The Plastic Age

e undergraduates who knew the personnel of virtually every football team in the country, the teams that had played against each other, their relative merits, the various scores, the outstanding

ll, football; even religion and sex, the favorite topics for "bull sessions," could not compete with football, especial

ode the beams," but most of them started out walking, trusting that kind-hearted motorists would pick them up and carry them at least part way to their destination. Although the distances were sometimes great, and although many motorists are not kind, there is no record of any man who ever started for a game not arriving in time for the referee's first whistle. Somehow, by hook or by crook-and it was often by crook-the boys got th

ayed on the Sanford field. What were Sanford's chances? Would Harry Slade, Sanford's great half-back, make All American? "Damn it to hell, he ought to. It'll be

ired men who boasted that they hadn't missed a Sanford-Raleigh game in thirty years. Hundreds of alumni arrived, filling the two ho

s for any amount could be placed with him. Money from Raleigh flowed into his pudgy hands, and he placed it at the odds offered with eager Sanford takers. By the day of the game his safe held thousands of dollars, most of it wagered at five to three, Ra

ine them away, and the whole campus rejoiced with great enthusiasm. Most of the alumni got drunk to show th

ide for them, the normal residents seeking shelter in other dormitories. No man ever objected to resigning his room to a gir

ry rooms and discussed the coming game from every possible angle; and groups of them wandered around the campus, peering into the fraternity houses,

raternity houses but consoled himself with the thought, "Maybe I'll be dancing at the Nu Delt house next year." Then he had a spasm of fright.

se, and as the music ceased, Jack Collings sug

ble, just clear and true; but he had easily made the Glee Club

usical undergraduates, could play both a guitar and a banjo. "Sing that 'I ari

renading girls at a fraternity dance. Couples were strolling out upon the veranda, the girls throwing warm wraps over their shoulders, the men lighting cigarettes

set so well to music by Tod B. Galloway. His

from drea

t sweet sle

inds are b

rs are shin

rom dream

pirit i

me-who

mber-windo

. The couples on the veranda moved quietly to the porch railing, their chatter silent, their attention focused on a group of dim figures standing in the shadow of an elm.

ring airs

k, the sil

mpak od

-thoughts

ingale's

upon h

st die

ed as t

me from t

I faint

ove in ki

ks and eye

cold and w

beats lou

t close to

will brea

oung voice had moved them all. Suddenly a girl on the veranda cried, "Bring him up!" Instantly h

er went up from the freshmen. They caught him and held him fast until the Tuxedo-clad upper-classmen rushed down from th

itively, "I think he's sweet." He was intensely embarrassed, in an agony of confusion-but very happy. The girls liked his clean blondness, his blushes, his startled smile. How long

shoulders were bare; her round white arms waved in excited, graceful gestures; her corn-colored frock wa

eper scarlet. "My clothes

ou look sweet. Take off y

h put his arm around her and began to dance. He could dance, and the girl had sense enough not to talk. She floated in his arm, her slender body close to his. When t

y. She turned her small, glowing face

issed her little red mouth. She clung to him

, honey," s

the hall, upon the veranda, and down the steps. His classmates were waiting

even Carl. When he went to bed that night, he did not think once about the coming football game. Before his eyes floated the girl in the corn-colored frock. He wished he knew her name.... Closer and closer she came to him. He could f

from drea

sweet sleep

..." He fell asleep, repeating "music and moonli

n the air, and the hills still flamed with glorious autumn foliage. The purples, the mauves, the scarlets, the burnt oranges were a little dimmed, a little less

the instructors merely took the roll and dismissed their classes, feeling that honor had been satisfied; but others held their classes throu

with football, I'll-well, I'll probably get a living wage. You had better go before I get to talking about a living wage. It is one of my favorite topics." He waved his hand

; nine tenths of them wore "baa-baa coats," gray jackets lined with sheep's wool. Except for an occasional banner, usually carried by a girl, a

inging, each applauding the other's efforts. The cheering wasn't very good, and the singing was

ection tried its best to go madder, the boys whistling and yelling like possessed demons. Wayne Gifford brought them to attention by holding his hands above his head. He called for

Slade had finished building a slender pyramid of mud, on which he had balanced the ball. The referee

twenty yards of the Sanford line. Shouts of "Score! Score! Score!" went up from the Raleigh rooters, rhythmic, insistent. "Hold 'em! Hold 'em! Fight! Fight!

wo minutes the tension had departed. The rival cheering sections alternated in singing songs, applauded each other vigorously, whistled at a frightened dog that tried to cross the field and nearly lost its mind entirely when called by a thousand

it within Raleigh's twenty-five-yard line. The first time Raleigh held firm, but the second time Slade stepped back

id not the slightest attention to the mad struggle going on a few feet in front of him, droppe

ey waved their arms and shrieked; the men danced up and down, yelled, pounded each other on the back, sometimes wildly embraced-many a woman was kissed by a man she had never seen before and

all to a touch-down after a series of line rushes. Sanford tried desperately

formed into a long line in uneven groups, holding arms, dancing, shouting, winding in and out around the field, between the goal-posts, tossing their hats over the bars, waving their hands at the Sanford men standing despondently in their plac

as flying from the pole, a blue banner with an orange S. Wayne Gifford loosened the ropes. Down fluttered the banner, and the boys reverently took off their hats. Gifford caught the banner before it touched th

anford, mot

uard us, h

arms e

truth up

lleges, mot

er, Sanf

ter-Hai

them, Alling, the other, Jones of the economics department. Hugh was almost literally broken-hearted; the defeat lay on him like an awful sorrow that never could

otball game, not a national calamity. I enjoy the game myself, but why weep over it? I don't thi

ther. They started to make angry r

ite right," he remarked calmly, "quite

y," Hugh told Carl