The situation was sufficiently gloomy to stir Joe to his supremest efforts and to kindle Sam's spirit to a blazing flame. “We don't need Sykes nor nobody else,” he shouted to his men as they moved on to the field. “They can wear their boots out on that defence line of ours an' be derned to 'em. An', Bottles, you got to play the game of your life to-day. None of your fancy embroidery, just plain knittin'. Every feller on the ball an' every feller play to his man. There'll be a lot of females hangin' around, but we don't want any frills for the girls to admire. But all at it an' all the time.” Sam's little red eyes glowed with even a more fiery hue than usual; his rat-like face assumed its most belligerent aspect. Before the match Larry took the Eagle Hill captain, a young Englishman who had been trying for ten years to make a living on a ranch far up among the foothills and was only beginning to succeed, to his mother, who had been persuaded to witness the game. They found her in Kathleen's care and under instruction from young Farwell as to the fundamental principles of the game. Near them a group of men were standing, among whom were Switzer, Waring-Gaunt, and Jack Romayne, listening to Farwell's dissertation. “You see, Mrs. Gwynne,” he said, “no one may handle the ball--head, feet, body, may be used, but not the hands.” “But I understand they sometimes hurt each other, Mr. Farwell.” “Oh, accidents will happen even on the farm, Mrs. Gwynne. For instance, Coleman this morning had a horse step on his foot, necessitating Larry's going on.” “Is Lawrence going to play?” said Mrs. Gwynne. “Ah, here he is. Lawrence, are you in good condition? You have not been playing.” “I am not really very fit, Mother, not very hard, but I have been running a good deal. I don't expect I shall be much use. Sam is quite dubious about it.” “He will be all right, Mrs. Gwynne,” said Farwell confidently. “He is the fastest runner in the team. If he were only twenty pounds heavier and if he were a bit more keen about the game he would be a star.” “Why don't they play Sykes?” inquired Kathleen. “I heard some of the boys say this morning that Sykes was going to play. He is quite wonderful, I believe.” “He is,” replied Larry, “quite wonderful, but unfortunately he is not eligible. But let me introduce Mr. Duckworth, Captain of our enemy.” Mrs. Gwynne received the young man with a bright smile. “I am sorry I cannot wish you victory, and all the more now that my own son is to be engaged. But I don't understand, Larry,” she continued, “why Mr. Sykes cannot play.” “Why, because there's a League regulation, Mother, that makes a month's residence in the district necessary to a place on the team. Unfortunately Sykes has been here only two weeks, and so we are unwilling to put one over on our gallant foe. Got to play the game, eh, Duckworth?” Duckworth's face grew fiery red. “Yes, certainly,” he said. “Rather an awkward rule but--”