Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 70: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

860 He pulls out a pair of African jumping beans and rattles ’em in his hands. “ Dost thee crave action for thy bank roll?” says he. “Not just now,” I says, it not being according to Hoyle for a football coach to get that chummy with a student. “ But thee needn’t worry, Ill get thee for thy sox one of thine days.” If there’s one thing T can do it’s roll the bones. I can hand a bird his own language, too, when I want to, and not bat an eyelash doing it. “ How dost thee like thy lingo?” I says, rubbin’ it in. “Not so good, from thee,” says he. “Thee hasn’t the face to go with it.” ‘““Meanin’,” I says, doublin’ my fists, “that I lack a saintly look to my pan?” “Exactly,” says he. “ Thee hast intel- ligence but not benevolence.” Well, I couldn’t get mad at that, it be- ing brains that makes the world go round and not a sweet-cookie expression. Still, I didn’t like this church-talking dude for a little bit. “Just how far are you going?” I says, sticking my chin into his face and itching to put my fists there. ‘““T understood thee was seeking material for thy football squad?” says he. “T am,” says I, giving him the up and down; “ but where’s the material?” That should have knocked him for a row of clam flats, but it didn’t. “Thee are gazing at it,” says he calmly. “Where'd you ever play?” I says, sneer- ing at him. “ That’s the funny part of it,” he says, twirling his cap and smiling; “i never did play.” “You never played football?” I echoed, “and you're goin’ out for Centerville. Don’t you know we beat Harvard last year?” “Sure, I saw the game,” says he. was the first game I ever saw.” ‘An’ after seein’ Boswell Mullings beat Harvard single-handed, you figure you'll come down here, take his place, I suppose, ‘yn’ do it all over again this year *n’ you never even played before?” “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” says he, “ but thee never can tell.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. And right then and there Halibut Haines sald something, Put it down in your note- book, brother—ihee never can tell. Now don’t get me wrong. Don’t run away with the idea that Halibut Haines put on a football unie and went right out on the old gridiron and proved a Dick Merri- well. Would that they came that way, then us coaches might not be so continuaily bordering on a nut factory. Halibut Haines tcok three dives at the tackling dummy and then a swing at me when I jaughed him foolish after every muff. He missed the dummy wider than fielders do Babe Ruth’s home runs. ‘““ Thee art some rotten,” I says, and wig- wagged to Eddie Maloney, third team coach, to add this numbell to his brainless squad, which is the bonafide label for third squads in all colleges. No, Halibut Haines didn’t step onto the ancient gridiron and start performing mir- acles. Instead, he made himself look fool- ish, and Id like to have died at the way he got sore when I gave him the razzberry. Til be frank. Right then I didn’t like him, and was tickled pink to see him skin his nose trying to nab the dummy, which is kindergarten stuff for a football player. But, say, the day came when I kissed that bird—kissed him right on his pan, and would have battled Dempsey had he dared to make a crack about my having done so. Did Halibut Haines become a football player? Oh, baby. Ask me is Ma Tai- madge proud of her daughters. if, To begin with, he wasn’t Halibut Haines to me the day I speak of. I didn’t even know he was nicknamed after a fish. He was Henry Hurlburt Haines, and even that i didn’t know till later, my not taking any interest in him after I passed him along to Maloney. He didn’t look like football ma- terial, you see, so I didn’t care if his name was Ford or Studebaker the minute I found it out. I was facing a tough year. We had trimmed Harvard the year before, and that win had made Centerville and me. I got more writeups after that game than Bella CoOmmcoooks.s.EG©