tiger-lily red, if you know what I mean, and a mouth like—like Cleopatra's kiss. And absolutely perfect features. All the men darn near lose an eye when she walks into the room."
"Well," said Eunice acidly. "I should like to see this vision!"
"Oh, you will," Jock assured her. "She'll be down here often, I hope. Gosh, Eunice, look at the crowd! And for an opening game, too."
A great crowd, indeed. It swarmed ahead of them, using the whole street as a sidewalk. Jock and Eunice had an impression of thousands—myriads, it seemed—of backs. Broad staunch backs. Little gay backs with syncopating shoulders. Raccoon backs and broadcloth backs and fat backs and lean. "I feel," Jock said, "like a shepherd driving a flock before me." They crawled along, sounding the horn repeatedly—and vainly. Soon they were obliged to park the roadster and proceed on foot with the rest.
The Stadium from without was a high circular concrete wall with a picot edge of small dark heads around its upper rim. At the base there were tunnel-like entrances, into which the crowd streamed ceaselessly. The air was full of a muffled roaring and, nearer, the sharp cries of the gate-keepers: "Hold your own tickets, please! Let the lady hold her own ticket!"
Jock grabbed Eunice's arm. "Come on, let's hurry," he said. The football fever, always an autumn obsession with him, had suddenly taken hold anew.
They pried their way to and through a tunnel, and came out panting into the Stadium proper. A vast cup of people. Parti-colored atoms, these, set into place on the sides of the cup carefully, as though some master artist had put them in with pincers, saying, "We will have a red dot here, we will have a blue dot there,
