"Well," began Sydney, "it's been a puzzler. After I'd seen the second
playing tackle-back I about gave up hopes of ever finding a--an
antidote."

"'Antidote's' good," commented Mills laughingly.

"I tried all sorts of notions," continued Sydney, "and spoiled whole
reams of paper drawing diagrams. But it was all nonsense. I had the
right idea, though, all the time; I realized that if that tandem was
going to be stopped it would have to be stopped before it hit
our line."

Mills nodded.

"I had the idea, as I say, but I couldn't apply it. And that's the way
things stood last night when I went to bed. I had sat up until after
eleven and had used up all the paper I had, and so when I got into bed I
saw diagrams all over the place and had an awful time to get to sleep.
But at last I did. And then I dreamed.

"And in the dream I was playing football. That's the first time I ever
played it, and I guess it'll be the last. I was all done up in sweaters
and things until I couldn't do much more than move my arms and head. It
seemed that we were in 9 Grace Hall, only there was grass instead of
floor, and it was all marked out like a gridiron. And everybody was
there, I guess; the President and the Dean, and you and Mr. Jones, and
Mr. Preston and--and my mother. It was awfully funny about my mother.
She kept sewing more sweaters on to me all the time, because, as she
said, the more I had on the less likely I was to get hurt. And Devoe was
there, and he was saying that it wasn't fair; that the football rules