26

Horse Play

HAD always wanted to learn how to ride, and when I came to college and heard
I that there were horses in the gym, my ambition knew no bounds (leaps and

bounds, I mean). Of course I was disappointed when I discovered that the
horses were practically inanimate. I say practically with intention, for my expe-
rience with a gym horse was such as to convince me that there was still some
life in the old girl yet. A gym horse is like no other horse on earth; wild horses,
circus horses, clothes horses, Charlie horses, up to this time had held no terrors
for me, but the first time I looked a gym horse in the mouth, I knew that Fate had
it in for me. I was told to mount. I looked about for the stirrups, but as there
were none, | concluded it was something in the nature of bareback riding and grip-
ping the pommel firmly between the thumb and forefinger, | managed to crawl into
a sitting position on the horse with sufficient alacrity to escape the notice of Miss
Applebee, who was conducting the performance. During the ensuing hours, [
learned that the rider (or rather the would-be gymnast) was supposed to rise and
fall more or less rhythmically on different parts of the horse at different times
(a vestigial remnant, I suppose of the old-fashioned posting). Well, the rise and
fall of the Roman Empire had nothing on me, especially in regard to the fall.
I bit the dust of the arena with pain and, as I did so I could have sworn that the
horse kicked me. I could not stand that—not for a minute. I reached out and
grabbed it by the leg. O Tempora, O Mores! O Death, where is thy sting? It
was Miss Applebee’s leg! Of course there was nothing for me to say, and if there
had been, there would have been no time in which to say it. The ensuing moments
had evidently been requisitioned by Miss Applebee, and I withdrew, rubbing my
knees and vowing never to enter the gymnasium again. Vain delusion! As I
had proved such a social failure at the horse, I was sent to the bar to make a name
for myself. At the bar I assumed all kinds of undignified positions. Like a
kindergarten, we spent our time making baskets and cutting. However, I learned
a great many things I never knew before, and under the stress of great emotion
have written the following in appreciation of my good intentions:

Gym meet, and ne’er a star,
And one clear call for me.

Oh, may there be no moaning of the bar
When I roll up on thee!

I know my knees are bent, a sad disgrace!
My swing takes me too far.
I dare not look my captain in the face

When I have crossed the bar.
Emity ANDERSON

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