VI.
THE FIFTEENTH MAN
THE STORY OF A RUGBY MATCH
IT was not until we were actually in the field, and were about to begin to play, that I learnt that the Brixham men had come one short It seemed that one of their men had been playing in a match the week before—in a hard frost, if you please! and, getting pitched on to his head, had broken his skull nearly into two clean halves. That is the worst of playing in a frost; you are nearly sure to come to grief. Not to ordinary grief, either, but a regular cracker. It was hard lines on the Brixham team. Some men always are getting themselves smashed to pieces just as a big match is due! The man's name was Joyce, Frank Joyce. He played half-back for Brixham, and for the county too—so you may be sure Lance didn't care to lose him. Still, they couldn't go and drag the man out of the hospital with a hole in his head big enough to put your fist into. They had tried to get a man to take his place, but at the last moment the substitute had failed to show.
"If we can't beat them—fifteen to their fourteen!—I think we'd better go in for challenging girls'
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