"Bang!" said the Book.
"Dear me!" cried the Imp. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "What does it mean?"
"It means the circus is all over," said the Imp. "That was the shutting up of the Book we heard. It's too bad; but there are other things quite as well worth seeing here. I'll tell you what we'll do—I'll find the Pixyweevil Poetry Book, and turn that on, and while you are listening, I'll see who that is ringing, for I am quite sure the bell rang a minute ago."
[to be continued.]
The game between the elevens from the Carlisle Indian School and the Y.M.C.A., at Manhattan Field, Thanksgiving day, was one that I wish could have been witnessed by every football player in the country. For real earnest football play I have never seen the Indians' performance beaten. They went on the field not to talk, not to slug, not to wrangle with the officials, but to play football. And they did play football. They attended strictly to their business from whistle to whistle, and not a word did one of them say, except to call out the signals. I will make another exception. One player did make a remark. Some of the Y.M.C.A. men were talking and objecting in a manner unfortunately too common with some football players, when one of the red men tapped his opponent quietly on the shoulder and said, "Ugh, too much talk!"