"Stop it, stop it! Get off, you'll smother him!"
Mrs. Farwell quieted her.
"Lois, you mustn't, dear child," she laughed. "They can't hear you, you know. Do sit down and don't look if it frightens you."
By this time Frank was up and doing wonders. Lois gave a sigh of relief.
"Football's a savage game," she said, indignantly. And Mrs. Farwell agreed with her. She had been thankful beyond words that Bob had not gone out for the team—running was sufficiently dangerous. It was to her lasting credit that she had thought of Bob's feelings first, instead of her own, when news came of his hurt foot.
Putting Frank in the game made a decided difference. The Orange and Black began to gain. They fought and contested every inch, but the Crimson triumphed.
Polly's eyes reflected the light of victory as the last longed for whistle blew. She shouted and went quite mad with all the rest.
"What a game! Oh, Bob, what a game!" she cried as they started for their exit. "I'll never be able to thank you enough for taking me. I'm nearly dead from excitement, though."
Bob, in his exuberance, slapped her on the back.
"Good for you, Polly; you ought to have been a boy, shouldn't she, Jim?" he demanded.