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The Story of Tom Dare In
1928 during the marbles tournament season, the Scripts Howard Newspaper
Syndicate published a 11 week serial called “Tom Dare and The Marbles
Tournament.” The author was Howard Stephenson, Director of The National
Marbles Tournament. If you are familiar with the movie ‘A Christmas
Story,’ about the little boy that wanted a Red Rider BB Gun for
Christmas, this charming story about marbles is in that same venue and
voice. We
are pleased to announce that The E.W. Scripps Company, successor to
Scripps Howard, has given the American Marble & Toy Museum permission
to reprint this serial in all 11 parts. There are some places in the text where it will read "XXXXX" - this is because the original newspaper text was unreadable. Note: Due to the the fact that this piece is being used in elementary schools, the text of this story has been altered, edited, and changed , in order to reflect a modern sensibility where children fighting, smoking, classroom disruptions, corporal punishment, and social slurs are inappropriate in today's classrooms. Episode 1 is below, use the links below for the remaining installments:
For
Boys
THE
TINY TIMES For Girls The
Sunday Times - Akron Times Press Akron, Ohio Sunday, March 18, 1928 STORY
OF TOM
DARE AT
THE MARBLE
TOURNEY
By HOWARD STEPHENSON Chapter 1Playing For Fair ONE afternoon, early in March, Tom Dare stood not far from the entrance of Lincoln School, beneath one of the classroom windows and gave a peculiar whistle. To the ordinary listener this would not have seemed worthy of note, but to the sharp ears of Skinny Noble, who happened at that moment to be in the classroom, it was a message. Skinny, sad to relate, was staying after school; not because he wanted to, but because his teacher, Miss Robbins decided that this was the best way to teach the mischievous lad he must not whisper during lesson time. Some boys find keeping still the hardest part of their school work, and it was that way with Skinny. Altho he was in the eighth grade, he had not yet learned the art of strict attention to work. But Skinny was a past master in the art of fun. Tom couldn't see how his pal managed to get to the window, raise it very carefully and toss a little snack out in the school yard. Tom, in fact, first learned that his whistle had been heard and understood when the sack came flying thru the air and hit him on the head. He heard a low chuckle and the window was slowly lowered again. Laughing at his chum's prank, Tom picked up the bag of marbles and giving the code whistle which meant "so long," he chased across the school yard to the corner. Just inside the playground, on a level spot bare of gravel, he saw a dozen or so of his schoolmates busily engaged in a game of "fat". Tom was greeted with a shout of welcome. "Gee, give me somethin' good," he said to Billy Smith, a youngster in the sixth grade who lived near him. Billy generously held out a sack of candy and as his mouth was too full to talk just then, he pointed with his thumb to a strange lad, very stylishly dressed, who was just then kneeling to take a shot at the marbles in the "fat" ring. * * * Tom noticed then that most of the other boys also were eating candy. Helping himself to a piece from Billy's sack, he said: "Thanks, Bill. Who stood treat?" "Him." announced Billy, pointing again to the strange player. "He’s a new kid. He can have as much spending money as he wants. Just look at his aggie when you get a chance." Tom stopped over as the newcomer shot, to get a glimpse of his taw. The new boy jumped up angrily. "You spoiled my shot," he growled. "Huh! You were a mile off," said Tom. "Smarty! Think you can play marbles?" "Well, a little," Tom replied, grinning. The other boys also smiled. Tom's battered old glassie had won him many a victory, as they well knew. "Wait till I clean this kid and I'll lick you, too," said the strange boy. As Tom watched the play, he could not but admire the true aim and hard shots of his new acquaintance. One by one, he picked up the marbles from the ring. To Tom's surprise, he put them in his pocket. "We always play for fair," Tom said, as his friend Billy was starting to scratch a new ring in the dirt. His opponent snorted with contempt. * * * "BABY game," he commented. I can afford to lose some. If you can't play for keeps, go home and play with your sister." Tom flushed at this insult. But he decided rapidly to let his actions instead of his words speak for him. "My sister can play marbles, too," he said. "Only at our school it's a rule not to play for keeps." "Oh, you must be the teacher's pet. I thought school was out." Tom clenched his fists at this remark, and