When the game first began the two good people gazed in silent astonishment. It always takes some time to understand the humour of a football-match from outside, and Jim’s uncle and aunt consequently for a time could make nothing out of the constant succession of charges and scrimmages of which they were witnesses. Presently, however, with the aid of their own observation and the remarks of people around them, they came to appreciate the sport better, and grew proportionately interested. After a time the interest grew to excitement and excitement found relief in speech.
“There’s that little red-haired fellow got it again!” exclaimed the aunt; “see how he runs!”
“Wait a bit!” cried the uncle; “that fellow there will catch him—no, he hasn’t—just look at him; there’s smartness for you! Ah! he’s down!”
“But another of the blues has got the ball!” cried the aunt, starting on tiptoe. “Well, to be sure! five onto one! what a shame!”
And so they kept up a running commentary on the fortunes of the game, much to George’s amusement and that of those near us. Now and then the uncle appeared suddenly to recollect himself, and would come out with a grunt of disapproval. Once, for instance, when by a sort of common impulse the whole of the players engaged in one of the scrimmages fell to the ground, he was hardy enough to ejaculate—
“Disgraceful!”
“Hold your tongue, my love,” broke in his wife; “you know very well you’d like to be in it yourself if you were a boy. I would!”
After that the uncle, whatever he thought, said nothing.
The sides appeared to be very evenly matched; so much so, that when “half-time” was called neither had gained the least advantage.
Just as the sides were changing over, preparing to renew the contest, a man came running up to where our party stood and called out,—