heory; that was the worst part of it.

I believe I stated a little earlier in this narrative that Judson Green
was a young man of profoundly professed theories. It came to pass,
therefore, that on the Saturday before Labour Day, Judson Green, being
very much out of sorts, found himself very much alone and didn't know
what to do with himself. He thought of the beaches, but dismissed the
thought. Of a Saturday afternoon in the season, the sea beaches that lie
within the city bounds are a-crawl with humans. There is small pleasure
in surf-bathing where you must share every wave with from one to a dozen
total strangers.

Mr. Green climbed into his car and told his driver to take him to Van
Cortlandt Park, which, lying at the northernmost boundaries of New York
City, had come, with successive northerly shifts of the centre of
population, to be the city's chief playground.

When, by reason of a confusion of tongues, work was knocked off on the
Tower of Babel, if then all hands had turned to outdoor sports, the
resultant scene would have been, I imagine, much like the picture that
is presented on most Saturdays on the sixty-acre stretch of turf known
as Indian Field, up in Van Cortlandt Park. Here there are baseball games
by the hundred and football games by the score--all the known varieties
of football games too, Gaelic, Soccer, Rugby and others; and coal black
West Indian negroes in white flannels, with their legs buskined like the
legs of comic opera brigands, play at cricket, meanwhile shouting in the
broadest of British accents; and there is tennis on the tennis courts
and boating on the lake near-by and golf on the links that lie beyond
the lake. Also, in odd corners, there are all manners of queer
Scandinavian and Latin games, for which no one seems to know the name;
and on occasion, there are polo matches.

Accordingly, when his car drew up at the edge of the parking space, our
young man beheld a wide assortment of sporting events spread before his
eyes. The players disported themselves with enthusiasm, for there was
now a soft coolness in the air. But the scars of a brutal summer still
showed, in the turf that was burnt brown and crisp, and in the withered
leaves on the elms, and in white dust inches deep on the roadways.

Young Mr. Green sat at his ease and looked until he was tired of
looking, and then he gave the order for a home-bound spin. Right here
was where chanced stepped in and diverted him from his app