Left Half Harmon

by Ralph Henry Barbour

With Lake at left end and Martin Proctor at left tackle, that side of the line improved remarkably. For a few days Martin fitted none too perfectly into the new position, but he had had much experience, wanted badly to be something better than a second-choice player and worked hard, with the result that long before the Kenly game he was looked on as a remarkably good tackle. The weak spot in the team continued, however, for no satisfactory alternative to Steve Browne had been found. Browne tried pitifully hard to fill the difficult requirements of the full-back position, but he failed utterly and palpably. Linthicum was tried, and so was Austen, a half-back from the second, but none suited. Kenly was developing a stiff line this year, as proved by the last two games she had played, and more weight and aggressiveness in the backfield was sorely needed at Alton. Discounting his possible ultimate failure to find a satisfactory full-back, Coach Cade experimented with plays built on the substituting of Bob Newhall or Stacey Ross for a half or the full-back. The difficulty, however, lay in the fact that the backfield man who played up in the line found it hard to perform his temporary duties satisfactorily. Placing Bob at full-back for straight plunges between tackles worked fairly well and was accountable for some good gains against the second team, but Browne in Bob’s place was as ill-fitting as a square peg in a round hole and would doubtless prove in Captain Joe Myers’ words, “easy meat” for Kenly. Coach Cade had a strongly-imbedded dislike for unbalanced formations, anyhow, and, although he used shifts sparingly and was responsible for the play that put Captain Myers behind the line so that he might receive a forward-pass, he wanted no more “freaks” and frowned on these new inventions even while he used them. And so matters stood on that Wednesday morning preceding the Hillsport game when Willard, having a whole fifty minutes between recitations, took a Latin book over to the first base bleachers and draped himself over three seats in the sunlight. It was a genuine Indian summer day, with no breeze, or only just enough to disturb the straight column of smoke that came from the big chimney behind Lawrence Hall, a very blue sky that melted to a hazy, purplish gray toward the horizon and a flood of mellow sunlight over all. By occasionally changing his position when the edges of the planks pressed too fervently against him, Willard managed a whole page of his book, making many marginal notes in his very small and extremely neat writing. He was, though, getting somewhat drowsy when the sound of footsteps came to him and he looked up to find Felix McNatt approaching. McNatt had soiled hands and wore a triumphant expression, and both were explained when, having climbed to Willard’s side and seated himself there, he lifted the wooden lid of the grape basket he carried.

“Agaricus pratensis,” he announced impressively.

“The same to you,” answered Willard, “and many, many of them.”

McNatt smiled humoringly. “I found them over near the farm. They are rather scarce about here.”

Willard eyed the contents of the basket unenthusiastically. The five mushrooms made very little appeal to him and he hoped McNatt wasn’t going to ask him to help eat them. “Are they edible?” he asked anxiously.

“Oh, yes, although my book says they’re not so tasty as many other sorts.”

“They don’t look awfully appetizing,” murmured Willard. “Do you cook them or what?”

“They’re excellent fried,” replied McNatt, gazing almost affectionately into the basket. “Or you can stew them in milk.”

“No, thanks.” Willard shook his head. “I don’t like the smell of them. They—they smell as if they were dead!”

“Of course they’re dead,” said McNatt a trifle impatiently. “Or I suppose they are. Possibly they continue to live for a certain time after they are picked: I must find out about that: it would be interesting to know.”