The second half opened with instant trouble for Bluecaster, for the visiting team, having now the better of the gradient, ran through like greased lightning before Saunders had finished impressing upon his goalkeeper that he was perfectly equal to doing both Wigmore’s work and his own without her stepping out of the net. Harriet said nothing--just looked at him--and he was a good deal more careful after that. Wiggie found himself admiring her as he sat on his camp-stool, noticing her steady control of the team, absence of fuss, and the neat strength of her play. She spoke out when necessary, but she did not nag, and she took reversal with stoic calm. She had not even opened her lips to Stubbs when he had failed her so disgracefully. There was something rather fine about her, even if she did push you; and again he felt the queer sense of comfort in being pushed. The curate came and condoled with him, standing the while in his usual illegal and colossally impertinent position, and Wiggie found him quite a decent sort, after all, if somewhat weak in customary sporting ethics. Nevertheless, he had a philosophy of his own which he expounded with charming insouciance. “What’s the fun of sticking to rules?” he asked brightly. “Any old donkey can stick to rules, but it takes brain to be always just on the wrong side of the law without getting collared. Besides, it’s frightfully interesting seeing how the other man gets his hair up when you foul him all round the place. _You_ took it first-class, like a regular turn-the-other-cheek Sunday-school teacher. You were jolly nippy, too--took me all my time to keep ahead of you! Awfully sorry if I worried you too much; you do look rottenly off colour. Wish you’d buck up, though, and come on again. I can’t get any fun out of Hoofy Saunders--he doesn’t enter into the spirit of the thing like you. Hoofy just gets his hair blazing and lams into you and yells for help, and there’s no seeing past his feet when once the ball’s on the other side.” Play kept pretty well to the middle of the ground for some time after this, the Witham attack being warded off by Harriet and a somewhat humbled Saunders. Then the Most Kind and Unselfish Member of the Team put in a kind and unselfish goal, so gently that the goalkeeper did not even see it; but there the luck ended. Fresh disaster fell upon Bluecaster. Teddy Dunn “lost his wool.” Teddy was a pretty player, supple and light, very quick on the ball, and very easy with his stick, but the excitement of the game invariably set his usually pleasant temper bubbling hot. In common with the whole team, he had been thoroughly ruffled by Stubbs’ cruel behaviour in presenting Witham with a patently unearned goal, and when, fifteen minutes before time, the opposing centre-half caught him napping over a simple shot at the nets, incidentally waking him with a drive across the shins, he shook off Harriet’s yoke and let himself go altogether.