rom ear to ear."

"Can't," replied South. "It's the plaster."

"He's been looking like the Cheshire cat for two days," said Livingston.
"You see, when they patched him up they asked if he was suffering much
agony, and he grinned that way just to show that he was a hero, and
before he could get his face straight they had the plaster on. He gets
credit for being much better natured than he really is."

"Credit!" said South. "I get worse than that. 'Sandy' saw me grinning at
him in class yesterday and got as mad as a March hare; said I was
'deesrespectful.'"

"But how did it happen?" asked Neil, struggling with his laughter.

"Lacrosse," replied South. "Murdoch was tending goal and I was trying to
get the ball by him. I tripped over his stick and banged my face against
a goal-iron. That's all."

"Seems to me it's enough," said Foster. "What did you do to Murdoch?"
South opened his eyes in innocent surprise.

"Nothing."

"Nothing be blowed, my boy. Murdoch's limping to beat the band."

"Oh!" grinned South. "That was afterward; he got mixed up with my stick,
and, I fear, hurt his shins."

"Well," said Neil, when the laughter was over, "football seems deadly
enough, but I begin to think it's a parlor game for rainy evenings
alongside of lacrosse."

"There won't be many fellows left for the Robinson game," said Sydney,
"if they keep on getting hurt."

"That's so," Livingston concurred. "Fletcher, White, Jewell, Brown,
Stowell--who else?"

"Well, I'm not feeling well myself," said Foster.

"We were referring to _players_, Teddy, my love," replied South sweetly.

"Insulted!" cried Foster, leaping wildly to his feet. "It serves me
right for associating with a lot of freshmen. Good-night, Fletcher, my
wounded gladiator. Get well and come back to us; all will be forgiven."

"I'd like the chance of forgiving the fellow that jumped on my
shoulder," said Neil. "I'd send him to join Murdoch."

"That's not nice," answered Foster gravely. "Forgive your enemies.
Good-night, you cubs."

"Hold on," said Livingston, "I'm going your way. Good-night, Fletcher.
Cheer up and get well. We need you and so does the team. Remember the
class is looking forward to seeing you win a few touch-downs in the
Robinson game."

"Oh, I'll be all right," answered Neil, "and if they'll let me into the
game I'll do my best. Only--I'm afraid I'll be a bit stale when I get
out again."

"Not you," declared Livingston heartily. "'Age can not