' I'll clear them off."
"I wouldn't, Pink. They may be ugly."
But he only smiled at her reassuringly, and went off. She watched
him go with many misgivings, his sturdy young figure, his careful
dress, his air of the young aristocrat, easy, domineering,
unconsciously insolent. They would resent him, she knew, those men
and boys. And after all, why should they not use the field? There
was injustice in that sign.
Yet her liking and real sympathy were with Pink.
"Pink!" she called, "Come back here. Let them alone."
He turned toward her a face slightly flushed with indignation and
set with purpose.
"Sorry. Can't do it, Lily. This sort of thing's got to be stopped."
She felt, rather hopelessly, that he was wrong, but that he was
right, too. The grounds were private property. She sat back and
watched.
Pink was angry. She could hear his voice, see his gestures. He was
shooing them off like a lot of chickens, and they were laughing.
The game had stopped, and the side lines were pressing forward.
There was a moment's debate, with raised voices, a sullen muttering
from the crowd, and the line closing into a circle. The last thing
she saw before it closed was a man lunging at Pink, and his
counter-feint.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188