The soldier's muscular hand shot out, and, catching his assailant fair and square under the chin, sent him spinning backwards on the grass. Then, amidst roars of delight from his companions, he ran round and deposited the ball half-way between the goal-posts. Mr. Yard sat up and looked after him. "You swine!" he said softly. "You wait!" Jack and Tubby came hurrying up. "Not hurt, Logan, are you?" inquired the former anxiously. "Only in me feelings!" answered Mr. Yard. Tubby laughed. "Well, it's a new sensation for you to miss any one!" he said, as they walked back towards the goal. "I always thought Buckle was a pretty stiff proposition; now I'm sure." Mr. Yard made no audible answer. To himself, however, he remarked bitterly: "He'll be stiffer still before I've done with him." A successful place-kick put the two sides level, and immediately afterwards the whistle went for half-time. 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. It finally came to rest in the hands of Private Buckle, who, avoiding the well-meant but somewhat belated attentions of Jack, came racing away down the touch-line. Mr. Yard almost sobbed with pleasure. He darted across the ground, timing his arrival to perfection. The three-quarter saw him coming, and, shifting the ball to his right arm, prepared to repeat his successful hand-off. But, like many other good intentions, his purpose was destined never to bear fruit.