The Mexia Weekly Herald (Mexia, Tex.), Vol. 12, Ed. 1 Thursday, December 14, 1911 Page: 4 of 16
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down the hills laughing, chatting, congratulat-
ing each other upon their pretty gifts, while
the trembling old man stood near the hemlock,
between Elsie and the schoolmaster, watching
them until fairly out of sight. i
"We must go now, my friend," said the
schoolmaster, extending his hand, "for I prom-
ised this little girl's mother to take her home
Elsie clung to Old Pop's hand.
"Come with us," she urged; "do come; we
cannot go and leave you here alone on these
"But I am not alone, any more, my child,"
said the old man, gently stroking Elsie's curls
as He spoke.
"Oh, I am so glad. I shall love the dear
•Christ-child more than ever now!" cried Elsie.
"I knew He would come to you on Christmas
eve. But you won't surely stay here by your-
self now that everybody will love you?"
"Yes, everybody? why not? But why do you
always call me 'child'? My name is Elsie."
The hermit gave a sjiarp cry, and would have
fallen had not the schoolmaster held him with
his strong arm.
"Elsie," he repeated, in a whining voice, as
they led him into the warm hut, "I—I had a
little one called Elsie once; where is she? Oh,
she is gone, gone 1"
Raising his head, he looked yearningly into
the child's face. He shook his head.
"No, no; not like my Elsie—she was taller—
her eyes were darker—black hair—she was all
I had—but she left me. She did come back
once, but I drove her away; and then, then,"
he continued raising his voice almost to a
scream, "she died; died alone and uncared for;
110 friend, 110 not one to—" ,
He stopped short, glaring wildly upon them.
"Oh!" cried Elsie shudderingly, "do not look
so. Speak to me—speak to me—for the dear
Christ-child's sake do not look so 1"
The schoolmaster bent over him soothingly,
MV frtPTlH ClnrI tXTl.--
4 y ' ■ J «V4 w *U UVMIV UUilll
for this trouble if you will wait the time. Come
with us; come."
^The old man bowed his head upon Elsie's
shoulder, sobbing like a little child.
"Poor Old Pop," she murnHired, patting his
arm softly. "There now, you will come; I
know you will. Mother will be so good, so
kind to you—she is to everybody, though she
has never seen you. Say you'll come; it's too
"Elsie," shouted the schoolmaster, who had
walked to the door for an instant, "there is
your mother coming up the hill. Your long ab-
sence has alarmed her."
Elsie gave a joyous cry. "Oh, I am so glad
she is coming. Now you will see mother," she
whispered to the old man, in a tone that im-
plied that "seeing mother" .was a balm for
every earthy iU.
"Come in," said the schoolmaster, holding
wide the door. "Elsie is here, safe with her
friends; forgive me for not taking her „to you
long ago. But how did you find us?"
"The village boys showed me the way,"
jmutcu ilic MiyMICl flUhllCU Willi tier iapiu
walk over the hills, she walked up to Elsie,
throwing a quick lobk of curiosity upon the old
man as she spoke.
He raised his head suddenly1'at the voice.
"Elsie," spoke the mother, "who is this.
"Who? Mother, why Old Pop, that used to
chase us children, you know, but he s real good
now. I love him ever so much.
Advancing toward Old Pop with outstretch-
ed hands and frank cordiality, Mrs. Brown, in
a few kind and fitting words, invited him to
Christmas dinner in her home.
Tfie od hermit- declined, tearfully blushing,
and thanking Mrs. Brown, but she and the
schoolmaster insisted and Else pleaded, until
the old fellow finally gave his consent, how-
ever, not until he had a promise from ft r .
Brown that the schoolmaster should also be a
guest at the Christmas dinner.
As all shook hands, to meet at the festive
board the next day, it was a truly happy seepe
touched with pathos, when Elsie kissed Old
Pop and he felt in each of his roughened hands
fiii-* nrprm pjocn rif flip schoolmaster and Mrs.
"It was the Christ-child, mother," cried Elsie
as they tripped home together hand-in-hand.
"It was the Christ-child!"
