Your men ought to be out in the air now." There was a blank pause, while "Hen" Wadleigh looked around over his subs.
"Will you let me play ?" There was a start.

Every fellow in the room turned around to stare at the speaker.
It was Dick Prescott, who started eagerly forward, his face aglow with eagerness.
"You, Prescott ?" cried Mr.Morton.

"But only yesterday Dr.Bentley reported that your lungs had not sufficiently recovered." "I know, sir," Dick laughed coolly; "but that was yesterday.
"It would be foolhardy, my boy.

If you went out on the field, and any exceptional strain came up, you might do an injury to your lungs." "Mr.Morton," replied the team's left end, very quietly, "I'm willing to go out on the field---and do all that's in me, for old Gridley---if it's the last act of my life." "Your hand, Prescott!" cried Mr.Morton, gripping the boy's palm.
"That's the right spirit of grit and loyalty.

But it wouldn't be right to let you do it.