I agree with you, Mr. Remsen, that athletics, or at
least football, is far more likely to benefit a chap than to hurt him,
because a fellow can't study well unless he is in good health
and spirits."
"Are you convinced, Digbee?" asked Remsen. Digbee shook his head
smilingly.
"I don't believe I am, quite. But you know more about such things than
I do. In fact, it's cheeky for me to argue about them. Why, I've never
played anything but tennis, and never did even that well."
"You know the ground you argue from, and because I have overwhelmed you
with talk it does not necessarily follow that I am right," responded his
host courteously. "But enough of such dull themes. There's West most
asleep.--March, have you heard from your mother lately?"
"Yes, I received a letter from her yesterday morning. She writes that
she's glad the relationship is settled finally; says she's certain that
any kin of the Maine Remsens is a person of good, strong moral
character." When the laugh had subsided, Remsen turned to West.
"Have you ever heard of Tommy Collingwood?"
"Wasn't he baseball captain a good many years ago?"
"Yes, and used to row in the boat. Well, Tommy was a good deal better at
spinning top on Academy steps than doing lessons, and a deal fonder of
playing shinney than writing letters. But Tommy's mother always insisted
that Tommy should write home once a week, and Tommy's father wrote and
explained what would happen to Tommy if he didn't obey his mother; and
as Tommy's folks lived just over in Albany it was a small thing for
Tommy's father to run over some day with a strap; so Tommy obeyed his
parents and every week wrote home.
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