"Yes, we know, Poll," Bob interrupted, "boys have no minds; therefore
their rules must be less rigid. But don't be too hard on us."

"I judge Polly plays basket ball." It seemed to be Jim's day for
blunders.

"Plays basket ball--oh, ye Gods!" Bob wrung his hands. "Why, Jim, surely
I told you that she was no less than captain of her team. Personally, I
think she deserves the title of general."

Polly laughed in spite of herself.

"Bob, you're a mean tease. But just wait. I'll ask you both up for field
day, and--"

"Sh--! here they come," Bob warned as a prolonged cheer announced the
arrival of the teams.

The game was on.

Everybody stood up and shouted. And then a tense silence followed, as
the first kick-off sent the pigskin hurtling into the air.

Any one who has seen a football game knows how perfectly silly it is to
attempt a description of it. Polly and Lois could both tell you all the
rules and explain the most intricate maneuvers, if you gave them plenty
of time to think it out; but with the actual plays before them, they
were carried away by excitement and gave themselves up completely to
feeling the game, rather than understanding it. They watched the massed
formation with breathless anxiety, thrilled at every sudden spurt ahead
which meant a gain; groaned when the advance was stopped by one of those
terrifying tackles, and experienced the exultant joy only possible when
the pigskin sails unchecked between the goal posts.

Between periods they had to appeal to Jim and Bob for the score. At one
point in the game, Bob turned hurriedly to Lois.

"Watch out for Frank," he said, excitedly; "He'll be on in a minute."

"How do you know?" Lois demanded. "Oh, Bobby, I wish they wouldn't; he,
he--said he'd lose his nerve." Lois had suddenly lost hers.

"You watch that man," Bob pointed, "they'll take him out, see if they
don't; he's all in. Frank will play next period."

He was right. When the whistle blew, Frank, after a few hurried words
with the coach, tore off his sweater and ran out to the field.

Lois' eyes were glued to him whenever he was in sight, and during one
tackle when he was completely lost under the mass of swaying arms and
legs, she forgot her surroundings and the fact, most important in Bob's
and Jim's eyes, that she was on the Harvard side--by shouting lustily.

"Stop it, stop it! Get off, you'll smother him!"

Mrs. Farwell quieted her.

"Lois, you mustn't, dear child," she laughe