the laughter of the other boys did not make him feel any better about it. "All right." he ex-claimed, his eyes flashing. "I'll play for keeps this once." He threw his mibs down and so did the strange lad. Billy carefully arranged them in the little ring. There is so much chance in the game of fat that a lucky player often defeats a more skillful one. It happened that in this game Tom had both luck and skill. Quickly he cleared the small ring of mibs, before his opponent could get a good start. But he would not take an advantage. He threw all the mibs into the ring again, those he had won and those he had played for. "Best two games out of three," he offered. The new lad looked him over carefully. Then with a sneer he kicked the marbles out of the ring. `Stick in your half," he said. "I'm not cleaned yet." Silently Tom stooped to pick up the marbles he had won. The stranger's mibs were larger and of better clay than his own, and he could not help being proud of winning them. But he felt guilty of violating the school pledge not to play marbles for keeps. * * * BEFORE Tom could lay his mibs in for the second game he heard a whispered "Cheese it!'' He stood up. Mr. Stryker, the school principal, faced him, a frown on his face. "Are you boys gambling with marbles?" he asked shortly. Tom blushed and started to speak, but the strange lad interrupted: "Yes, we're playing "for keeps," he said. The principal stared at Tom, a disappointed look in his eyes. "You two boys report to me in the morning," he said, and, turning on his heel, walked away. The boys stood watching him until he disappeared down the street. Then the new boy defiantly threw a handful of marbles down. "How about the second game?" he asked. Tom shook his head. "Oh, teacher's pet is afraid of the principal," jeered his opponent. "You kids in this school haven't got a bit of nerve." Tom was angry and humiliated. He could not think of a word to say. "Fight, fight," called several of the boys. The stranger smiled. "Him fight? Hugh!" he said. Just then Tom saw Skinny Noble, released at last from the classroom, coming up at a run. Skinny was letting out a series of Indian war whoops, but he stopped abruptly as he saw his friend and the stranger glaring at each other, apparently preparing to fight. Tom paid no attention to him. "I'll fight if you want to," he said slowly, to the new boy. "Hey, what's the matter?" Skinny asked. Billy, with much pointing and whispering, explained. "Listen," Skinny said. "Miss Robbins is still in the building. If you get in a fight now you'll be in hot water sure. I'll go seconds for Tom if you want to fight tomorrow night. What say?" "All right," Tom said. "Oh, all right. Get your whole gang. I'm not afraid," sneered the new boy. "Come on, Tom', said-Skinny. CHAPTER TWOFriendship IT was not a new experience for Tom Dare to be ordered to report to the principal's office. His monthly report card, while it usually showed A's and B's in regular studies, was quite often marked with a C in deportment. Tom had even had D in deportment at times, but a severe scolding by his mother had usually been sufficient to correct this. Now he was in the eighth grade, he'd been making a real effort all year to make a name for himself as gentlemanly and well-behaved. This wasn't too easy as it sounds, for a lively, red-blooded boy can find as many opportunities for mischief in a classroom as a monkey can in a circus tent. Tom had resented it when the strange lad with whom he had played marbles called him "teacher's pet." What boy wouldn't? Yet as he walked to school the next morning he almost wished he were the kind of boy who sits meekly with his hands folded, eyes on his book with never a thought of mischief. That sort of boy usually carried home an A in deportment. Strangely enough, the extra good boys were not always the ones who were best in other studies. But his thoughts were interrupted by a peculiar whistle, the same notes he had whistled the night before to signal Skinny Noble. It was Skinny himself, running pell-mell down the street, swinging his books, done up in a strap, over his head. 