“TOUCH YOUR TOES! Bend your knees! Up and down!” Ernest grumbled bitterly. “Over and over and over again! Wouldn’t it drive you out of your mind?”
Jimmie didn’t bother to reply as he stumbled along behind his brother on their way to the YMCA. It was just too cold to talk, this December day in 1891. Besides, Ernest was only complaining about his physical education class again.
“Football,” Ernest went on, “is worth coming to class for. So’s baseball. But what can you do when the playing fields are frozen and covered with snow? You’re stuck in the gym, lifting dumbbells. One-two, one-two! What fun!”
Jimmie was proud of his older brother, most of the time. Ernest had been only eighteen when their father died, and he’d been working hard to take care of the family ever since. He was attending the International YMCA Training School in their hometown of Springfield, Massachusetts, studying to qualify as a future YMCA director. But now he had this gym class. For weeks, they’d been doing nothing but gymnastic drills and calisthenics. Class was boring, and Ernest hated it. Jimmie was just tired of hearing about it.
“I’m not the only one
