over the
line or kick it over that cross-piece there. That's center, that fellow
that's arranging the ball. He kicks off. There it goes, and a good kick,
too. Sometimes the center-rush isn't a good kicker; then some one else
kicks off. Blair has the ball. Look, see him dodge with it. He gained
ten yards that time."

"Oh!" It was Joel's mother who exclaimed. "Why, Joel, that other man
threw him down."

"That's part of the game, mother. He did that to keep Blair from getting
the ball any nearer the scrub's goal. He isn't hurt, you see."

"And do you mean that they do that all the time?"

"Pretty often."

"And do _you_ get thrown around that way, Joel?"

"Sometimes, mother; when I'm lucky enough to get the ball."

"Well, I never."

"Football's not a bad game, Mr. March," West was saying. "But it doesn't
come up to golf, you know. It's too rough."

"It does look a little rough," answered Mr. March. "Do they often get
hurt? Seems as though when a boy had another fellow on his head, and
another on his stomach, and another on his feet, and the whole lot of
them banging away at once, seems like that boy would be a little
uncomfortable."

West laughed.

"Sometimes a fellow has his ankle sprained or a knee twisted, or a
shoulder-bone bust, or something like that. But it isn't often anything
worse occurs."

"Well, I suppose it's all right then. Only when I was a boy we never
went round trying to get our ankles sprained or our collar-bones broke;
you young fellows are tougher than we were, I guess."

"I shouldn't wonder, sir. I believe Joel has been feeling pretty bad for
a long time because he's got nothing worse than a broken finger."

"What? Broke his finger, did he? Eh? He didn't write anything about it;
what's he mean, getting broken to pieces and not telling his parents
about it?" West glanced apprehensively at Joel, but the latter had
missed the conversation, being busy following the progress of Barton, of
the scrub, who was doing a long run along the side line.

"Well, it wasn't much of a break, sir. It's all right now, and I think
he thought you'd be worried, you know. I'm sure if it had been anything
important he would have written at once."

"Humph," grunted Joel's father. "If he's going to break himself in
pieces he'd better stop football. I won't have him taking risks. I'll
tell him so!"

The fifteen-minute half had come to an end, and the players were either
resting on the ground or going throu