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The Sunday Times - Akron Times Press

Akron, Ohio Sunday, March 25, 1928

Serial Number Two

STORY  OF  TOM  DARE  AT  THE  MARBLE  TOURNEY

By HOWARD STEPHENSON

READ THIS FIRST: Tom Dare, eight grader at Lincoln School, is disciplined by Principal Stryker for playing marbles for keeps with Willie Alvord. Tom promises Mr. Stryker he will not fight Willie, but goes to the place where they had agreed to fight it out. He does not intend to fight, but decides to be brave enough to meet the jeers of his playmates. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY

Chapter 4

A Chance Meeting

ALL through the day in School Tom Dare had been uneasy. He had given his word the night before that he would fight Willie Alvord, the new pupil in Lincoln School. But later he had promised Principal Stryker that he would not fight. How could he keep his word to both? Tom had his faults like other schoolboys, but he was proud of his honor. He felt that it was especially necessary this time to prove he was a boy of his word, because a cloud was already over him on account of his playing marbles for keeps.

     The boys at Lincoln School had taken a pledge not to gamble. It was only when Willie Alvord stung him by repeated insults that Tom had weakened and consented to play a gambling game. The marble game that Tom and his chums played was "fat," an inferior, game in which luck counted as heavily as skill. Tom was to learn later of the one truly scientific marble game, Ringer.

     But as he walked across Lincoln School playgrounds he thought most of the crowd of boys that he would have to face. He was having an inward struggle with himself. He knew that when he tried to explain that he would not fight because of his promise to the principal, his friends would be ashamed. They would call him coward. Perhaps they would leave him alone, not speak to him. This was the worst possible punishment, and Tom, as his footsteps approached ever nearer the spot in back of the school where quarrels were usually fought out, lead an impulse to turn the other way, to run home. That would have been cowardly indeed. Tom snorted 'with disgust. That such an idea, should enter his mind. No. He would face the music. He would not fight, because, had given his word. Let them all jeer at him, show their disappointment in their friend. As for Willie AIvord, Tom hardly gave him a thought. It was his own honor that was at stake, not a mere victory or defeat in a fight.

     The crowd of a dozen or so schoolboys was gathering. Tom way greeted with a shout. The boys began to tease him, crying: "Oh, Tom. gonna get yours this time."'

*    *    *

"WHAT hospital do you want us to take you to, Tom?" called Skinney Noble, his best friend, with a broad grin.

     Tom, used to such chaffing, threw off his worry and flashed back a simile.

     "Never mind," he said. "I'm ready."

     The boy's shouted with laughter. "What you ready for, Tom? asked Skinny. "Want to fight me? I guess you'll have to, if you're look ing for a scrap.''

     "Why? What's the matter?"

     "Matter enough. The other kid hasn't. Shown up yet."

     "Oh he will, all right. Don't worry about that," said Tom, generous to his foe.

     "He will not," broke in Billy Smith, sixth grader, " I saw him beating it home as soon as school was out."

     "Maybe had an errand or something," Tom defended.

     "Yeh! An errand to the doctor's," said Skinny Noble. "I'm your second in this fight, Tom. We'll give him 10 minutes. If he doesn't show up by that time, the fight's off. Then you're the winner and he's a coward.

     At the shameful word "coward" Tom Dare could not help flinching. He had been thining, only a moment ago, how it would seem to be called that himself.

     "That's not fair," he said. "Maybe Mr. Stryker made him promise not to fight, or something."

     "Oh cried the boys in derision.

*    *    *

TOM smiled to himself. Little they knew how close he had come to finding himself in his enemy's shoes. But he was secretly proud to think that he had the courage to come out and face the gang, even when he was resolved not to fight.

     Ten minutes the waited. 15. 20. half hour. Willie Alvord did not put in an appearance. Finally, Skinny Noble seized Tom's hand and held it over his head.

     "He wins." he shouted, and the other boys echoed: "He wins."

     "No, I don't." Tom said, somewhat angry at himself for delaying this moment so long. "I won't take a win under false colors. I didn't come here to fight. I was going to tell him I wouldn't fight."

     "Aw, Tom's gone crazy," Skinny Noble commented. The other boys just laughed. They could not believe it.

     "Come on, Tom," said Skinny.

     "I've got to go to the store. Coming along?"

     "No," Tom replied, "I have to do some work at home."

