"Never mind," said his mother, brightly; "perhaps he won't have much to do."
"Much to do! Well, there's Jimmie Ben, and he's an awful fighter, but I'm not going to let him frighten me," said Hughie, savagely; "and there's Dan Munro, too, they say he's a terror, and Hec Ross. Of course we've got just as good men, but they won't fight. Why, Johnnie 'Big Duncan' and Don, there, are as good as any of them, but they won't fight."
"What a pity! But why should they fight? Fighting is not shinny."
"No, that's what the master says. And he's right enough, too, but it's awful hard when a fellow doesn't play fair, when he trips you up or clubs you on the shins when you're not near the ball. You feel like hitting him back."
"Yes, but that's the very time to show self-control."
"I know. And that's what the master says."
"Of course it is," went on his mother. "That's what the game is for, to teach the boys to command their tempers. You remember 'he that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a city.'
"O, it's all right," said Hughie, "and easy enough to talk about."