run off to one side or merely blocked with the body. Clif, encountering Tom several times in midfield, regretted the prohibition. It would have added greatly to his enjoyment of the occasion to have been allowed to topple the dodging, feinting Tom to earth. He did secure some satisfaction on one encounter, however, by knocking the ball from Tom's grasp and jeering as the latter vented outraged feelings and trotted off in pursuit. The air was full of flying balls, players raced this way and that and shouts of "Mine!" or "I've got it!" vied with the calls of the coaches. Lacking a scrimmage to watch, the audience in the stand was grateful for so much action, and, lolling comfortably in the shade, lazily voiced approval of a good punt or a clever catch or chortled merrily over some amusing incident.
At the farther edge of the running track, toward the school buildings, two onlookers sat quite by themselves. One, covered to his waist by a light rug, leaned back at ease in a wheel chair. The second occupied a folding canvas stool set at the left and slightly to the rear of his companion. He was rather tall and rather bony, and, seated bolt upright, the inner edges of his shining black shoes touching, a hand on either knee of his carefully creased black serge trousers, he looked painfully respectable and extremely uncomfortable. The idea must have occurred to the occupant of the chair for he asked, glancing around:
"Comfortable, Wattles?"
"Oh, quite, sir. Absolutely."
