A wave of apprehension rolled over Larry. He felt a chill, as if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped. Feeling as if he had invaded a man’s privacy, he started to turn and saw Mr. Lacey — why did you change your name, Yancey? — standing in the doorway, looking at him.
Larry blushed. “I’d better go,” he said, struggling to get the words out.
Yancey Foote smiled. “Why? Because you found out I’m really Yancey Foote? Don’t be silly. Sit down. Take the load off your feet. Why do you think I invited you here, anyway?”
Larry’s skin prickled. “I knew you were Yancey Foote. I just knew it. But why are you going by the name of Mr. Lacey?”
Yancey took off his sunglasses and Larry stared at his eyes. They were definitely Yancey Foote’s!
“I’ve only told a couple of people — Mrs. Franklin and Harry the grocer,” he answered. “I suppose it might not have made a bit of difference if I had really told everyone the truth. But I thought that, for a while at least, I’d keep my secret.”
“Why?” Larry asked curiously. “Are you really in bad trouble, Yancey? I mean, Mr. Foote?”
“Yancey’s all right,” said Yancey. “After all, that’s how you were addressing your letters to me. Right?”
“Right.” Larry shook his head. “Boy, was I worried when I didn’t hear from you anymore!”
“I’m sure sorry about that,” Yancey said contritely. “But lately I haven’t had time to answer any of the fans.”
They both seemed to realize at the same time that the corn-popping machine had stopped.
“Take a seat,” said Yancey. “I’ll be right back.”
He was back in a minute with two large bowls of popcorn, one of which he handed to Larry. Then he sat down on the sofa and, while munching on the popcorn, explained why he had not answered Larry’s letters.
“It started with a stupid argument in a barroom,” he said. “A couple of my friends would usually go with me, but this time I went alone. We were playing cards in my room and I went out to get something to eat and drink. I had given the bartender my order and was waiting for him to bring it when a guy comes up to me and starts rattling off about how much better the Packers would be if I played with somebody else. I grinned at him and told him that he could be right, but that I had no intention of encouraging them to make that decision. He kept needling me, then gave me a shove and called me a couple of unpleasant names.”
“Is that when you hit him?”
“No. I pushed him back first, and he went out the door, grumbling. I ate my dinner and left. That’s when he jumped me. Just outside the door. Came at me with a bottle.”
“The stinker,” said Larry.
“He was worse than a stinker. But it was either him or me.”
“Wasn’t that self-defense?”
“Yes, but there were no witnesses,” answered Yancey. “Even inside the building there were only two guys and the bartender. All of them were too interested in watching TV to see what was going on between us.”
Yancey paused and popped a handful of popcorn into his mouth while he glanced at the television set. A college football game was on, but Larry had no interest in watching it. Not at the moment, anyway. Nothing could hold his interest more now than the man sitting beside him and the sad, true tale he had just told.
Yancey crunched on a mouthful of popcorn before he went on. “So, another reason why I came here. When you first wrote you said your dad was a lawyer, and I realized he must be the famous Mr. Shope. When I got in trouble I thought that maybe your dad might help me. Even though you had seldom written about him, I had hopes of his being willing to defend me. Because I need a good lawyer to help me out of this mess, big fella.’
Larry’s heart pounded. When he didn’t answer immediately Yancey looked at him. “What’s the matter? Why so quiet all of a sudden?”
“Yancey, my father only knows about the first letter,” Larry confessed, a lump rising in his throat. “He hardly ever seems interested in football, so I didn’t tell him about the others. I don’t think our friendship will make him defend you.”
“I see,” said Yancey. He paused, as if somewhat surprised. “Does he like football? Does he ever watch it on television?”
“Very seldom.”
“Well, don’t blame him for that,” replied Yancey, tossing some more popcorn into his mouth. “He’s a busy man. Anyway, there are plenty of fans around to keep the sport alive. Right?”
Talking about his father reminded Larry of how rarely he and his father saw each other. His heart ached just thinking about it. Not even the letters he had written to and received from Yancey had ever helped to fill that gap.
At last he finished his popcorn. He put the bowl aside and stood up.
“I think I’d better go, Yancey,” he said. “Thanks for the popcorn.”
“That’s all right,” Yancey said, rising. “But wait a minute. I’ve got something I want you to take back with you. A couple of football plays.”
Larry’s eyes widened. Football plays?
Yancey went to a desk, pulled out a drawer, and took out a long, white envelope.
“Here,” he said, handing them to Larry. “Give them to your coach. They’re not hard to pull off, but they’re pretty effective. Of course, I don’t expect you guys to run them like we do. But, after a few practices, you should do a good job with them. I’ve watched your games and none of your plays seem to have much strategy. That’s okay when you first start playing. But with your experience you should be able to pull off some razzle-dazzle stuff.”
Larry beamed. “Is that what these plays are? Razzle-dazzle?”
“Well — something like that,” Yancey said, grinning.
They shook hands.
“You want me to talk to my father about your wanting to see him?” Larry asked. “Or are you going to call him yourself?”
“I’ll call him,” said Yancey, walking to the door with Larry. “Thanks for coming over, Larry. I’ll see you again soon. Right?”
“Right. And thanks for asking me over, Yancey. I guess, well — I’m sure it’s one of the nicest afternoons I’ve ever spent in my life.”
“Nice of you to say that, Larry,” Yancey replied. “Take care, now.”
Larry left the house and headed for Main Street, looking back twice before he reached the intersection. He felt as if he had just stepped out of a dream. Who would ever believe that he had just spent an afternoon with Yancey Foote, the Green Bay Packers’ outstanding guard? Nobody.
Except, maybe, Greg Moore.
“He’d be the only guy I’d tell it to, anyway,” said Larry, smiling proudly to himself.