By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Introduction

THE FIRST HALF WAS DRAWING TO A CLOSE. NEITHER TEAM had scored. They were closely matched; so closely that the best informed rather expected a scoreless tie. Johnny Lafitte, at quarter, was running the Glenora team. The game was the last of the season, and it would decide the championship. Also, it was Lafitte's last game, for he would graduate in June. It was Johnny's big chance.

For three years he and Frank Adams had been fighting for the quarterback position. It had been a friendly rivalry but nonetheless seriously contended; but Frank seemed to get all the breaks. Johnny knew that in a pinch the coach always put Adams in, and he knew the coach was right; but he didn't know just why. And that troubled him. Everyone admitted that they were the two greatest quarters Glenora had ever known.

Why was Adams just a shade better? Johnny Lafitte did not know, but he was out on the field today to prove that it was not so. It was Johnny's big chance.

Louis Lafitte, who repaired Glenora's old shoes in a little shop just off Main Street, was in the grandstand to watch his son in this last game. Henry Adams, small-town attorney, was there also to watch his son. Daisy Juke and Shirley Huntington were there to watch both the sons. Shirley was very much in love with Frank Adams, Daisy liked both the boys, and both boys were in love with Daisy. But Frank Adams got all the breaks; so when the four (who were much together) went places, Frank took Daisy, and Shirley and Johnny paired off; which wasn't so bad after all because they were very fond of one another, and the four always had a good time wherever they went.

"Only about two minutes left to play in this half," remarked Billy Perry, who was sitting with the girls. "He ought to kick." It was Glenora's ball.

"What down is it?" asked Shirley.

"Third, and eight to go. "

The Glenora team was in a huddle; the ball lay squarely on their own thirty-yard line. The men came out of the huddle, took their positions, and shifted to the left; the ball was snapped. Lafitte took it and faded back.

"Cripes!" exclaimed Perry. "He's goin' to pass!" They stood up; everyone in the stands stood; it was very quiet, as though the spectators had been suddenly stricken dumb.

Glenora's left half was racing down the field. He was in the clear; there was no Webster player near him. Lafitte had faded back to his own fifteen-yard line. Two Webster men were almost on top of him when he passed, but it was a perfect pass. And then, from out of nowhere, raced the Webster right end to intercept it. Before him was an almost clear field down which he streaked to a touchdown.

The Glenora coach dug a heel into the turf in front of the bench. "Adams," he directed, "go in and send Lafitte out."

At the beginning of the second half the score was six to nothing in favor of Webster, and Frank Adams was calling signals for Glenora. Never again that day was Glenora's goal seriously threatened, and in the fourth period a series of smart plays carried the ball to a touchdown. The Glenora fullback added the extra point that meant victory.

Four years had passed since that high school football game, and during the last three John Lafitte had sat on the sidelines during most of the important games that his college had played and watched Frank Adams steer the varsity to victory. The two men were still rated great quarters, but there was just that little difference between them that impelled the college coach to use Adams in pinches and against their stronger opponents.

The two men were still the best of friends; even their rivalry for the affections of Daisy Juke had not altered the friendly relations that had existed between them since they had entered grade school together. In spite of this and many other rivalries their friendship seemed to have strengthened during the years, and in their junior and senior years they had been roommates.

Adams was president of the student body and captain of the debating team. He was a brilliant scholar. Lafitte had failed to make the debating team and had been defeated by a few votes in the election of class officers, nor could he achieve better than passing grades on his way toward graduation; yet he felt no jealousy of Adams. On the contrary, he was very proud of him.

In a few things Lafitte excelled. He was boxing champion of the school and the crack shot of the R.O.T.C. unit. In addition to these, he made the highest grades in military science; but in his chosen field, law, he did not do so well.

Daisy Juke and Shirley Huntington and Billy Perry made up the remainder of the old high school crowd that had gone on to the university together. Daisy had been voted the prettiest girl and the most popular co-ed, but she was having difficulty in keeping her grades up to passing level.

"I guess I'm plain dumb," she said.

"Too many dates," opined Shirley.

