Bob trotted up to Judd and dragged him to his feet.
"What's the matter, Buddy?"
Judd showed him the spot over his eye, a slight skin bruise.
"Oh, why that's nothing. Come on, let's try another." Bob picked up the ball.
"No … see … it's bleeding." Judd displayed some drops of blood on his handkerchief. "I reckon I'd better go to the room and sterilize it, I don't want to get blood poisoning, you know."
Bob laughed. "Tommy rot! Whoever gave you such silly ideas? Forget it!"
Judd's feelings were wounded. "You can't tell what'll happen if you don't take care of yourself. I heard of a fellah once…"
"See here, Judd! Get those wild imaginings out of your head. How far do you think we'd get in this world if every time a little thing happened to us we sat down to worry about it and to think up lots worse things happening?"
But Judd was done for the afternoon. He turned and walked away, dabbing his handkerchief tenderly to the bruise and sympathizing with himself. He should have known better than to have played with Bob. He might have been sure that something like this would happen. There were so many things that a fellow had to watch out for! But after Judd had reached the apartment and looked at himself in the glass and been convinced that his hurt did not amount to so much after all, he reflected—with a smile—that chasing the football had been real sport.
The next time Judd accompanied Bob to the park the great Bob taught him how to stand and how to hold his hands in catching a punt. At first Judd was a bit reluctant to get in the path of a twisting football again but he gradually overcame this fear and found, to his delight, that he could catch some of the longest punts with ease. Bob was kicking the ball forty and fifty yards at a kick and most of the punts Judd had to run in order to get under. After a particularly long chase, in which Judd reached up and just managed to catch the ball on the tips of his fingers, Bob shouted from down the field: "That's the pep! Great stuff, Buddy!"