r
begins to let up. But the football field is already a young lake and
water is backed up in the streets. It's going to be a grand afternoon
for ducks and a splashing time for a gridiron battle.

At one o'clock, an hour before game time, "Butter Fingers" says to me,
"Mark, there's one thing old Tincup can't keep us from doing. He can't
prohibit our going to the locker room and hanging around with the
fellows till they're due on the field. Maybe we can cheer the gang up
a bit!"

"Not much chance of that," I replies. "But, I'm with you,
nevertheless...!"

So we sets out. And of course our direction takes us right past the
house that's owned by the object of our affections! I suggests to
"Butter Fingers" that we make a detour but he growls that he'll be
darned if the high and mighty Mr. Maxwell Tincup is going to make him
take so much as an extra step.

The rain has entirely stopped now and by the breeze that's blowing it
looks like the sky is through for the day. As we get near the picket
fence we discover something unusual. Mr. Tincup's three-year-old kid
is out by the curb trying to sail a toy boat in the water. And
standing on the front porch, staring at us with a satisfied grin on his
face, is the anti-football member of the school board himself! Mr.
Tincup looks at us as much as to say, "Well, how do you young rascals
feel now?"

There's nothing we can do but swallow our medicine and parade past with
eyes front as though we haven't even seen him. This we start to do
when--all of a sudden--a strong gust of wind comes along and takes the
kid's hat off, rolling it into the street. "Butter Fingers" sees this,
and grins.

"Dadda, look!" says the kid, pointing a finger at his hat which is
lying in a puddle of water in the middle of the street. We watch the
kid, laughing inside to think of anything happening which might affect
old Tincup's dignity. The kid runs along the curb, finds a place where
he can step over the stream of water and starts out on the street after
the hat.

"Junior, come here!" yells Mr. Tincup, hurrying down off the porch.
"Papa'll get it for you!"

But Papa doesn't have a chance. Things commence to take place after
that so fast that it leaves me dizzy.

Just as the kid starts off the curb a big, heavy duty truck comes
thundering down the side street and turns sharp around the corner. The
driver catches sight of the kid, lets loose the klaxon and reaches for
the brakes. S