"I guess you'll be called on, Paul, if any field-goals are needed."
"I suppose so, but--hang it, Neil, I wish you were going to play!"
"Well, so do I," answered Neil calmly; "but I'm not, and so that settles it. After all, they couldn't do anything else, Paul, but let me out. I've been playing perfectly rotten lately."
"But--but what's the matter? You don't look stale, chum."
"I feel stale, just the same," answered Neil far from untruthfully.
"But maybe you'll get in for a while; you're down with the subs," said Paul hopefully.
"Maybe I will. Maybe you'll get killed and Gillam'll get killed and a few more'll get killed and they'll take me on. But don't you worry about me; I'm all right."
Paul looked at him as though rather puzzled.
"By Jove, I don't believe you care very much whether you play or don't," he said at last. "If it had been me they'd let out I'd simply gone off into a dark corner and died."
"I'm glad it wasn't you," answered Neil heartily.