     Once free of all his friends, Tom ran happily on the way home. A great burden seemed to lave been lifted from him. He felt like singing, jumping, yelling with joy. He had stood the test. He had been true to his own ideal of personal honor. So he chos the back way, thru alleys and across fields, where he could behave a wildly as he wished.

     In his own neighborhood three or four blocks from his home, he darted into an alley. He was walking lustily, along now, whistling a merry tune. Behind a garage he saw two boys, one much smaller than the other. As he passed, Tom's heart gave a thump.  The bigger boy was Willie Alvord.

*    *    *

THE smaller lad, a puny youngster about seven or eight, was crying.

     "He hit me," the child wailed as Tom came up. Willie Alvord turned around and a look of fear crossed his face. He could not look Tom in the eye.

     All the gaiety was gone from Tom Dare. He was troubled and bewildered. What was he to do? Schoolboy honor prompted him to defend a smaller boy against a bigger. But his promise to Mr. Stryker not to fight Willie Alvord stood. He could not break it.

     Willie Alvaro took a strange method of proving his bravery. Instead, of attacking Tom, he turned on the smaller boy again.

     "Go tell your mama, big baby." he sneeded.

     The youngster set up a fresh cry of distress.

     "Here, you can't do that," Tom said hotly. "Pick on somebody your size"

     Again a look of fear was seen in Willie Alvord's eyes. But he did not have to defend himself, by word or action. From around the garage the tall form of his father came walking swiftly.

     "What's all this noise back here," he demanded. Then as he saw Tom, a real flush of angler colored has face.

     "Why, you big bully," he yelled,

     You leave my boy and this other boy alone. I'll have you locked up, you gutter kid."

*    *    *

WILLIE ALVORD quickly saw his opportunity for revenge.

     "He’s bulling this kid," he said.

     "That's a lie," Tom replied, standing his ground,

     "A lie, is it. You call my boy a liar. I'll tend to you." The tall man made a dash for Tom, but the lad dodged and Mr. Alvord awkwardly stumbled.

     "Yes. Mr. Alvord," piped up the lithe boy. "Willie was mean to me, not this kid."

     Mr. Alvord stood stockstill in amazement. He turned to his son.

     "Tell me the truth," he said. "Who started it."

     "Aw, papa, I didn't mean to," whined Willie AIvord. "I won't do it anymore."

     For answer the father seized him by the arm and without a word marched him past the garage and into the yard.

     Tom decided that he had better be going.

*    *    *

THE phone rang. Tom Dare, looking up from his geography home lesson, waited expectantly while his sister answered.

     "It's for you, Tom," She said. Tom raced to the telephone, scattering books, pencils and paper on the floor.

     "Hello. Tom. This is Skinny. Can you come over to my house tonight?"

     "Naw. Got an old geography lesson."

     "Well gee whiz. Why can't we study together. I've got something big to tell you."

     "All right. I'll come if I can." 

     With that Torn hung up the receiver and raced once more thru the room. He seized his hat from a peg in the hall. But his hustle was interrupted by the voice of his mother.

     "Tommy?"

     "Yes'm."

     "Where are you going?"

     "Oh, only over to Skinny's."

     "Your lesson done?"

     "Yes'm. That is all but my geography, and we're going to do that together."

     "All right then."

*    *    *

"TOM." It was the voice of his teasing sister calling.

     "Yes." 

     "You forgot something."

     "What?"

     "Your geography that you're going to study so hard."

     "Smarty," exclaimed Tom; making a face at his sister, who was smiling at this opportunity of plaguing her brother.

     "And, while you're getting it, why not pick up the books and things you strewed all over the floor."

     "Oh, shucks." Tom exclaimed impatiently. But he thought it wiser to clear up all the litter he had made on the floor with books and paper, and to tuck his geography under his arm. As he passed the chair, where his sister sat reading, he gave her hair a little tug. She ignored this pleasantly, so he tugged a little harder.

     "See, mother, this is the way Tom does to the girls in his class," Doris Dare spoke up.

     "Oh, you be quiet," Tom cried, blushing. He hurried from the house, the laughter of his sister and parents following him. The Dare family, was indeed a happy one, perhaps the more so because innocent mischief and fun were allowed to have free rein.

     Out side the home of Skinny Noble, Tom gave two short, sharp whistles; two fingers in his mouth, as he stepped on the porch. Skinny, all excited, throws the door open. An answering blast greeted him.

*    *    *

"YOUR geography Pooh!" said Skinny. "Believe me, we've got more things to do than, geography tonight."

     "What's the big idea?" 

