Occasionally a face would darken and a voice grow serious, exposing the
terrible secret apprehensions, based on expert opinion, that the home
side could not win. But the cloud would pass. And occasionally there
would be a reference to the victim whose muddy boots I had seen.
"Dreadful, isn't it?" and a twinge of compassion for the victim or for
his mother! But the cloud would immediately pass.

And then we all had to leave, for none must be late on this solemn and
gay occasion. And now the roads were so many converging torrents of
automobiles and carriages, and excitement had developed into fever. Life
was at its highest, and the world held but one problem ... Sign that
reaction was approaching!

A proud spectacle for the agitated vision, when the vast business of
filling the stands had been accomplished, and the eye ranged over acres
of black hats and variegated hats, hats flowered and feathered, and
plain male caps--a carpet intricately patterned with the rival colors!
At a signal the mimic battle began. And in a moment occurred the first
casualty--most grave of a series of casualties. A pale hero, with a
useless limb, was led off the field amid loud cheers. Then it was that I
became aware of some dozens of supplementary heroes shivering beneath
brilliant blankets under the lee of the stands. In this species of
football every casualty was foreseen, and the rules allowed it to be
repaired. Not two teams, but two regiments, were, in fact, fighting. And
my European ideal of sport was offended.

Was it possible that a team could be permitted to replace a wounded man
by another, and so on ad infinitum? Was it possible that a team need not
abide by its misfortunes? Well, it was! I did not like this. It seemed
to me that the organizers, forgetting that this was a mimic battle, had