GREAT MOMENTS OF FOOTBALL in December American
YALE is behind. Through the late
November afternoon of gray sky and
raw wind she has fought as only Yalfl
can. But it has been a useless fight-
Princeton is ahead. If we did not kn<)vfl
the score, a t ig blackboard over the south
stand would have told us that the Tiger had
made three points while successfully fighting
off all attacks at his goal. And now dusk is
falling; the sky is yellowing; to the west, be-
yond Yale's cheering section, the Gothic tow-
ers of Princeton have taken on a cold luster.
Soon time will be up. The teams are well into
the second half. Comes the blaring of a band,
a waving of arms by the cheer leaders, and the
crowd on either side of the field, in a succes-
sion of great waves, beginning at the lower
seats, surges to its feet.
Past the center of the gridiron, picked out
clearly in the level light, a confusion of men,
all tense and alert, is crouched. On the
ground, partly hidden, lies the ball, yellow
and oval. At a signal Howe leaves his posi-
tion at quarterback and drops behind his line
—Yale is about to bunt. Then the ball
passes between the thick legs of the center,
is caught, poised on a readv hand, dropped
to a swinging foot, and as if released by some
mighty coil of wire goes thumping away in a
Over many chalk lines it sweeps in a spin-
ning parabola. Down in Princeton territory
ready to make his catch waits th# feet Pen-
dleton. Toward him, the Yale ends and
tackles are racing. Cross field two Princeton
backs are hurrying to his aid. But Pendleton's
eyes are only on the ball, now descending in
a swift bolt. Skilfully he cups his arms, hears
the slap of the leather against his body and
with the instinct of a star half-back gets into
motion instantly. Veering to him from the
sidelines, the bulky Kilpatrick is rushing to
make his tackle. So Pendleton swings bacl to-
ward his own goal, cutting"" wider to the left.
But. Kilpatrick, with the ability peculiar to
some few heavy men, as quickly changes his
course, cuts off Pendleton and dives fiercely
with extended arms and rigid body. It is a vic-
ious tackle and backward they pitch. Tnto the
hard turf their bodies grind and the ball jump-
ing from Pendleton's arms goes bobbing to-
ward Princeton's goal. Both teams give per-
suit and on the twenty-seven-yard line it is
hidden under a pile of men. Then the referee's
wistle pipes shrilly and when the pile disinte-
grates, it is Scully, a Yale tackle, who clutches
the ball to his chest.
It is Yale's chance to score. The measured
cheering of the stands has become a tumult—
"Touchdown Yale!" "Hold 'em, Princeton!"
Again tlje ball passes; the melee forms; a
smashing battering formation at center; a
rending of canvas, a thumping of bodies, a re-
volving, pushing, pulling, fighting mass that
sways and slowly collapses. But Baker has
gained only two yards and the steady "Hold
cm Princeton!" seems more hopeful.
Yale has been unable to pierce the Tiger
line. They will lose the ball on downs. They
will lose the game too. This Yale knows;
Howe, the quarterback, knows it; the tired men
who obey his commands know it. Also they
know that the game must be thrown on one
chance. Princeton must be taken by surprise.
They gather about Howe, hear a whispered
caution and hurry back to their positions. The
plan that they have decided upon is risky, per-
haps foolhardy. Its execution requires nerve.
Every Yale man knows that and knows the
part he must play. Yale's chances of victory
depend 011 him. The slightest clog in the deli-
cate mechanism—a glance to the left, reveal-
ing the point of attack—and Yale's chance is
The ball is near the sidelines; it is an awk-
ward position, yet a kick is the only logical
move. Suddenly Howe and Raker drop back
of the scrimmage as if to try a goal from
placement. An odd silence takes the stands. A
field goal and Princeton will he tied.
"Block it!" the hoarse command runs down
the Princeton line.
The forewards crouch closer to the ground
and gather to meet the trriffic shock of the
charge. Standing behind the line, his arms
outstretched, is Baker. Beside him, on one
knee, ready to poise the ball, is Howe and he
watches the wide backs in front of him. A
Yale guard is playing a trifle too far away
from Ms center. Howe calls to him. The
guard closes the gap. Then Howe's arm raises,
ever so slightly, and in response comes the ball.