'Hook 'em, cowboy! Here comes Will Rogers and his lariat," shouted Skinny. With deft aim, he let the strap go, and the bundle of books sailed past Tom's ear. Tom' dropped his own books, and made for his pal, his head lowered. * * * "HERES the wild bull of the Pampas." he yelled, butting Skinny so hard with his head that Skinny was carried off his feet. But Tom's chum was equal to the attack. With a leap in the air, he dived right over Tom's bent form, and as he landed, thrust his arm up between Tom's legs, and brought him down sprawling. Then it was a scramble to see who could' gain his feet first, and the boys leaped to their feet together. Out of the corner of his eye Tom saw a lad across the street, walking with a man. "Hey, quits," he said, in a low voice. "There's that kid," Skinny gave a quick glance, then whispered excitedly to Tom: "Just' give me' little shove under the chin with your hand." Wondering a bit, Tom did as he was asked lurched forward. To his amazement, Skinny fell back on his back, yelling loudly. "Quits. Tom, Quits!" he cried, in a babyish voice. "I've had enough, I never want to fight you again. You can lick anybody in our school." Puzzled, Tom made no reply. Then he noticed that Skinny was grinning broadly, but still lay on the ground. But his pal jumped up a second later and gave him a smart clap over the side of the head. "That's so you won't think that I meant that," Skinny said, laughing. "What's the big idea?" Tom asked, wondering. "Listen, slowpoke. That new kid saw us and thought you were giving me a lickin'. I yelled like that so he'd be good and scared. I was weakening his morale." * * * “WHATS that?" Tom asked. “Gee, don't you know that, even? Why, in France our soldiers used to do everything they could to make the Germans see how useless it was to fight Uncle Sam. When a fellow's discouraged he can't put up a good scrap. He hasn't any morale. My Uncle Jim told me 'bout it" "OH!" "Huh!" commented Skinny. "Guess you haven't any Uncle Jim that won s Croix o Guerre with two palms?" "No," Tom agreed a little enviously. "I guess he was about the bravest soldier in the army." ''Say!'' Skinny exclaimed suddenly, changing the subject. "I bet you're going to get it good and plenty in Old Stryker's office." Tom smiled to hide his uneasiness. "I don't care," he said. "Well, anyway we can muss up that fresh kid's clothes for him after school." "Honest, Skinny, I'd hate to fight that kid. I'm not afraid of him, but what's the use of scrapping over a little game of marbles?" "Huh," Skinny grunted scornfully. "You make me sick. If you don't show up I'll lick him myself." "Oh, I'll show up all-right. Gee, I hope I get a good talking to from the principal this mornin, instead of having to stay after school. I'm sorry I played for keeps, and that's why' I'm not feeling scrappy, I guess, I think it was my own fault. I shouldn't have broken the pledge." "So long, last tag" cried Skinny, as they reached the school door. Tom did not even chase him, but walked soberly to the principal's office, straightening his tie and brushing his, unruly hair with his hands in a last-minute effort to make himself presentable. He knocked on the door and hearing the cheerful "Come in, please;" from Mr. Stryker, entered the room. But he was not at all prepared for the reception that awaited him. Mr. Stryker was seated at his desk-and standing beside him were the new boy and the man Tom had seen him with that morning. "There he is, papa, there he is;" whined the new boy, pointing, to Tom. "Oh, so you are the little ragamuffin that is causing all this trouble," bellowed the man. Tom looked from one to the other in surprise. "Wh-what trouble, sir?" he inquired. "There, you see," exclaimed the man, turning to the principal. "He professes complete ignorance. It is outrageous that my Willie should have to associate with urchins of that type." "Oh," said Mr. Stryker, rising, "this young man is neither a ragamuffin nor an urchin, I assure you. Won't you sit down, Mr. Alvord? I think the whole thing had better be thrashed out right now? "This boy had better be disciplined right now," growled Mr Alvord, frowning at Tom. At this, Willie Alvord, the new boy, smiled broadly. * * * "NOW, young man," said Alvord, before Tom or Mr. Stryker could speak, "you have been threatening my boy with a fighting. You took his marbles last night. Oh, don't try to lie out of it. I knew you did. And just this morning, we saw you beating another boy. If you are the school bully, you are going to be tamed." Is this true, Thomas?" asked Mr. Stryker. "Were you fighting this morning?" "Why, no, indeed 'I wasn't, Mr. Stryker," said Tom earnestly. "Skinny-er, I mean, James Noble and I were just playing." "Oh, they wasn't either, papa," Willie Alvord spoke up. "I heard the other boy yell quits and say that this kid can lick anybody in the school." Again Mr. Stryker turned questioning eyes on Tom. The lad flushed, twisting his cap in his hands. What should be his answer? He had not been fighting. It was the truth to say that he had not. But Skinny had pretended they were fighting, for Tom's' benefit. If Tom explained the whole thing, he might get Skinny into trouble. Loyalty for his friends was pulling against justice for himself. He looked Mr.Stryker full in the face. CHAPTER
3.
