People's Pilot, Volume 4, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 January 1895 — A FOOTBALL HERO [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A FOOTBALL HERO

I T was a grent J cross to Mr. and I Mrs. Bartlett \ that Roger was A apparently quite ij. devoid of a>obition. Theirt v/O elder boys were 'Kj so utterly different. Fred had <VQ been graduated £jr from Yale with ■ highest honors, |f and Horace was im making remarkable progress at the scientific

school; in fact, they were both exceptionally iine students, which made the contrast all the more striking. For Roger was remarkably unlike his brothers. He seemed to labor under the impression that he had been sent to college simply and solely for the purpose of learning to play football. Apparently nothin? else had power to kindle the slightest enthusiasm in his sluggish b.-east, and his father an l mother argued and expostulated with him in vain. “Is there any prospective benefit to be derived from these hours spent in scrabbling after a football?” bis father questioned, severely; to which Roger merely responded in his usual off-hand style, “who knows but I may be elected captain of the ’varsity team next year?” “Is that the height of your ambition?” his parent returned bitterly. “1 am terribly disappointed in you, sir. I had hoped to make a professional man of yo u, not a professional athlete, and had even aspired to seeing you some day in our leading law office with my old friend, Wilkinson Smalley, but it's no use. Smalley wants only young men of the highest promise,” and Mr. Bartlett sighed wearily. “It does no good to talk to Roger,” lie confided to his wife afterward, for hardly ten minutes had elapsed after I had been remonstrating with him about the evils of football before lie inquired if I wouldn’t bring you down to see the game on Saturday, and informed me that he had saved two tickets for us.” Mrs. Bartlet regarded her husband helplessly. “What did you say to him then?” she queried. “I told lam ‘certainly not,’ " Mr. Bartlett exclaimed, “and I expressed my surprise at his daring to suggest such a thing. Show me some lasting benefit, or any abiding good, that is lo be derived from /this ridiculous game, I told him, and then come to me to abet you in such folly, but not till then.” And so Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett failed to witness that memorable game in which their youngest son gained for himself such enviable laurels. Once in the field, Roger was like one transformed. Keen, alert, cool, rising splendidly to every emergency, no one would have known him for the same slow, indifferent, easy-going specimen of humanity who grieved the ambitious souls of his parents by his small aptitude for Greek. The great game over, the- victorious team hastened back to their gymnasium with all possible speed; they had some little distance to go, as the gymnasium was not very near the ball

IN AN INSTANT HE nAl> TACKLED HIM. grounds, so that in order to reach it they were obliged to traverse the center of the town and cross, the railroad tracks. Roger, who had been detained a moment or so longer than the others, reached the station a short time after they had crossed, and found the platforms crowded with people who were returning from the game, mingled with those who were alighting from incoming trains. As he stepped upon the platform he became conscious that something un usual was going on, and ha immediately perceived that the eyes of the multitude were riveted upon a figure half-way across the tracks, a figure pans ng there in be wildertneat. ‘There's a train coming each way,” somebody gasped; “why doesn't he get off the track?” The station agent and ene or tw». other officials were shouting loudly, but the man, who was old and very deaf, appeared thoroughly daze l. As he was prepared to step on the trade nearest him he had caught sight of Vine train coming down upon him, and he now staggered back and was about to plunge in front of the other downcoming express, when suddenly something very unexpected happened. At the crp'.v t of bystau iers shrank

back with horTor-otrlcko faces, cor** viaced that they were about to witness the horrible fata which raur.t instantly overtake the old mart, r, figure In a much-begrimed canvas jacket sprang out from among them, and clearing the tracks at a bound alighted beside the swaying form of the other.

A shudder, and a wave of pitiful regret swept over the motionless crowd. “He can never drag him back In time," they breathed: “they will both be killed—oh, the pity of it.” But our football man had no thought of dragging the unsteady figure in front of either approaching engine. In an instant he had tackled the man and thrown him fiat upon the ground between the tracks, for all the world quite as if he had been an opponent on the football field; then he dropped lightly on top of him and lay there motionless, while the two trains thundered past on each side of them, and the crowd stood waiting spell-bound. In much less time than it takes to describe the episode it was over, and what might have been a tragedy had proved to be only a bit of melodrama after all; yet as Roger jumped up and pulled the old man on to his feet, applause and cheers louder than any that bad greeted him on tho football field rang in his ears. Abashed and quito overwhelmed by such an ovation Roger made haste to elbow his way through the crowd, and in so doing nearly overthrew his own brother Fred, who happened to be standing directly in liis path. “For heaven’s sake was that yon, Roger?” he cried, confronting him in astonishment. “Do let me get out of this,” his brother responded impatiently, “they needn’t make such a fuss because I knocked the old duffer over,” and ho bolted in the direction of the gymnasium. Saturday nights generally brought the scattered member > of the Bartlett family together, as the collegians always made a point of coming home to spend Sunday under the parental roof tree. On this particular Saturday evening all were assembled before Roger came in. Fred was all agog to describe tho scene that he had witnessed, but he unselfishly held his tongue. “I’ll not spoil his story for him, but will give him a chance to do justice to it,” he mentally ejaculated, as he watched his brother swallowing his soup with unruffled composure. But Roger said nothing upon the vital subject, and Ired looked at him with increasing surprise as he judicially set forth the respective merits of the opposing football teams, and called attention to their most vulnerable points. “I ll turn in early to-night, I think,” he yawned, as he withdrew from the dining room. “I put pretty solid work into the last half of that game,” and he leisurely wended his way upstairs.

“I wish that Roger would put a little solid work into soraetning else,” his father volunteered, as he disappeared from the room. At this, Fred, who had in times past repeatedly scoffed at his brother’s athletic proclivities, instantly fired up. “Father,” he burst forth, “you’re making a big mistake about Roger. He’s got more genuine stuff in him than all the rest of us put together, and if it’s football that’s done it, the sooner that we all go in for the game the better,” and then he proceeded to give a graphic account of the afternoon’s experience, which caused his father to blow his nose loudly and repeatedly, while his eyes glistened with happy pride, and sent his mother weeping in search of the sleepy athlete, who couldn’t understand what he had done that was worth making such a fuss about. A few days later Mr. Bartlett received a note from his old friend, Wilkinson Smalley, which ran somewhat as follows: Dear Bautlictt-»I hear that your Ro;er is proinr in lor the law. aad if so I want him When t. 1 ' nets through with the law school you can hana him over to mi for he is Just th i material that I’m on the lookout for, an 1 you may well be proud of him. Ho scared mo out of a yovr’s growth the other afternoon, at the station, the young ras.al, but In spite of that, I wish you would tell him to come round and take dinner with me some night, for I want to talk to him With kind regards to Mrs Bartlett, believe me, ever your friend Wilkinson Smallkt. When Roger came home the following Saturday, liis father handed him the note remarking: “I’m afraid I haven't appreciated your football, old man, but I’m going to do better in the future; and, by the way, Roger, I hear that you're to play in the game at Springfield next week; is that so?” Roger nodded. “Very well, then,” Mr. Bartlett continued, “your mother and I would like to 1 have you get us the best seats that can be bought, for we’ve set our hearts upon going up to see you make the first touchdown, ” —Boston Transcript.