When they resumed Mr. Yard had quite recovered from the effects of his tumble. He was standing in his place, luxuriously pondering over his next meeting with Private Buckle, when he suddenly observed a telegraph-boy opening the gate which led into the field.
Great minds work quickly. In a flash, Mr. Yard realized his danger. It was a hundred to one that the missing Logan had wired to explain his absence.
Casting a hasty glance at the game, which gave no sign of requiring his immediate services, he hurried down to the touch-line and held out his hand.
"For Mr. Mortimer, sir," said the lad.
"All right, my son," answered Mr. Yard pleasantly. "I'll give it him."
The boy handed over the yellow envelope, and then slowly began to retrace his steps, walking backwards and keeping a longing eye on the game. His own inclinations, fortunately for Mr. Yard, were at variance with the Government's views as to how long a telegraph-boy might take over a message, and, seeing that the full-back had had no opportunity as yet of passing on the wire, he at length vanished round the corner, unsuspicious as to its ultimate delivery.
It was not until he had completely disappeared that Mr. Yard opened the envelope.
"Sorry can't play to-day. Away last night; only just received letter.—LOGAN."
The convict barely had time to master the message when a sudden shout of "Look out, there!" recalled him abruptly to his environment.
The soldiers' three-quarters were in full movement; the ball travelling neatly up the line toward the right wing.