Up, Guards, and at them!" "I'm not a guard; I'm a tackle," corrected Clint as he experimentally bent his knee up and down.

"It does feel better, Amy.

Thanks." "Of course it does.

I'm a fine little massewer.

Let's go and eat." But the next morning that knee was stiff and painful and although Amy again administered to it, it was all Clint could do to hobble to Wendell for breakfast.