back! I did not understand how he had managed to do it, but I supposed that he had slipped in the mud. Before I could get within passing distance the Brixham men were on us, and the ball was down.
"I thought you'd done it that time."
I said this to him as the scrimmage was being formed. He did not answer. He stood looking about him in a hazy sort of way, as though the further proceedings had no interest for him.
"What's the matter? Are you hurt?"
He turned to me.
"Where is he?" he asked.
"Where's who?"
I couldn't make him out. There was quite a curious look upon his face.
"Joyce!"
Somehow, as he said this, I felt a trifle queer. It was his face, or his tone, or something. "Didn't you see him throw me?"
I didn't know what he meant But before I could say so we had another little rough and tumble—one go up and the other go down. A hubbub arose. There was Ingall shouting.
"I protest! I don't think this sort of thing's fair play."
"What sort of thing?"
"You said you weren't playing Joyce."
"Said we weren't! We aren't."
"Why, he just took the ball out of my hands! Joyce, where are you?"
"Yes, where is he?"
Then they laughed. Mason intervened.
