Six Point Bombshell

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He was looking in the mirror again when Coco came along. “Stop admiring y’self. Enough other peep to do that.”

“Just examining my black ’n’ blue marks.”

“Never mind ’em. Gent outside says he has to see you, but pronto!”

Coco took his arm. In the corridor, Frankie Caytron waited, with another man. A big bronzed individual with a face that was the duplicate of the one Dan had been inspecting in the mirror… only without Dan’s cut lip and swollen nose.

Dan scowled, darkly. He flushed. The bronzed man hesitated, held out his hand.

“I take it all back, Dan’l. You’ve shown me. You’re a ball player for anybody’s dough. Maybe you’re no razzle-dazzle broken fielder. But you sure can pound through there. And I never worked that Paycheck Pass any better in my life.”

Dan shook hands. “Didn’t know you were here, Sam,” he muttered lamely.

Caytron scoffed. “Ah! You knew all right. I got wise you knew your brother was here with the Burgers, soon’s Coco told me how fast you ducked my invitation. Up till then I thought you were Janny… and then he showed up at my place with the rest of the Pitts… and it all came out in the wash.”

“Yuh?” Dan wasn’t so sure. He went close to his famous brother. Memories crowded in.

His failure to star as a passer, as a running back, at Michigan. Sam’s bullheaded attempts to tell him how to pass, how to run, how to do everything just like successful Sam… the celebrated high scoring ‘Jet’ Janok of the pros. Dan’s difficulty, trying to make out on his own, under the handicap of being a younger brother of one of the game’s all-time Greats. His unwillingness to make the grade on the strength of big brother’s name, anyway.

And then, the bitter quarrel at home. The ugly names. The words “Lazy”, “yellow”. Other words, — nastier. His mother, stopping it. And the angry decision to get away, — far from home, — to make good on his own — without any pulling or pressuring from Sam.

As a topper, Sam’s sneering taunt: “Okay!… Okay!… But don’t ever tell anybody you’re my brother!”

“I thought you didn’t want anybody to know. Sam.” His eyes probed the other’s.

Jet Janok grinned. “You’re such a hotheaded fathead. You never did take anything seriously, — except me! I figured you’d never do any good, trailing after me. So… maybe I prodded you too hard. But I’m damn well proud of the way it worked out. And pleased. The folks will be tickled, too, when I talk to ’em on the phone tonight.”

“Did you tell St… Mister Hart? Who I was?”

“No,” drawled a lazy voice. “I did.”

Lin Hollet. In the doorway.

“I had to, at half time, or my life wouldn’t have been worth a plugged peso. I heard about Jet Jannok being in town…. and how much you looked like him… and put this and that together. When Marla found it out, why—”

“Dan.”

She was just outside. Not proper for little girls to hang around the big boy’s locker room!

“Dan,” she held out a hand. “Why couldn’t you have told me! You were wonderful!”

He purposely misunderstood her. “Will you put that in writing, shugie?”

Jet thumped him on the back.

“Introduce me to the lovely, heel.”

Dan bowed: “Marla, slip five to Samuel Adams Janok, my big stiff of a brother. I told you mom was terriffic. After putting that kind of a tag on him, she named me Daniel Webster Janok. Can you imagine having a label like that?”

“Oh, yes,” she said dreamily. “I can. I’d love it.”