Instantly Howe jumps to his feet and takes
the pass. Baker darts forward to protect him.
Seeing he has been tricked, the Tiger fights
desperately. Two of his forwards break
'through and storm down upon Howe, sweeping
aside the Yale backs like so much grain. Then
he is about to make a forward pass they per-
ceive. He retreats backward, holding the ball
overhead. His position is as dangerous as it is
awkward. He is near the sidelines. Even if he
eludes those charging figures and gets off his
pass there is a chance of its going out of
bounds. Now they are upon him. Under the
arm of the first he wriggles and, dancing light
ly to the left, dodges the other. This brings
him to the sidelines and those standing there
can hear his quick breathing. He draws back
his arm, thrusts it forward and the ball goes
spinning over the meloe above waving hands
and arms. Along the sine lines it shoots, so
close that an excited arm could have reached
out and touched it—over one white line, an-
other, another, into the waiting arms of Kil-
patrick. Entirely unprepared for such an at-
tack, Princeton sees Kilpatrick's bulk fall
across the goal line for a touchdown. Howe
and the something that makes Yale teams a
terriffic fighting unit in a crisis has won.
That happened last year. Something more
equally sensational is apt to be seen today or
tomorrow if Yale is playing. For Arthur
Howe, the hub around which that play re-
volved, is Captain of Yale's eleven this au-
tumn. But that sensational play was only
an example. It was a crisis characteristic
of any big football match. Last year brought,
many similar crisises. This year is likely to
bring many more. It has been said that such
situations give football its popularity. Let us
for a moment consider this popularity before
seeing how some of these situations have been
solved. Football has been called a "class
game." This definition can only be taken to
mean that no professional elevens have been
able to make money out of football. Also,
this definition may have come from the fact
that the game's greatest popularity is attained
in our colleges and universities. Nevertheless,
thousands of dollars are spent every autumn
on the maintenance of elevens and thousands
of people pay more thousands of dollars to
see the "big games." Your average spectator
realizes little of the enormity of the football
campaign made successful or a failure by some
action of one man at one moment during the
game. And only a few understood the rigor
of the weeks and weeks of training; the search
for material; the retinue of coaches, trainers,
rubbers, and what not that have made possible
the crises they enjoy so well. Now perhaps,
we arc better prepared to see some of these
moments acted over again. One of Columbia's
victories in the old days illustrates the point.
In 1905, the last year of football at Columbia
University, the varsity met Amherst. The
first half ended with Columbia in the lead, but
Amhurst rallied and five minutes before the
close of the second period led by 10 to 0.
"Wild Bill" Morley, now a ranch owner in the
Southwest, was the Columbia coach. He lia.l
studied the way the game was going and re-
solved upon a daring and perhaps foolish
chance. Donovan, the regular Columbia quar-
terback, was playing his usual game, steady,
but not brilliant. If left on the field Dono-
van would continue to gain ground consist-
ently but slowly. There were, however,-only
five minutes in which to score and the ball
was on Columbia's 20-yard line—a tedious
march to the Amherst goal. A long 11111, a
new, swift and puzzling attack was needed.
Morley called Donovan to the sideline. He
sent out Eddie Collins, now second base of the
Philadelphia Athletics, to handle the team.
Collins was "green he had been out of prac-
tice ouiy a few days. The Columbia stands
gaped unbelievably when he shook off -his
blanket and darted forth from the bench.
"Why a green man," they asked, "and Co-
Alumni of some years back wagged their
heads dubiously. Not even the men 011 the
team knew what it meant. But Morley knew
that Collins had shown ability as an opQn
field runner. On his first play Collins tried
an end run. He was turned back. He treid
again and made twenty yards. Again lie
raced around Amherst's flank. In four plays
he landed the ball forty yards from the goal.
Morley looked at his watch. It told him there
was time fur one more play. To the,surprise
of everybody, he called Collins to the side-
lines. Morley beckoned and another substi-
tute jumped to his feet. He was Scluiltz. and
while he tagged and pulled at the heavy sweat-
er around his shoulders Morley whispered:
"You've time for one play. Kick that goal,
No one had ever heard of Schultz. He had
tried four years to make the team. Morley
knew that if Schultz could do nothing else,
he could kick. The angle was deceptive; teh
wind was blowing. But Schultz kicked and
the ball spun between the posts just as the
CAN'T SHARE THEIR APPLES.