     "Marbles."

     "Huh! Marbles ! 'Sif I didn't know how to play marbles."

     "Gee, you're an awful 'smart guy. You know everything, don't you?"

     "I can beat you, anyway, Skinny Ninny."

     "Come on in where Uncle Jim is, and I'll show you who's a ninny."

     Tom removed his cap and stepped inside. "Gee," he whispered excitedly, "is that your Uncle Jim, the soldier?"

     "Yep." answered Skinny, proudly.

     A minute later Tom was shaking hands with a quiet, light-haired young man, who sat on the davenport in the Nobles' living room.

     Tom could not hide a minute's disappointment. Somehow, he has always pictured a soldier as in uniform, and altho Skinny Noble's Uncle Jim had been a valorous member of the A. E. F. in France, he had been out of army service for several years, and wore civilian's clothes. This brave soldier, in ordinary surroundings, looked just like other men.

*    *    *

"HE'S got a medal. for bravery."  Skinny boasted, and the young man blushed just like a boy.

     "Now, listen here, Skinny Jim; you cut that stuff or I'll hang you by your toes to that chandelier," he said.

     "Oh, Skinny told me about that," Tom said. "Gee, I'd like to see it sometime, lieutenant, sir."

     Ex-lieutenant James Noble, for ,whom Tom's pal Skinny had been named, laughed heartily.

     "Not even a lieutenant any more," he smiled; "just plain mister. And to my friends, like you fellows, just plain Jim."

     Tom would have liked to insist on hearing some of the store of tales of the Great War that he knew Skinny's uncle could tell, but he decided this was a time to be polite. He wanted to make a good appearance before a veteran.

     "Did you read the paper tonight?" Skinny asked Tom.

     "No, I just got one look at the funny, page before supper," Tom said. "I was going to read the rest after I got my home work."

     "Well," Skinny announced. "I guess that was the most important paper you ever didn't read." Tom and Uncle Jim laughed.

     "There's going to be a Marble Tournament," Skinny went on. "And, every boy has a chance to be champeen."

     Tom gave a low whistle. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "That will be some class."

     "Oh, shucks! You haven't heard anything yet. Keep still. The city champion gets a free trip to Atlantic City, and has a chance, to be the champeen marble shooter of the world."

     "The United States," Uncle Jim corrected. .

     "Well, if he can beat all the kids in the United States, he can beat anybody in the world," Skinny retorted.

*    *    *

"I'M AFRAID Skinny Jim's patriotism runs away with him sometimes," Uncle Jim said with a smile. "But just the same I think this is a wonderful opportunity for some boy. The title of United States champion is one worth anybody's winning. Besides, the boy from our city who gets the trip will learn a great deal. Travel is a good way to get an education."

     "You bet it is," Skinny chimed in enthusiastically. "A lot better than getting it out of a dry old geography book." And he gave Tom's geography a push, sending it thumping to the floor.

     "Oh, that reminds me, Skinny Jim. Did ,you get yours tonight?" his Uncle Jim inquired, a twinkle in his eye.

     "Aw, Uncle Jim, you have to go and spoil it all," said Skinny. "What do I care if I learn all those silly things in books, when I may have a chance to go to Atlantic City?"

     "Military regulations," said Uncle Jim firmly. "No lessons, no marbles. Company, attention! To the geography, march !"

     Skinny jumped to attention, then saluted. "Yes, sir. The orders will be obeyed, sir," he said. Then to Tom, "Come on. You can't argue with him. Let's hurry thru this old lesson and then he's going to tell us about marbles."

*    *    *

"MARBLES," Uncle Jim began when the boys had finished their lesson, "is a pretty old game. How old do you think, Skinny Jim?"

     "Oh, gee-let me see. Well, a hundred years maybe," Skinny Noble offered.

     "What's your guess. Tom?"

     "Why, I never thought of that before," Tom considered. "I bet it's real old, tho. Maybe it was invented the same time as baseball."

     "Well now, you boys will have to go back a ways. You've heard of King Tut, the Egyptian ruler whose tomb has been explored lately?"

     "Yes."

     "It is not at all unlikely that King Tut, or to give him his right name, Tu-tankh-Amen, played marbles when a boy, or at least was familiar with the game."

     The boys marveled. Slowly Skinny Noble drew an agate from his Pocket. "Gee, I knew you were an old baby," he said to his shooter. "But I never thought marbles was in the same 'class with mummies."

     The three had a hearty laugh at Skinny's philosophizing. "Tell us some more about marbles," Tom requested.

