Washingtonville, July 4.
Dear Ma,—I s'pose Sis and Aunt Lou and Pa have been writing you a lot of stuff about it all, but they get scared so easy. It wasn't anything. A lot of crackers and things went off in a box, but nobody wouldn't have paid any attention to it if I hadn't happened to be down in the box on my back. I got out all right. Pa helped a little. I thought he wasn't going to mind, but just because my clothes was smouldering, and maybe blazing a little in spots, he got excited, and called in 'bout a dozen doctors, and now they've got me bundled up with more'n twenty pillows. Aunt Lou encouraged him, and of course Sis cried, or I don't think he'd have had quite so many doctors.
Anyhow, Ma, it was a rip-snorting day, and I wish Washington and those fellows had made it a week instead of a day. I tied a string to my toe and hung it out of the window for the milkman to pull, but I guess the cat or something got at it, and woke me up 'bout two or three o'clock; so I staid up, just to make sure. While I was dressing I let off a cracker or two, or maybe three, on the wood-shed roof, and I guess Aunt Lou knew it some way, as I could hear her in her room talking in her sleep. You ought to have been here, Ma, and had some fun.
I gave the milkman one or two while he was looking for the string, and his horse got nervous, and I guess he had to chase him a little 'fore he caught the cart, and I heard the cans rattle a good deal; but folks oughtn't to complain at a little rattling on the Fourth of July. Pa called out of his room that I was a nuisance, so I went down stairs and sat on the back stoop. In a little while I heard Bridget walking about the kitchen on torpedoes. She said might the Saints preserve her, and I guess they did, 'cause after a while we had breakfast. After breakfast Sis's cat went under the barn. I guess business must be good under there, 'cause she hasn't been out since.
No use of my trying to tell you of everything that happened to-day. If Tommy Snyder hadn't pushed me I wouldn't have been down in the box when those things went off. A fire-cracker or two got into his jacket pocket somehow, and exploded there, and then he pushed me. He needn't have done so, either, 'cause it didn't make much noise in his pocket. Did you ever try putting a cracker in a fellow's pocket, Ma? The noise sounds kind of smothery. Pa didn't need to pull me out of that box, 'cause I was going to get out, anyhow.
A policeman went by our house three times to-day, and every time he stopped and looked at me, I wasn't doing anything either time. Oh, I 'most forgot to tell you! You know what a nigger-chaser is, Ma? Well, Harry Austin said they wouldn't. I said they would. He said it was just a name they had. I said, how did they get the name? We had just one left. You know Uncle Eben, who takes away our ashes? Well, he came along, going to a picnic. Ma, it did! I saw Uncle Eben talking to a policeman on the corner, and then the policeman came down and looked at us awhile. We wasn't doing anything. Did you know my waist burns better than my trousers? I think there must be better stuff in it. Pa put me out with a rug.
I can't write much more to-night, 'cause they've just boosted me into bed. I could have got in myself, but Pa seemed to want to lift. Don't pay any attention to what he writes, nor Aunt Lou, or Sis. They are all scart. I think Carlo will have to gargle his throat with something, he has barked so much. I never saw a cat stick under a barn like Sis's has. I think if I was a big striped cat I could do better than stay under a dark barn on such a day as this. Aunt Lou said she wished to goodness she was small enough to get under the barn too, so I pried out another stone, and told her she could get under now, but I guess she didn't—at least I didn't miss her. I guess she was glad she didn't, too, 'cause if she had she wouldn't have seen me burn. My straw hat staid in the box, and it mostly went. Good-night. I hear the milkman and Uncle Eben talking very serious with Pa out at the gate. Guess they must be discussing politics. I must close. Don't worry about me, 'cause I'm all out and getting 'most cool.
Your dutiful son, Willie.
The delegates to the National I.S.A.A.A.A. held a meeting in the evening after the championship games, and transacted much important business. One of the most prominent subjects of discussion was as to whether next year's games should be held in New York or in some other city. The New England delegation was strongly in favor of having the 1897 meeting in Boston or Worcester, but finally accepted the arguments of the better advised; and although they voted against New York on the first ballot, the New England delegates subsequently proposed that the decision to hold the games in this city be made unanimous.
Their principal argument in favor of having next year's meeting in some other city was that the sports would take on too local a color if always held in New York, and more of a national importance if held at the headquarters of the different interscholastic leagues in turn. The A.A.U. has tried this travelling championship business, and has found it unsuccessful. I believe that in the future the A.A.U. championships will be held in New York city, which will eventually become (even if in the minds of outside residents it is not already) the metropolis of sport as well as of commerce.
There is little doubt in the minds of impartial observers that New York is in every respect the best city for any large meeting, such as that of the National I.S.A.A.A.A. New York is easier of access to most of the leagues than is Boston or Trenton or Hartford or Worcester or Philadelphia. It would be out of the question, of course, to hold a National meet in Iowa; but if the championships were made a movable event there would be no just reason why Iowa should not have a chance to welcome the teams as well as Maine or New Jersey. But how many Eastern athletes would go to Cedar Rapids or Sioux City? Very few, I believe.