of
the friends of Harvard; their very cheers are anxious, and with good
reason. Yale has kicked another goal from the field in the first
twenty minutes and the crimson is being gradually and steadily
outplayed. My heart bleeds for my son; he will be so disappointed if
he loses. And I shall be so happy when the game is over and I am sure
that he is not maimed for life. He is doing wonders still, dear boy.
Twice I see him lying flat and motionless on the field with the wind
stamped out of him, to borrow Sam's euphemism, while his mother
wriggles in her seat in the throes of uncertainty and is hardly to be
restrained from going to him. Twice, after the doctor has fumbled over
him and water has been dashed in his face, I see Sam's diagnosis
vindicated, and my half-back rise to his feet, and the game go on as
though nothing had happened. Such episodes are a matter of course, and
not to be taken too seriously. A broken rib or two is not a vital
matter, and only one rib is broken in the second three-quarters of an
hour. Even then the poor victim does not have to be carried off on a
litter, for he is able to walk with the help of the doctor and a
friend. It is not Fred; Fred has merely had the wind stamped out of
him a few times and is still doing wonders. Will it never end? I look
at my watch feverishly. The ball is close by the Harvard goal, and
Yale holds it there with the tenacity of a bull-dog. Bull-dog? They
are all bull-dogs--twenty-two bull-dogs cheek by jowl.

"Isn't it magnificent?" murmurs Sam, looking back at me. "They have
outplayed us fairly and squarely. Only five minutes left, and the
score eleven to four against us. We're not in it. That run of Fred's
was the most brilliant play of the day, though."

"The poor darling will be broken-hearted," whispers Josephine.

"That is better than being broken-headed--better for us," I whisper in
reply.

"I do hope he hasn't lost any of his front teeth. His mouth was
bleeding the last time he fell," continues his mother.

"False ones nowadays are very satisfactory," I answer,

Ten minutes later we are moving along with the rest of our acquaintance
on the way to the railroad. Yale has won, eleven to four, and the
bruised and battered players of both teams have departed on their
respective tally-hos, and Josephine and I are free to receive the
congratulations of our friends with a calm mind, though my darling is
still haunted by the fear that our ill