He stood up. 

"Andy--where do they put the PF's?" 

"In the shed." 

"Is it possible to get one out?" 

"'Course not. Only when we play the game." 

"And when will we play another game?" 

"Dunno. Tomorrow maybe. It's Sunday." 

_Play the game._ Ron said to himself. 

The Evens team member caught the spinning, gas-filled airball in the path of his airjet and kept it moving in front of his Flyer. Andy was after him in a flash, shouting for Ron to join him. But Ron's daring tactics of yesterday seemed to have deserted him. He steered the PF out of the path of the Evens man, and the goal was scored. 

On the ground, Andy said: "What's the trouble, Ronnie? Didn't you hear me?" 

"Yes, I heard you. Andy, listen. I'm taking off--" 

"Sure, in just a minute," the freckled boy said. "But, look, the next time you see me cut across the--" 

"You don't understand!" Ron said intensely. "I'm running away!" 

"What?" 

Larkin's whistle sounded the signal to resume play. The airball shot into the sky, and the two teams sped after it. Andy was late getting started. He looked at Ron and gasped: "You can't do that--" 

But Ron Carver was already in flight, and his PF was heading away from the center of the action, heading over the jagged pinetree tops that surrounded the Roverwood Home for Boys, heading for the misty green hills beyond. 

Larkin saw what was happening, and he blew his whistle shrilly. The teams descended, thinking a foul had been called. Larkin shouted a command towards the burly youth who had played 

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