Patsy

staggered back to the circle with it. Hello, kid, said Fosgill. That's pretty heavy for you, isn't it? Nah? Was the superb reply. That ain't nothin. We laughed, and the youngster grinned around at us in a companionable way that won us on the spot. What's your name, asked Rhonomus. Patsy, Patsy, what burns? How old are you? Lavin? You're a Frenchman, aren't you? Nah? You're not? Rhonemus pretended intense surprise. He's a Dutchman, aren't you, Patsy, said Mosher, Nah, what are you?

Then Mucker answered Patsy with a grin. For the rest of that day, and from many days afterwards, Patsy honored us with his presence. After each put he ambled forth, lifted the metal ball from the ground with two dirty little hands, snuggled it against the front of his dirty little shirt, and labored back with it. At the end of the week, Patsy had become official helper. He was a diminutive wisp of humanity, a starved, slender elf with a freckled face whizzened and peaked, which at times looked

a thousand years old. It reminded you of the face of one of those preternaturally aged monkeys that sit motionless in a dark corner of the cage, oppressed with the sins and sorrows of a hundred centuries. And yet it mustn't be supposed that Patsy was either a pessimist or a misanthrope. Patsy's gray irish eye could sparkle merrily, and his thin, little irish mouth usually wore a whimsical smile.

It was as though he realized that life was but a hollow mockery, and yet had bravely resolved to pretend otherwise, that we young and innocent might still preserve our cherished illusions. We made a good deal of Patsy. We pretended that he was very, very old and sophisticated, not a difficult task, and deferred to his judgment on all occasions. But in spite of this, Patsy never became fresh. To be sure, he speedily began calling Fosgill Bull, but I don't think

he meant the slightest disrespect. Everyone called the big fellow bull, and it is quite possible that Patsy believed it to be a title of honor. He was attentive to all of us, but his heart was fos Gill's. He used to wait outside the locker building until we came out after dressing, and then walked beside Fosgill until he reached the square. Then Patsy would say good night, Bull, and Fosgill would answer gravely, good night Patsy, and Patsy would disappear.

But the evening of the Handicaps we took him back to the boarding house with us, and he sat beside Fosgill and eat ravenously of everything placed before him. We learned Patsy's life story. That evening he went to school. Generally he lived with Brian. Brian was his brother, eighteen years old and a man of business. Brian drove for Connors, the teamster. Patsy wasn't sure that he had ever had a mother, but he was absolutely certain about his father.

He still had vivid recollections of the night they broke down the door and put handcuffs on father after father had laid out the lieutenant with a chair. Patsy didn't know just what father had done, but he had an idea. It was something regarding the disappearance of numerous suits of clothes from a tailor's shop. Patsy was going into business himself, just as soon as they let him stop school. He

was going to sell papers. He had tried several times to wean himself from education, but each time they hailed him back to the schoolhouse. Patsy thought the thing was terribly wrong. When the snow covered the field, we saw Patsy only occasionally in the spring. We got to work early. We believed we had a good show to win the duel that year, and a fighting chance at the intercollegiate. We were strong on the sprints and distances, fair at the jumps and hurdles, and rather weak at the waits.

We had a good man in Fossgill at the shot put, but that's about all. Along in May, we had it doped out that if we could get first in the shot put, we could win out by a point or two. But there wasn't anything certain about it, for our opponent was strong on second, near second and third place men. Patsy appeared with the first warm day, looking thinner and

littler and older than ever. That first day, the assistant manager was holding the tape for us, and it occurred to him to pick up the shot and toss it back, but he did it only once. The next time, Patsy was astraddle that sixteen pound lump and was looking the assistant manager sternly in the eye. I'm doing this, said Patsy. After that he did it, and no one disputed his right. When the gates were closed and the fellows had to show their h A A tickets to get in, Patsy

was admitted without question. When all the other youngsters for miles around were gluing their faces to the iron fence watching the baseball games, Patsy's allegiance never faltered. He was somewhere around Fosgille, regarding that hero with worshiping gaze. It was in May I think that Patsy made his great resolution. He confided it to us on the steps of the locker building when we were waiting for one of the crowd. I've decided not to go into business, said Patsy. What

are you going to do, asked Billy Allen. I'm going to college, replied Patsy easily. I'm going to be a shot putter. Good for you, kid, said Billy. What college you're going to? Billy winked at us, and we watched eagerly while Patsy's countenance took on its expression of lofty contempt. Huh, said Patsy. That was all, but that eloquent, monosyllable consigned all other colleges than ours to the nethermost regions. But you'll have to go to school a long time, Patsy said,

I if you expect to get into college, yep. I know it's tough, but I guess I can do it. Buzz, was it hard for you? I was forced to acknowledge that it had been. And you ain't much of a shot putter either, said Patsy reflectively. Fosskill had done forty two eight and a half that afternoon, and we were feeling pretty hopeful and good natured. After dinner, someone mentioned Patsy, and Mosher spoke up. Say, fellows, let's see that little cuss does get into college. What do you say I'll go, you,

cried Foskill. He's an all right kid, is Patsy, and he deserves something better than spending his life on the streets. We'll adopt him, sure thing, said Alan, But we'll have our hands full. And what's to happen when we leave college. We'll get someone to look after him. We'll have a talk with Brother Bryan about it. But say, bull, imagine Patsy putting the shot. We laughed at that, which we

wouldn't have done if Patsy had been there. Well, I guess he won't make much of a show at athletics, said I. But if we keep him off the streets, we'll be doing a whole lot. And I like Patsy. We all did, and before we left the table that night, we had the thing mapped out. Patsy was to be cared for and looked after. He was to finish grammar school, go to Latin school and then to Harvard, and there

