and ankle braces were unknown in those days. He went on the field with
two perfectly good ankles. How did he do it?"

Charles H. Huggins, of Brown University, better known perhaps, simply as
"Huggins of Brown," recalls a curious case in a game on Andrews Field:

"Stewart Jarvis, one of the Brown ends, made a flying tackle. As he did
so, he felt something snap in one of his legs. We carried him off to the
field house, making a hasty investigation. We found nothing more
apparent than a bruise. I bundled him off to college in a cab; gave him
a pair of crutches; told him not to go out until our doctor could
examine the injury at six o'clock that evening. When the doctor arrived
at his room, Jarvis was not there. He had gone to the training table for
dinner. The doctor hurried to the Union dining-room, only to find that
Jarvis had discarded the crutches and with some of the boys had gone out
to Rhodes, then, as now, a popular resort for the students. Later, we
learned that he danced several times. The next morning an X-ray clearly
showed a complete fracture of the tibia.

"How it was possible for a man, with a broken leg, to walk around and
dance, as he did, is more than I can fathom."

What is there in a man's make-up that leads him to conceal from the
trainer an injury that he receives in a game; that makes him stay in the
field of play? Why is it that he disregards himself, and goes on in the
game, suffering physical as well as mental tortures, plucky though
handicapped? The playing of such men is extended far beyond the point of
their usefulness. Yes, even into the danger zone. Such men give
everything they have in them while it lasts. It is not intelligent
football, however, and what might be called bravery is foolishness after