“A Gilbertian idea, to say the least,” I smiled. “Why not set the whole court to playing squat-tag?”
“There was step-tag, too,” said Old Hundred. “Remember that? The boy or girl who was It shut his eyes and counted ten. Then he opened his eyes suddenly, and if he saw any part of you moving you became It. On 'ten' you tried to freeze into stiffness. We must have struck some funny attitudes.”
“Attitudes,” said I, “that was another game. Somebody said 'fear' or 'cat' or 'geography,' and you had to assume an attitude expressive of the word. The girls liked that game.”
“Oh, the girls always liked games where they could show off or get personal attention,” replied Old Hundred. “They liked hide-and-seek because you came after them, or because you took one of 'em and went off with her alone to hide behind the wood-shed. They liked kissing games best, though—drop-the-handkerchief and post-office.”
“Those weren't recess games,” I amended. “Those were party games. You played them when you had your best clothes on, which entirely changed your mental attitude, anyhow. When a girl dropped the handkerchief behind you, you had to chase her and kiss her if you could, and when you got a letter in post-office you had to go into the next room and be kissed. Everybody tittered at you when you came back.”
“Well, soak and scrub were recess games, anyhow. I can hear that glad yell, 'Scrub one!' rising from the first boy who burst out of the school-house door. Then there were dare-base, and foot-ball, which we used to play with an old bladder, or at best a round, black rubber ball, not one of these modern leather lemons. We used to kick it, too. I don't remember tackling and rushing, till we got older and went to prep school—or you and I went to prep school.”
“I'd hate to have been tackled on the old school playground,” said I. “It was hard as rocks.”
“It was rocks,” said Old Hundred. “You could spin a top on it anywhere.”
“Could you spin a top now?” I asked.
“Sure!” said Old Hundred. “And pop at a snapper, too.”