"I must not put nrnney in my mouth. I
must not bite off bits of my schoolmate's ap-
ple. I must not drink from my schoolmate's
cup. I must not use my schoolmate's pencil.
1 must not put anything near my mouth
which hai3 besn in or about another parson's
Those are amoung the rules that have been
pasted in the backs of' school book.- 'or pupils
in the McAlcster public schools. They arc
a part of a system recently inaugurated by
Dr. J. \V. Echols, physician at the state peni-
tentiary there, whereby the spread of tubercu-
losis is to be prevented among school chil-
dren. .The children are organized into
"Schcol Health Clubs" and each member is
supplied with a list of don'ts that are to be
pasted in sehoolbooks.
An important movement is b;ing made to
promote irrigation in Cuba at an expenditure
There a coach changed the aspect of a game.
Before, we saw how Yale, the team, rallied
and also saved a game. All of which would
hint that crisis on the football field are met
in different ways.
To clarify this, let us divide into three gen-
First: The team meeting the crisis.
Secoud : The coach meeting the crisis.
Third : The player meeting the crisis.
In the first group will come instances where
eleven men have worked in unison, executing
an effective and particularly daring play at
the turning point in the game. Also will fall
there instances of teams, who, goaded by a
coach's speech, have returned to the field for
the second half, playing with a fierceness and
purpose all in contrast to a lackadaisical open-
ing period. In the second group belongs
Morley, playing the game from the sidelines;
in the third the player meeting the crisis.
We have seen examples of these first two
groupings. Let us see an incident from the
third group—how one man changed a game.
In 1904 the Army and Navy had unusually
strong teams. The Army had beaten Yale;
the Navv, Princeton. So, as expected, the
Army-Navy game on Franklin Field that year
was very close. First one team then the other
would rush the ball for short gains, only to be
forced to kick before a stiffening defense. Fin-
ally, the Army found themselves on tlitir own
25-yard line. They tried to rush and failed. .
They had to kick. Back of the center, his arms
outstretched, stood Torney, the Army full-
back. His hands moved, signaling Tipton to
pass the ball. Tipton obeyed, sprang forward,
and began racing down the field. As he ran
he heard Torney's foot thump loudly against
the blown leather. Cdancing quickly over his
shoulder he saw the ball begin to describe a
great twisting arc. Also, he saw that he had
beaten his own ends in the chase toward Nor-
ton, quarterback of the Navy team.
Norton awaited the ball. With one eye he
watched its descent; the other was upon big
Tipton, whom lie saw plunging nearer and
nearer like some raging engine. Norton gave
a sudden nervous look. Tipton was almost up-
on him. His face twitched; his hands began
to shake, and when the ball spun down in a
swift drop, he fumbled it. .
Instinctively Tipton veered from his Course
and pounded across tjie turf to where the oval
was bobbing. His plan was quick in coming.
He saw he dare not stop and pick up his
quarry. He would kick the ball along until it
rolled across the goal line. There he would
fall 011 it for a touchdown. Never before had
this play been attempted, and as Tipton
pounded along, dribbling the ball with his
foot much like a hockey player carries the
puck with his stick, the crowd watched silently,
so queer was it all. Nearer and nearer to the
goal raced Tipton. Before him, back and forth
across the field, skidded and rolled a football
in response to jerky kicks. Behind him
streamed Army and Navy players in broken
pursuit. Then the ball bounded over to the
corner of the gridiron where the lines meet,
stood on end, wobbled a moment and fell over.
Tipton, leaped upon it and hid it with his body.
Upon the score-board a shiny black plate bear-
ing a big "Touchdown" dropped into place op-
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Houx, N. P. The Mexia Weekly Herald (Mexia, Tex.), Vol. 12, Ed. 1 Thursday, December 14, 1911, newspaper, December 14, 1911; Mexia, Texas. (texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth302362/m1/4/: accessed April 30, 2017), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Gibbs Memorial Library.