STORY OF TOM DARE AT THE MARBLE TOURNEY

By HOWARD STEPHENSON

TOM DARE, like many of the other marble champions at Atlantic City, devoted an hour or so every afternoon during his stay to practicing Ringer, the official marble game. When he came thru triumphant in the second day, and was acclaimed champion of his league, he was more determined than ever that nothing should keep him from the national championship.

That evening, in his room at the hotel, champs from other cities kept coming and going. Tom and his new chums, chosen from all parts of the United States, were enjoying a game on the rug. Their chaperons also kept strolling about from this to other rooms of the marble champs, enjoying the boyish excitement and 'fun as much as the boys did themselves.

Mr. Earl insisted that Tom's bedtime must be 9 o'clock every night, the same time his parents enforced at home. A little ruefully Tom wished the other boys good night when the clock struck. Some of them used to staying up to 9:30 and even 10 o'clock, were bound for the room of another lad, where they expected to keep up there practice.

"Say. Dare." asked a freckled-faced youngster named Harold Randolph "let me practice with sweet aggies, will you? I know I could win with that swell smokey." Tom hesitated a moment. Then he decided that it would be all right. "Be sure you take good care of them," he called after Harold, as the latter ran down the hall.

"You bet your life I will," Harold called back. Thinking no more of it, Tom turned in for a refreshing night's sleep.

* * *

IN THE morning, when he reached his hand under his pillow for the little sack, he was scared for a second when it was not there.

Then he remembered. Harold would have the aggies at the marble rings. An hour later, he was running up the beach, joyfully, to overtake Harold. "Hey, there, Freckles," Tom called after him, "where's my aggies?"

"Oh, didn't that kid give them to you?"

Tom's heart stood still. He turned pale. "wh-what kid?" he stammered.

Harold Randolph also was dismayed. "Why, Alfred, you know, that kid from league, the kid in the room next to you down the hall."

"The kid down the hall! Golly, Ned, Freckles!"

"Why sure. What's wrong?

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I creamed him yesterday and kept him out of semi-finals.”

“Sorry Tom. I saw him up in my room later, and he said he was a friend of yours. So, when he asked me for your aggies, when it was time for bed. I thought he was just next door and . . . why, kid, what's the matter with you? You look sick."

* * *

TOM was sick. The morning of the semi-finals and his LUCKY aggies GONE! Without waiting to explain to Harold Randolph, he raced down the sands to the bleachers. White-faced he approached Mr. Earl, and explained the loss of the marbles to him. Mr. Earl was worried, too.

"You stay right here and I'll see what I can do," Mr. Earl said. He strode off rapidly. There was nothing for Tom to do but wait. Silently he sat on the top seat of the bleachers, his back to the marble rings. He looked out at the ocean, sweeping restlessly, upon the beach. Yet the great expanse of waters seemed to calm him. A tear stole down his cheek, and he brushed. Those were my best aggies. The aggie that I won my first tournament at school, the one that took me through the districts, the one that I won the City Marbles Tournament with – gone. The beautiful ‘smokey’ my dad gave me – gone. That expensive aggie Skinny gave me – gone. How would I explain it to Skinny? How would I tell my dad? How can I shoot a game without my lucky aggie?

"I'm going anyway...... he was resolving, “I’ll find that kid who took my marbles.”

Tom raced up the steps to the boardwalk. The crowds had already formed and he could hardly move through all the people. His last glance down at Ringer Stadium showed the games were in play. Tom didn’t have much time left before his first game was up. He had to find the kid who took his LUCKY agates. Tom no longer cared for anything but his LUCKY agates.

(To Be Continued)