"
"I dare say that it was his chief motive in going to college," I
interjected, a little indignantly.
"I really think it was," she murmured, with sweet maternal sympathy.
"I shall live though in constant dread until it is over and done with."
"What is over and done with?"
"The Harvard-Yale foot-ball match. It's on account of that he's been
so anxious to belong. And, Fred, he said to me the other day that if
he was chosen, he hoped that we would go to Springfield to see the
game. It is terrible to think that I might see him killed before my
eyes, but he is set on our going."
"It is all a piece of infernal nonsense," I remarked, with majestic
dignity; nevertheless, the idea did not strike me as a bad one. To
tell the truth, I was beginning to be curious to see this game, which,
according to the views of my eldest son, was the greatest game of the
day, and to those of Horace Plympton a barbaric spectacle.
And now befell me a curious experience; at least it seemed to me such.
I found that I, who, though considered an industrious and painstaking
lawyer, have never awakened any especial interest in the community, had
acquired lustre and importance by virtue of the circumstance that I had
a son on the University foot-ball eleven. College graduates of various
ages, who had hitherto classed me with the general run of their
acquaintance, grew suddenly cordial and congratulatory in their manner,
and I had the satisfaction of reading in the public prints an item to
the effect that Frederick ----, the father of the well-known half-back
of the Harvard University foot-ball eleven, had recently visited New
York for a few days.
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