The other girl shook her head. "My people never amounted to anything. Dad's the best of the bunch, but he's only a poor farmer. He doesn't even believe in education. I shouldn't have gone beyond high school if it hadn't been for Mother. I got my looks from her, but I guess the rest of me's Juke."

There was an embarrassed silence. Both girls were thinking of the same thing, for they had studied eugenics together. Shirley Huntington shot a quick glance at her chum. "Don't be silly, Daisy; you can make yourself anything you want to-"

The other girl examined her shapely, painted nails critically. "I wonder."

John Lafitte was bending over a law book when Adams came in from class. He looked up and nodded; then he tilted his chair back and lighted a cigarette. "The more I study law the more I understand why there are so many bum lawyers. "

Adams tossed his books onto his own desk, straddled a chair, and leaned his forearms across the back. "You're studying too hard."

"I know it; I'm pooped. But I wouldn't mind that if I were learning anything. I just don't seem to savvy."

"Aw, you're all right; forget that inferiority complex. Gimme a Lucky. "

They smoked in silence for a moment. Presently Adams looked up. "I was sure sore about that election last night. If there wasn't such a bunch of nitwits in this class you'd have been elected."

"Bill Perry's all right; he'll make a good president."

"You got it all over him, Johnny."

"He's a darn good speaker."

"Yeah? Gab's all right if there're any brains back of it. Do you remember that guy who was student body president our freshman year, the one that circulated a petition and sent it to the President demanding that we recognize Soviet Russia? That's what I mean. That bird had won a national oratorical contest, and it went to his head where his brains ought to have been."

Lafitte laughed. "Billy's all right; he's not that bad."

"Oh, I suppose not; but I still think you should have got it.

"I don't seem to quite make the grade, ever." Johnny snapped the stub of his cigarette into the fireplace. "I guess it's the old Mendelian Law at work. "

"Nerts!" scoff.

"No 'nerts' about it. Take your own family for instance: lawyers, writers, statesmen, diplomats, naturalists, astronomers, and two U.S. presidents; and Perry's is almost as good. Your blood can't help producing successes. But how about me? The only Lafitte in history was a pirate, and there isn't any great field for pirates nowadays."

Adams grinned. "You might try international banking."

"Too ruthless for a self-respecting pirate."

"And say, let me tell you something. You're all wet about Perry, and your theory falls down right there. I happen to know something about him. His father may be a respected banker from a fine old family, but his mother's people were not so hot. My father came from the same town she did. Her old man served a term for forgery, and she died in an insane asylum. But there's nothing wrong that way about Billy."

"He's always inventing things," suggested Lafitte, "maybe that explains it."

"I wouldn't mind being crazy like Edison. But on the level, Johnny, you don't believe in all this heredity bunk, do you?"

There was a note of sadness in Lafitte's voice as he replied. "Yes, and so do you. Science may not be able to prove how it is done, but it certainly has proved that it is done-that germ cells carry certain characteristics down through a line for generation after generation, physical, mental, and moral.

"There's the famous Hapsburg lip, for example, that's come down through eighteen generations for more than six hundred years to King Alphonso of Spain; and the musical talent of the Bach family in which there have been twenty-eight famous musicians; the genius and talent of the Darwin family; and Commodore Perry's line, which includes twelve admirals."

Adams grunted. "It'd take a lot more than heredity to make an admiral out of Bill Perry; it's environment and training that count. No, it's all theory; and theories mostly don't work out. If a man believed the way you do, there'd be no incentive for him to try to make anything of himself. I won't believe it; it's rotten."

"I'd rather not believe it, but I can't help it."

"But think what it means to some people; it's ghastly. Think what it would mean to-" He paused a moment, and then barely whispered the name. "Daisy."

"I have thought of her more than of anyone else."

Adams rose and walked to the window. "It's a horrible theory; it takes all hope from life. What chance would she have with that blood line back of her--the blood of old Max Juke that has produced over twelve hundred physical, mental, and moral wrecks, paupers, prostitutes, thieves, murderers, and other criminals during the past two hundred years? I tell you it was environment that made those people the way they were. Her family got out of that environment; she's not contaminated."

"I hope you're right, old man; but only time will tell; and maybe not in this generation."