     "The first marbles were without doubt just round pebbles picked up on the shore," Uncle Jim resumed. "Just such a pebble as the boy David put in his slingshot when he killed Goliath. Like other games, marbles had a primitive beginning.

*    *    *

"GEE. Uncle Jim, you use so many long words I can't understand you," Skinny complained. "What does primitive mean?"

     "It means crude or rough," his uncle explained kindly. "Nature seldom makes things in perfect patterns, altho the work of nature is more wonderful than anything men can hope to do. But a perfectly round pebble would be as unlikely as a perfectly round apple. There is always a little difference in every product of nature.

     "There is positive proof that marbles were known to the people Of Italy during the Roman Empire. The great volcano in which lava and ashes from Mount Vesuvius completely buried the city of Pompeii was a horror to the people of that time."

     "But to us today, its works of destruction has proved very valuable. Men have dug up the ruins of Pompeii, and most of the city was preserved just as it was when the volcano came, except that of course, all living things were killed."

     "Among the ruins the explorers found marbles, laid out as if boys had been playing a game with them and had fled when the flaming sky gave warning that danger and death were near."

     "When was that a Jim?"

     "Why, I forgot the exact date. It was some time in the First Century, A. D. I think the date was 79 A. D. now that I try to recall it. Yes, that is it, the year 79."

     "And this is 1928. Why, Uncle Jim, that was exactly 1849 years ago," Skinny observed.

*    *    *

"VERY good, Skinny Jim," said his uncle. "I see you are good in mental arithmetic."

     'Ha, ha! Tell that to Miss Robbins." Tom said.

     "Gee, it' s easy to figure things when they're real, like this, and not in school." Skinny remarked. "But go on and tell us how they played, Uncle Jim."

     "I don't now that, Skinny Jimkins, because no written record of marbles has come down to us from that early age. It was, in fact, the same year that the Mayflower Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, Mass that the first mention was made of marbles, so far as has been discovered."

     "What year was that, Uncle Jim?''

     "Go look it up."

     Skinny and Tom flew to the former's bedroom, where his school books lay on a table. Hurriedly they fingered the pages of the school history.

     "Shucks ! It was 1620. I should have known that," Tom said.

     "Now you have something to remember it by," replied Uncle Jim. "In the year 1620, a consignment of marbles was imported into England from Holland. Probably there had been earlier trade in marbles, which we have not learned about. It is likely, also, that the Dutch Settlers of New Amsterdam, now New York, had marbles for their children."

*    *    *

HE PAUSED, and seeing the interest of the boys, a funny little smile lit his face.

     "It seems to me that you young men have had quite a history and geography lesson this evening," he said.

     "Aw, you're not going to quit now are you?" Skinny pleaded. "I want to know a lot more about marbles."

     "Me, too," Tom agreed.

     "All right. One more fact in geography, and then I'll tell you how marbles are made. Most of them were tuned out in Saxony, which is apart of Germany, before the World War. Now the United States also manufactures marbles."

     "Now, I told you that the original marbles were little round pebble. In the first place, you see, an earthquake like the one in South America last fall, or a lightning bolt splits a rock. The smaller fragments roll until they find lodging in a valley, possibly on a creek or river bank. The waters come up and the small bits of rock are washed in the stream. Over and over and over they roll constantly. The friction of one piece against the other smoothes and rounds them. In time, as you must have noticed often at the beach, they are very smooth and regular in shape."

     "Now, when men want to make something, they usually imitate nature. So it is with marbles. The stone itself is broken into blocks and shaped into cubes. About 100 or 200 of these tiny blocks are placed on a giant millstone. There are concentric grooves on the stone, and it is in these that the blocks are laid.

     "Then a block of oak the same size as the millstone is lowered over it. The oak block rests on the fragments of stone that are to be the marbles. While a water spray cools the marbles, the millstone and the oak block slowly turn in opposite directions. The marbles go rolling along in the grooves, and greater and greater, pressure is applied from above. In 15 minutes the marbles have been rounded into shape.

     "Then they are put into machines called burnishers, which further smooth and polish them." Uncle Jim looked at his watch and closed it with a loud click.

     "Time for taps, boys," he announced. "Nine o'clock may be too early for your bedtime, but I learned to get my beauty sleep when I was living in a dugout." With a wink to Tom, he arose, and Tom, picking up his geography book, wished Uncle Jim and his chum Skinny goodnight.

(To Be Continued)