Play the Game!

by Ruth Comfort Mitchell

And England's far, and Honor's a name—

That means to us that L. A. is far, and South Figueroa Street ... all the safe happy things that didn't seem wonderful then...."

"'Honor's a name,'" said Jimsy under his breath.

"Oh," said the girl, "I never noticed that before! Isn't that funny? Well—

The voice of a school boy rallies the ranks!

That fits! And won't we be thankful all our lives—all our snug, safe, prosy lives—that we were sporting now?— That we all played the game?" Her eyes were on Jimsy, reassuring him, staying him. "When this is all over——"

He cut roughly into her sentence. "Oh, for God's sake, Skipper, let's not talk!"

Again he had to bear the mothering of her understanding eyes. "All right, Jimsy. We won't talk, then. We'll sit here together"—she changed to the chair nearest his and put her hand on his arm—"and wait for Juan and——"

He sprang to his feet. "I wish you'd leave me alone!" he said. "I wish you'd go upstairs and stay with Aunt Maddy and Uncle Rich'. I want to be by myself."