call it an accident, and let it go at that. But everything that Lef Sellers does is a crime!"
"That's so, Lef," remarked one of the bystanders, jeeringly; "but that's what you get for having a bad name. If that stick of yours had struck Frank on the temple instead of where it did, they'd be carrying him home now on a shutter. So you see how lucky you are, after all."
Lef turned away. The game had been a grand disappointment to him. Still, even if his side came out at the small end of the horn, they had temporarily disabled several of the regular Columbia players, and this ought to give him some little satisfaction. But the trouble was, the game with Clifford was some days off, and none of them had been so seriously injured but that they would be all right when the time came to play again.
Followed by his crowd, Lef skated away, going up the river. Those who remained with Frank were filled with indignation.
"He's getting worse every day!" grumbled Lanky; "and it's dangerous to have such a firebrand around. He ought to be cut dead by every self-respecting fellow in the whole town. Then his father would see that it was time to get him off to some place where they didn't know him, and his mean ways."
"That's what," echoed Buster Billings, "he's just
