Amy smiled and hurried back to his seat next to Bob Chase just as the

two teams, having warmed up and experimented with what little breeze was
cutting across the gridiron, withdrew to their respective sides of the
field
Amy smiled and hurried back to his seat next to Bob Chase just as the
two teams, having warmed up and experimented with what little breeze was
cutting across the gridiron, withdrew to their respective sides of the
field. A final long-drawn cheer for Brimfield issued from the south
stand, was answered by a more thunderous one from the opposite seats,
the teams lined up, the captains waved their hands to the referee and
Claflin’s left guard sent the nice new yellow ball arching away
against the sky.

“Unconsciously, yes

“Unconsciously, yes. Last year someone contributed a sonnet called
‘Truth.’ No one could see much sense in it until some smart chap
discovered that the first letters of each line spelled ‘The Bulletin is
Punk.’ Now when you want anything printed in the _Bulletin_ you have to
send a sworn statement that there isn’t an acrostic concealed in it. The
editors went gunning for the fellow who sent in the sonnet, but they
never found him.”

The teams had shown themselves to be very evenly matched in all

departments of the game
The teams had shown themselves to be very evenly matched in all
departments of the game. On offence Brimfield had done a trifle better,
if we except the forward-pass made by her adversary, the only one so far
attempted by either side. On defence Claflin had proved no stronger than
the Maroon-and-Grey. In punting, Harris, for Brimfield, and Wentworth,
for Claflin, had shown about the same ability, what advantage there
might be being in favour of Harris, whose punts had been a little better
placed. So far it was anybody’s game, and the rival schools, during the
intermission, sang and cheered loudly and confidently.

Mr

Mr. Detweiler and “Boots” scolded and threatened during half-time. The
team had played, declared the latter, like a lot of helpless idiots.
What was the matter with them? Did they think they were there to loaf?
For two cents Mr. Boutelle would yank the whole silly bunch off the
field and finish the game with the second team! He would, by Ginger!

“Yes, indeed, a wonderful pastime,” ruminated Amy, seating himself on

the window-seat and hugging one knee
“Yes, indeed, a wonderful pastime,” ruminated Amy, seating himself on
the window-seat and hugging one knee. “All a fellow has to do is to go
out and work like a dray-horse and a pile-driver and street-roller for a
couple of hours every afternoon, get kicked in the shins and biffed in
the eye and rolled in the dirt and ragged by one coach, one captain and
one quarter-back. That’s all he has to do except learn a lot of signals
so he can recognise them in the fraction of a second, be able to recite
the rules frontward and backward and both ways from the middle and live
on indigestible things like beef and rice and prunes. For that he gets
called a ‘mutt’ and a ‘dub’ and a ‘disgrace to the School’ and, unless
he’s lucky enough to break a leg and get out of it before the big game,
he has twenty-fours hours of heart-disease and sixty minutes of glory.
And his picture in the paper. He knows it’s his picture because there’s
a statement underneath that Bill Jones is the third criminal from the
left in the back row. And it isn’t the photographer’s fault if the
good-looking half-back in the second row moved his head just as the
camera went _snap_ and all that shows of Bill Jones is a torn and
lacerated left ear!”

“Don’t go, Dreer,” said Mr

“Don’t go, Dreer,” said Mr. Daley. Dreer halted in his elaborately
uninterested departure. “Now, then, boys, what does this mean? Don’t
you know that fighting is barred here? And don’t you think that, if you
had to try to kill each other like two wild animals, you might–er–have
chosen some day other than the Sabbath?”