Dropping his bullet head, Mr. Yard propelled himself through the air on the lines of a Whitehead torpedo, and with an appalling crash the two men hurtled to the ground and rolled over, locked in each other's arms. "Gad, what a collar!" roared Jack, as the ball, after leaping high into the air, dropped safely into touch. Mr. Yard was the first to rise. In that exquisite moment he seemed to have worked off all the bottled resentment of eighteen soul-searing months. "Hope you're not hurt?" he grinned, extending a hand to the unfortunate Buckle, who lay on the ground gasping like a recently landed salmon. The latter accepted it, and scrambled painfully to his feet. "'Urt!" he stammered ironically. "Ho n-n-no, I ain't 'urt! I shouldn't a' known you'd c-c-collared me if you 'adn't mentioned it." There was a general laugh, which the corporal capped by inquiring gravely: "You don't 'appen to be wanting a job as a six-inch shell, I s'pose, Mr. Logan? We could do with a few more." Mr. Yard shook his head. "I've had enough o' working for the Government!" he remarked drily. Only ten minutes more remained for play, and the fun became fast and furious. Both sides laid themselves out to score, magnificently indifferent to anything approaching defensive tactics. On one occasion Jack was hurled into touch when only a couple of feet from the soldiers' line, while, on another, nothing but an untimely stumble on the part of the big corporal prevented that gentleman from dribbling over and touching down. It was left to Mr. Yard to put the crowning touch on the day's work. One minute from time the Battery's full-back picked up the ball in front of his own goal, and took a huge punt straight up the field. It dropped right into the hands of the convict, who was standing in a line with the centre flag. The rushing forwards paused to give him five yards' law, and Mr. Yard gripped the occasion with commendable promptness. Instead of kicking, he suddenly launched himself forward right into the thick of his waiting adversaries. In a moment he had bullocked his way through, his sudden run taking the opposition utterly by surprise. There was a roar of "Collar him!" and from both sides the halves and three-quarters came thundering in to cut off his advance. Mr. Yard took in the situation at a glance. In a flash he had measured the distance between himself and the goal, and then, dropping the ball, sent it soaring away with a terrific kick straight for the bar. There was a moment of painful silence. The ball pitched fair and square bang on the centre-piece, bounded up into the air, and then trickled gently over on the further side. A howl of joy from the Okestock team, the referee whistled, and the game was over.