"Pretty often."
"And do you get thrown around that way, Joel?"
"Sometimes, mother; when I'm lucky enough to get the ball."
"Well, I never."
"Football's not a bad game, Mr. March," West was saying. "But it doesn't come up to golf, you know. It's too rough."
"It does look a little rough," answered Mr. March. "Do they often get hurt? Seems as though when a boy had another fellow on his head, and another on his stomach, and another on his feet, and the whole lot of them banging away at once, seems like that boy would be a little uncomfortable."
West laughed.
"Sometimes a fellow has his ankle sprained or a knee twisted, or a shoulder-bone bust, or something like that. But it isn't often anything worse occurs."
"Well, I suppose it's all right then. Only when I was a boy we never went round trying to get our ankles sprained or our collar-bones broke; you young fellows are tougher than we were, I guess."
"I shouldn't wonder, sir. I believe Joel has been feeling pretty bad for a long time because he's got nothing worse than a broken finger."