the play, remained aloof. He stood twenty yards away, smiling amusedly and shaking his head. When a substitute from the opposing bench ran past him, Herres mockingly put his hands in the position of prizefighters in oldtime prints. The substitute stopped running and looked at Herres puzzledly, and the crowd laughed. Oh, no, thought Archer, you will not be elected captain this year, young man.
The officials broke up the fight quickly and the game continued. It was over two minutes later and the crowd wound onto the field, darkening spots of color on the dark green grass in the autumn dusk.
“I have to go now,” Nancy said. “I have to wait for Vic outside the field house and he’s always the first one out. He never hangs around after the game.” She put the flask to her ear and shook it to see if there was any left. She smiled as she saw Archer and Kitty watching her. “Vic likes a good long slug after a game.”
“Does the coach know about this?” Archer asked.
“I’m sure he does,” Nancy said. She shook hands with Kitty. “Good-bye,” she said. “This has been so nice.”
“Tell Mr. Herres,” Kitty said, “that he had an ardent admirer in the top row. Under the influence of liquor all through the second half.”
“I certainly shall. I know he’ll be glad to hear it.”
“Do you think he’ll get drunk tonight?” Archer asked, although he knew he shouldn’t.
“I suppose so,” Nancy said lightly. She folded the blanket she had brought with an intense and suddenly childish look of concentration on her face.
“Well,” said Archer, “have a good time tonight.”
“I’m sure we will, Mr. Archer,” the girl said, and went carefully down the creaking wooden aisle, with her blanket and her flask and the long slug of Bourbon for the boy who was now taking off his sweaty jersey in the field house. She walked away, happy, her hair shining in the dull evening light, young and not innocent. As he watched her, Archer had the feeling that the generations were filling in behind him.
He walked home slowly through the dusty-smelling trees, holding Kitty by the arm. He kissed her when they got to the shadow of the porch, without knowing exactly why he did it. Kitty’s face was cool from the wind and her skin smelled of the chrysanthemum, autumnlike and healthy when he kissed her. “I feel nineteen,” she said as he held her. “I really feel only nineteen years old.”
Archer thought that he knew why Kitty felt that way. But he knew he didn’t feel nineteen that afternoon.
When they went into the house and Kitty started calling for Jane, to give her supper, he went into his study and put on the light. He sat down at his desk and picked up the act and a half of the play about Napoleon III. He read it through. It seemed empty and dead, deprived of all the life he had thought it had as recently as eleven o’clock that morning.
He sat in the limited light of the desk lamp, thinking how pleasant it would be to get drunk that night.
After that, Archer went to see all the games, allowing Napoleon III time off on Saturday afternoons. Herres always played the same way, remotely, savagely, and with amusement. He was involved in a small scandal when he refused to attend the rally on the eve of the last game with the season’s traditional rival, and Nancy told Archer that there was a great deal of resentment on the part of the other boys on the team, especially when Herres told them he had just gone to a movie that evening. And as Sully had predicted, he was not elected captain for the next year.
But the real scandal came the following season, when Herres was a senior. By that time, he and Archer were friends and both Herres and Nancy were dropping into the house casually, playing with Jane, who had given herself to Herres on sight, and helping Kitty with the dishes when they had dinner together. At Kitty’s request, Herres dragged Archer off to ice skate during the winter and play tennis when the
The officials broke up the fight quickly and the game continued. It was over two minutes later and the crowd wound onto the field, darkening spots of color on the dark green grass in the autumn dusk.
“I have to go now,” Nancy said. “I have to wait for Vic outside the field house and he’s always the first one out. He never hangs around after the game.” She put the flask to her ear and shook it to see if there was any left. She smiled as she saw Archer and Kitty watching her. “Vic likes a good long slug after a game.”
“Does the coach know about this?” Archer asked.
“I’m sure he does,” Nancy said. She shook hands with Kitty. “Good-bye,” she said. “This has been so nice.”
“Tell Mr. Herres,” Kitty said, “that he had an ardent admirer in the top row. Under the influence of liquor all through the second half.”
“I certainly shall. I know he’ll be glad to hear it.”
“Do you think he’ll get drunk tonight?” Archer asked, although he knew he shouldn’t.
“I suppose so,” Nancy said lightly. She folded the blanket she had brought with an intense and suddenly childish look of concentration on her face.
“Well,” said Archer, “have a good time tonight.”
“I’m sure we will, Mr. Archer,” the girl said, and went carefully down the creaking wooden aisle, with her blanket and her flask and the long slug of Bourbon for the boy who was now taking off his sweaty jersey in the field house. She walked away, happy, her hair shining in the dull evening light, young and not innocent. As he watched her, Archer had the feeling that the generations were filling in behind him.
He walked home slowly through the dusty-smelling trees, holding Kitty by the arm. He kissed her when they got to the shadow of the porch, without knowing exactly why he did it. Kitty’s face was cool from the wind and her skin smelled of the chrysanthemum, autumnlike and healthy when he kissed her. “I feel nineteen,” she said as he held her. “I really feel only nineteen years old.”
Archer thought that he knew why Kitty felt that way. But he knew he didn’t feel nineteen that afternoon.
When they went into the house and Kitty started calling for Jane, to give her supper, he went into his study and put on the light. He sat down at his desk and picked up the act and a half of the play about Napoleon III. He read it through. It seemed empty and dead, deprived of all the life he had thought it had as recently as eleven o’clock that morning.
He sat in the limited light of the desk lamp, thinking how pleasant it would be to get drunk that night.
After that, Archer went to see all the games, allowing Napoleon III time off on Saturday afternoons. Herres always played the same way, remotely, savagely, and with amusement. He was involved in a small scandal when he refused to attend the rally on the eve of the last game with the season’s traditional rival, and Nancy told Archer that there was a great deal of resentment on the part of the other boys on the team, especially when Herres told them he had just gone to a movie that evening. And as Sully had predicted, he was not elected captain for the next year.
But the real scandal came the following season, when Herres was a senior. By that time, he and Archer were friends and both Herres and Nancy were dropping into the house casually, playing with Jane, who had given herself to Herres on sight, and helping Kitty with the dishes when they had dinner together. At Kitty’s request, Herres dragged Archer off to ice skate during the winter and play tennis when the
Similar Books