His Word of Honor "IT was my fault and I'll take the blame;" Tom said, slowly. Mr. Stryker looked relieved at this evidence of honesty. Tom had to do some quick thinking. He said the fight with Skinny was a pretense, Skinny would have to be called in, and probably have to shoulder half the blame. If he said he was fighting, that would not be the truth. He decided simply to take the consequences himself, hoping that no more questions would be asked. His guess was correct. Mr. Alvord jumped to his feet. "This boy must be punished," he said. "I'll not have a young ruffian threatening my little Willie." Willie Alvord was by this time standing behind his father, in such a position that neither of the men could see him. He put his thumb to his nose, slowly wiggling his fingers at Tom. Tom could have called the men's attention to this but there is a code of honor among schoolboys not to "peach" or tell on another boy, even to gain something for one self. So Tom kept silence. Indeed it was doubtful if he would have heard, for Mr. Alvord was still shouting and waving his arms in an angry fit. Principal Stryker stood calmly until the storm had passed. "I make it a rule to discipline the boys in my own way," he said, quietly. "Good morning, Mr. Alvord." The visitor was not satisfied with the outcome, but there was a firmness about Principal Stryker that could not be ignored. "Good morning, Mr.Stryker." he said sarcastically. Then, turning to Tom: "If you're caught bullying my boy I'll have you arrested, you young scamp." Tom had no intention of bullying anybody, and he was, to tell the truth, a little scared by the angry manner of Willie Alvord's father. So he said nothing. The boy and his father left, and Tom remained to receive his punishment at the hands of Principal Stryker. * * * IF Tom had thought that gentle man would let him off easily, he was mistaken. No sooner had the others left than Principal Stryker sat down. He did not say a word. He did not need to. "Sir, I am sorry I broke the school pledge. I won't do so again. Principal Stryker gazed at the lad long and searchingly. Apparently there was question in his mind. "I know you did not do it because you wished to gamble, Thomas, he said. "With another boy, I might, have overlooked it. But you are in the eighth grade now. I have watched you all these years thru the grades and it is a severe disappointment to me to think that you have not learned the one thing we teach at Lincoln. Keep your word. Some people never learn that, Thomas. With others it is a lifelong principle. I think I may depend on you the next time." * * * "OH, you bet--I mean, yes sir, you needn't be afraid of that," said Tom. "Well, then, I want you to promise me not to start a fight with Willie Alvord.'' "But, Mr. Stryker, you see, I ...." "It is up to you, Tom!" Do not make a promise you cannot keep." "You-see, sir; I have promised to fight him tonight" said Tom, squirming, a bit under the eye of the principal. "Thomas, I want you to be big enough, to have character enough, not to fight him tonight when you are called on. I want you to promise me that." Red-faced and embarrassed, Tom nevertheless looked the principal straight in the eye. "I promise," he said. "Very well, you may go to your classroom. There was a little, stir in Miss Robbins' eighth grade room when Tom Dare entered. The boys and girls all knew that Tom had been called to the principal's office, and as classmates usually do they turned one and all to see any possible evidence that Tom had cried under the lash. But tho his hand still stung, Tom kept his composure, and went to his seat half proudly. Lessons were resumed and before many hours the last bell rang and the pupils were trooping out of the building on their way home. (To Be Continued) |