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Updated: June 27, 2025
It took about five minutes to get Ole dug out, and then he started for Bost again. "Honest, Master Bost, Aye ent mean to stop," he said imploringly. "Aye yust tal you, dese fallers ban devils. Aye fule dem naxt time " "Line up and shut up," the captain shouted. The ball wasn't over twenty yards from the line, and as a matter of course the quarter shot it back to Ole.
Ole watched it sail past and then tore after it like a pup retrieving a stick. He got it in a few minutes and brought it back to where Bost was raving. "See here, you overgrown fox terrier," he shouted, "catch it on the fly. Here!" He hurled it at him. "Aye ent seen no fly," said Ole, allowing the ball to pass on as he conversed.
"Aye yust keep on runnin'. Fallers ent got breath to call me fule ven Aye run. Aye tenk das best vay." We picked Bost up again thirty yards behind. Maybe he would have run better if he hadn't choked so in his conversation. In another minute we landed him abreast of Ole again. He got out and sprinted for the third time. He wabbled as he did it. "Ole," he panted, "I've been mistaken in you.
If it had not been for him it would never have entered our heads till it was too late." "May I ask your name, sir?" Von Bost said to Ned. "My wife and I would like to know to whom we owe a lifelong debt of gratitude. I will take your advice and ride at once for Sluys. I have many friends there who will conceal us and get us on board a ship.
Phoebe Bost, was born on a plantation in Louisiana, near New Orleans. She does not know her exact age but says she was told, when given her freedom that she was about 15 years of age. Phoebe claims both her masters were very mean and would administer a whipping at the slightest provocation. Phoebe's duties were that of a nurse maid.
We knew very well that the sacred cause of education would come right back at us and we decided to be elsewhere when it struck its next blow for progress. We talked it all over with Bost, the coach, and the result was that a week before the Muggledorfer game, the last week in September, Bost gave out his line-up for the season in chapel.
Besides, we want him. What are we going to do?" "I know," I said. "We're going back to get Bost. I guess the man who started him can stop him." We left Ole still plugging north and ran back to town. The game was still hanging fire. Bost was tearing his hair. Of course, the Muggledorfer fellows could have insisted on playing, but they weren't anxious.
Bost stopped for breath and eyed us. We were a sick-looking crowd. You could almost see the remarks sticking into us and quivering. We had come in feeling pretty virtuous, and what we were getting was a hideous surprise. "Now I want to tell this tea-party something," continued Bost.
Ole or no Ole, we could have walked all over them, and they knew it. Besides, they were having too much fun with Bost. They were sitting around, Indian-like, in their blankets, and every three minutes their captain would go and ask Bost with perfect politeness whether he thought they had better continue the game there or move it on to the next town in time to catch his fullback as he came through.
Then Ole was given the ball. He went twenty-five yards. Any other man would have been crushed to earth in five. He just waded through the middle of the line and went down the field, a moving mass of wriggling men. It was a wonderful play. They disinterred him at last and he started straight across the field for Bost. "Aye ent mean to stop, Master Bost," he shouted.
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