“It may be that, as you say, many other competent—I might perhaps add more competent—observers do not hold my views. I am inclined to think, however, that the older men, who are unaffected by the glamour of the arena or who have opportunities to trace the results of these ‘slight injuries,’ will be found on my side. At the same time I do not wish to seem arbitrary or tyrannical. If you can find among the best half-dozen surgeons in the city—men like Hinds or Rawson or Seaver or Brayton—a single man who can assure me that you are risking nothing or little by playing the game, I will waive my objection. I want to be reasonable and sympathetic. I would not hold you, in the present-day conditions, to all the limitations of school and college life which I look back upon as proper and beneficial in my own boyhood; but I would not have you pay the price of a single broken bone or twisted sinew for all the football trophies of the season. “Kindly thank your friends for the interesting and clever letters they have written me, and express to them my appreciation of their loyal friendship to you. I trust they will forgive me for not yielding to their arguments, and that you may not find the sacrifice I am requiring of you as hard as you fear. “Affectionately, ”W. LINDSAY.” “That settles it,” said Ware, heaving a sigh as Wolcott ceased reading. “When your father makes up his mind that his facts are the only ones, you may as well knuckle under.” Laughlin and Wolcott said nothing. The former was cudgelling his brains to discover some new point of attack; the latter, convinced that the final decision had been made, sat dumb and hopeless, crushed by the weight of disappointment. At that moment nothing in the world seemed so wholly desirable as the privilege of playing in the Hillbury game, and no fellows so wholly enviable as those whose parents were undisturbed by anxieties as to broken joints and twisted sinews. He was roused from his fit of sullen brooding by Poole’s voice. “Read it again, Wolcott,” commanded Phil, who was standing erect before his chair, his face bright with a new idea. “Read it again, or at least that part where he speaks of other competent judges.” Wolcott found the place and reread the latter portion of the letter. “Will he stand by what he says there, that if one of them will say you risk little or nothing, he’ll withdraw his objection?” demanded Poole. “Of course he will!” returned Wolcott, hotly. “What kind of a man do you take him for?” “Do you know any of these doctors?” continued Poole, paying no attention either to the indignant question or to the offended tone. Wolcott shook his head sadly. “Only old Dr. Rawson who lives near us. He set my collar-bone five years ago, when I broke it falling down the front steps.”