were to be funds where they'd do good. Yes, we had it all fixed up for Patsy, and we'd have done it just as planned if Patsy hadn't gone and spoiled it all. And it happened like this. When the duel meet came along in June, we were all to the good. We couldn't see how we were going to lose first in anything except the quarter, the high hurdles, the hammer throw, and the broad jump, and we had

enough seconds and thirds in sight to make good. If bull Fosgill could beat Tanner with the shot, we were it. That's the way we had the situation sized up. But of course things don't happen just as expected. They seldom doing athletics. Some of the firsts we had claimed went glimmering, and we took in seconds and thirds where we hadn't expected them. But the final result was just about what we had figured it. And along toward five o'clock the meat depended on the outcome of one event, and that

event was the shot put. To be sure, they were still fussing with a pole vault, but we were certain of first and third places and so could discount that, by some freak of fortune, I had managed to qualify with a put thirty eight one and a half. There were four of us in the finals, Foskill, Tanner and Bert of the enemy and I. Of course. Patsy was there, and he worked like a trojan. You could see though that it went against the grain with him to fetch

for our opponents. Patsy had a good deal of that primeual left in him, and it's safe to say that no one there was more interested. I don't think he doubted for a moment that Foskill would win, and I fancy he thought me pretty cheeky for aspiring. So far as the final round, Foskill was ahead with forty one ten and a half, Tanner had done three inches under that, and Bert and I were fighting along for third place, doing around thirty eight six. It was pretty close work,

and even the officials were excited. We had finished one round when the accident occurred. Tanner was in the circle, Foskill was down near the end of the tape, and Patsy was close behind him. Tanner hopped across the circle, overstepped, falling the put, and sent the shot away at a tangent. Fosgill had turned his head to speak to the measurer and never saw his danger. Tanner let out a shout of warning, and the others echoed it, but it was Patsy who acted. He threw himself like a little catapult

at Fosgill and sent him staggering across the turf. Then Patsy and the shot went down together. It was all beastly, sudden and nasty. When we bent over that poor little kid, he was sort of greenish white, and I'll never forget the way his freckles stood out. The shot had struck him on the breast, and Patsy's weak little bones had just crushed in. Well, we did all we could, put him in a carriage at the gate and rushed him

to the hospital. He was still breathing, but the doctor said he never knew anything after the shot struck him, not until evening. Well, we were all frightfully cut up, and Tanner sat down on the ground and nearly Faintedsgill kept saying, poor little Patsy, poor little kid, half alowed and walking around in circles. He wanted to go to the hospital with him, but we told him he could do no good, and we each still had two puts.

After a while, we got our nerve back after a fashion and went on, but thunder not one of us was worth a hang. I did thirty six and thirty seven eleven and one third place. At that neither Fosgill nor Tanner equalled his first records, and the event went to Bull at the ridiculous figures of forty one ten and a half. We got the meet by four and a half points. It was almost six o'clock by that time, and Fosgill and I and three others piled into Alien's

auto and raced up to the hospital. They had just taken Patsy off the operating table and put him to bed. The doctor told us that the examination showed that there was nothing to be done. The heart had been injured and was liable to stop work any moment. Fosgill got the doctor to promise to call him up on the if Patsy showed any signs of consciousness, and he left

orders that everything possible was to be done. Tanner had begged us to look after the kid and let him pay everything, but though we promised, we hadn't any idea of doing it. Patsy was our kid. We went back to training table, but we were a low spirited lot, and just when we were finishing dinner, the call came from the hospital. We made a record trip in Billie's machine, and when we tiptoed into the accident ward, the nurse

smiled at us, and so did Patsy. He was a pathetic looking little wisp as he lay there with the bedclothes lifted away from his body, but he smiled and moved his head a bit on the pillow. Fosgill sat down at the head of the cot and leaned over his mouth all a tremble. Hello bull, whispered Patsy. Hello, Patsy answered Fosgill, trying to smile. Did you beat him? Yes, Patsy, I knew you would, I told him so. He glanced at me. Did you beat that other trap? I nodded,

and Patsy looked at me with a new respect. Good for you, he whispered, Are you does it hurt much? Patsy asked Fosgill, No, not much. That's good. We'll have you all before long. Patsy grinned, shut up. He whispered, you can't fool me. Bull, I'm a corner. Fosgill muttered something, and Patsy's eyes brightened. Bull He whispered, do you think I had a mother like other kids? I know he did, Patsy. That's good, sighed the kid happily. I guess maybe i'll

see her where I'm going. You saved my life, Patsy muttered Fosgill. And there is nothing I can do for you. I wish. Oh, it's a shame, kid. Huh. I'm glad, Bull, I'd have done most anything for you. Bull, You've been good to me, so's the others. And he closed his eyes wearily for a moment. Then do you think, he asked, slowly, I could have learned to put the shot? Bull some day, Yes, answered Foscolle surdily, you had the making of a great shot put or Patsy, you'd have made a record for yourself.

I'll bet are you kidding me? Bull? No, Patsy, I'll leave it to the others, isn't it so? Fellows? We nodded vehemently, and Patsy closed his eyes with a smile of ineffable content on his little face. Presently, the eyes flickered open again. Anyhow, he said, quite strongly, and with an approach to his old air of self importance. Anyhow, I guess I won for Harvard to day. Huh, Yes you did, Patsy answered Fosgill. We got you to thank for it, dear little kid. Patsy smiled. Then goodbye, Bo,

he said, very softly, his eyes half closed. We waited in silence while the moments crept by, but Patsy didn't speak again. End of Patsy by Ralph Henry Barbour