Tommy sat with his knees hunched up almost to his chin and munched peanuts. Tommy was usually munching something. He was a short, heavy youth with a round face and a liability to boils on the back of his brief neck. Indeed, it was quite an unfamiliar sight to see Tommy without at least one protective arrangement of gauze and plaster between his collar and the edge of his pale brown hair. Because his seat was in the front row of the grand-stand, he was able to perch his feet on the edge of the barrier and so form a sort of trough between legs and stomach for the accommodation of his bag of peanuts. When not dipping into the bag or deftly detaching the shells from their contents he snuggled his hands under the edge of his thick blue sweater. Since Tommy never wore a hat at school--whatever he did at home--a fact which may account to some extent for the faded tone of his hair, he presented a rather damp and bedraggled appearance. Drops trickled down his somewhat button-like nose, encircled his slightly protrusive ears and quivered on his round chin as it moved ceaselessly and rhythmically during the process of mastication. But if moist, he was quite happy. Give Tommy something to eat and something to look on at and weather conditions meant nothing in his young life. His was a cheerful disposition, and if those who smarted under the frank expressions of his judgment frequently wanted very, very much to murder him, Tommy cared not a whit. He believed in being outspoken, in giving candid publicity to his opinions; in short, Tommy hewed to the line and let the chips fall wherever they blame pleased! The game went on, Southport capturing the ball after Fitz Savell, playing at half, had let it ooze from his arms. Tommy set his strong, white teeth on a particularly attractive peanut and observed reproachfully, “Why don’t you hand it to him, Fitz, ’stead of making him pick it up that way? Where’s your manners, boy?” Homer Johnson, two rows back, reached a long leg across the intervening seat and placed a foot against the back of Tommy’s head. Tommy’s head went suddenly forward with a jerk and two peanuts fell to the wet boards, a total loss. “Cut out the merry quips, Tommy,” advised Homer. “You weary me.” Tommy turned his head cautiously. As a matter of fact he happened to be free from boils at the moment, but affliction had taught him caution in the matter of moving his neck and it had become second-nature. He observed Homer without rancor. “Hello,” he said. “Great game, isn’t it?” “The game’s bad enough, Tommy, without any help from you,” answered Homer coldly.