He went back to his chair and considered again. What he had just done he doubtless always did. In which case Tommy’s advice deserved respect. Hitting the line with the head down might be an excellent plan under some conditions, and Bert recalled that he had seen it done time and again, but when you were crossing over or running wide it plainly wasn’t the wise proceeding. He guessed that “Head up!” was right. To-day, for instance, he had gone through without difficulty because the hole was awaiting him, a fine wide opening made by four of his team-mates and neatly cleaned out by Fitz Savell, but suppose the hole hadn’t been so wide, or hadn’t been there at all. In that case he would have smashed up against Fitz or an enemy forward and there’d have been no gain, because there wasn’t any doubt in his mind that he had run blindly, his head lowered and his eyes on the ground. Well, that wouldn’t do. He would practice keeping the old bean up and look where he was going. Of course, once free of the line he had probably been in the habit of raising his head and using his eyes, but going through it he had fallen into the way of the plunging backs who, with ball hugged to stomach and body bent sharply over it, shot themselves forward like human battering-rams. Funny, he thought, that no one had noted that and corrected him before. Funny that it should have been first pointed out to him by a chap who didn’t play and was popularly considered a joke! A few minutes later Bert took himself off to a room down the corridor and played two games of chess at which he was badly beaten because he kept thinking about football and Tommy Parish’s prediction most of the time. At ten o’clock he was in bed, if not asleep. Even if you couldn’t slumber you could obey the rules. Chick was still out when the hour struck. In fact, it was nearly a quarter past when he stole in. Bert gave him a drowsy greeting and got a grunt in reply. Plainly the luck had not gone Chick’s way to-night and he was rather out of temper. He made a good deal of unnecessary noise during the process of preparing for bed, with the result that eventually Bert became fully awake. “You’re a noisy brute, Chick,” he yawned. For reply Chick slammed a drawer emphatically. But presently, having put out the light and found his bed, speech came to him. “Well, why don’t you ask me if I won?” he demanded. “I will. Did you?” “Oh, sure! One game out of three! Talk about luck! Say, that fellow couldn’t miss to-night if he tried!” “Sometimes, I think, he does try,” murmured Bert. “What?” Then, as Bert didn’t repeat the observation, he continued disgustedly: “I had him thirty-one to six on the last game and he went out without a break! The balls just rolled everywhere he wanted them to, the lucky stiff! Gee, it would make you sick!” “Did you bet with him?” “Naturally. And lost, too.” “How much?”