make baskets, and with Carolyn and Kathryn there!
Fast and furious went the last part of the game. Rooters called and gave the Lyon High cheers to encourage the players. The sophomore rooters grew quiet as the score began to pile up for the seniors. “Well, it begins to look as if we’d have to wait till next year to smite ’em in class contests,” sighed Doris to her chum.
“Never mind, if they do beat us this time, we’ll be the ones to play against them in the championship games unless we lose our next game with the freshies.”