Thus Thanksgiving Day began, not altogether well, but equanimity was soon restored all around, and everything might have run smoothly from that time on had not a cold drizzling rain set in about breakfast-time.  It was clearly to be an in-door day.  And what a day it was!

At ten o’clock the football came into play again.

At eleven the score stood:  one clock knocked off the mantel-piece in the library; three chandelier globes broken to bits; one plaster Barye bear destroyed by a low kick from the parlor floor; Tommy with his nose very nearly out of joint, thanks to a flying wedge represented by Jack; Mrs. Jarley’s amiability in peril, and Jarley’s irritability well developed.

At twelve the ball was confiscated, but restored at twelve-five for the sake of peace and quiet.

At one, dinner was served and eaten in moody silence, Jack having inadvertently punted the ball through the pantry, grazing the chignon of the waitress, and landing in the mayonnaise.  It was not a happy dinner, and Jarley began to wish either that he had never been born or that all footballs were in Ballyhack, wherever that might be.

“If it would only clear off!” he moaned.  “That boy needs a playground as big as the State of Texas anyhow, and here we are cooped up in the house, with a football added.”

“We’ll have to take it away from him,” said Mrs. Jarley, “or else you’ll have to take Jack up into the attic and play with him.  I can’t have everything in the house smashed.”

“We’ll compromise on Jack’s going to the attic.  I have no desire to play football,” returned Jarley; and this was the plan agreed upon.  It would have been a good plan if Jarley had expended some of his inventive genius upon some such game as football solitaire, and instructed Jack therein beforehand; but this he had not done, and the result was that at three o’clock Jarley found himself in the attic involved in a furious game, in which he represented variously Harvard, the goal, the goal-posts, the referee, and acting with too great frequency as understudy for the ball.  What he was not, Jack was, and the worst part of it was that there was no tiring Jack.  The longer he played, the better he liked it.  The oftener Jarley’s shins received kicks intended for the football, the louder he laughed.  When Jarley, serving as a goal-post, stood at one end of the attic, Jarley junior, standing several yards away, often appeared to mistake him for two goal-posts, and to make an honest effort to kick the ball through him.  Slowly the hours passed, until finally six o’clock struck, and Master Jack’s supper was announced.