Friend and foe alike turned and watched the football. Everyone held his breath. Surely it would never travel so far! And yet it kept on going, getting higher and higher until, by the time it reached the end of the field, it was yards and yards and yards above the goal posts. A great awe hushed the field. You could have heard a pin drop. And then a great cry of amazement started and spread, for the magic football kept on going up and up and up and getting smaller and smaller and smaller until, at last, it was just a speck against the blue and then—why, then it wasn’t anything at all! It had just floated out of sight like a runaway toy balloon!
But everyone agreed that it had passed exactly over the center of the Meadowville goal, and so what did it matter if the ball was lost?
Tommy, being borne off the field on the shoulders of enthusiastic admirers, cheered and waved at, smiled modestly. But under that smile was a sorrow. The magic football was lost to him!
“I guess,” said Tommy, sadly, to himself, “I must have said ‘Og!’ seven times!”