Percy was conducted home by his friends that morning in a critical state. He felt it necessary to kick somebody, and therefore kicked them; and they, entirely misunderstanding his motives, kicked back. Consequently, a good deal of time was occupied in arranging matters all round on a comfortable footing; by the end of which time the fraternity, though marred in visage, felt generally easier in its mind.

It was no use appealing to the Modern prefects. They had made a mess of it so far, and weren't to be trusted. Nor did the course of lodging a complaint with Yorke commend itself to the company. It might be mistaken for telling tales. How would it do to—

Here entered Robert, the school porter, with a letter addressed "Wheatfield minor, Mr Forder's," in a scholarly hand.

"Wheatfield minor," snarled Percy; "that's not me, Bob. What do you take me for! Here, take it over to Wakefield's, and look about for the dirtiest, ugliest, beastliest kid you can see. That's Wheatfield minor."

"You'll be sore to know him by his likeness to Percy," added Cash, by way of encouragement.

"But Wakefield's ain't Forder's," observed the sage Robert. "Look what the envelope says."

True; it must be meant for Percy after all.

"You go and tell him it's like his howling cheek to call me minor, whoever it is; and when I catch him I'll welt him. Do you hear?"

"Very good, sir, I'll tell him," said the porter with a grin.

Meanwhile Percy had opened the letter and caught sight of the signature.

He uttered a whistle of amazement.

"Hullo!" he cried, "it's from Stratton! Whatever—Oh, I say, Bob, it doesn't matter about that message; do you hear!"

"Won't be no trouble, sir," said the porter.

"If I want to give it I'll do it myself," said Percy.

"Whatever's it about?" said his friends.

"Dear Wheatfield minor,"—(cheek!) read Percy, "Mrs Stratton and I will be glad to see you and three or four of your friends to tea this evening at six. I will arrange with Mr Forder to give you exeats from preparation."

"Humph!" grunted Percy—"rather civil—I hear he gives rather good grub. I vote we go."

"May as well. It gets us off preparation too," said Cash.

"Who said you were in it?" replied Percy. "Catch me taking you unless you behave. I've a good mind to take Clapperton and Brinkman and Dangle and Fullerton."

This threat reduced the clan to obedience at once, and Percy sat down presently, and wrote in his most admired style—

"Wheatfield major," (the "major" was heavily underlined) "is much obliged to Mr Stratton for his invitation to him to tea in his room, and he will be glad to bring the following of his friends, if he has no objection, with him; viz. Lickford, Ramshaw, Cash, and Cottle. With kind regards from P.W.;" and sent the note over by the hand of the youngest of the Modern juniors.

This diversion served for a time to heal the mental ravages of the morning, and to occupy the attention of the company most of the afternoon.

"Case of Sunday-go-to-meeting, isn't it?" said lickford.

"Rather. Mind you tog up well, you chaps; I'm not going to take four louts out to tea with me, I promise you."

Whereupon ensued great searchings of hearts and wardrobes, to see what could be done in the way of appropriate decoration. The invitation came at an awkward time, for it was Friday afternoon, and Mrs Wisdom rarely sent home the washing before Saturday. Consequently it was a work of some difficulty to muster five clean collars among the party, still less as many shirt-fronts.

Lickford spent at least an hour over his last Sunday's shirt with ink- eraser, trying to get it to look tidy; while Cottle, more ingenious, neatly gummed pieces of white paper over the dirty spots on his.

A great discussion took place as to chokers. Percy, who had one, threatened to leave behind any one not similarly adorned. It was only by adroit cajolery, and persuading him that he, as personal conductor of the party, had a right to be sweller than the rest, that he could be induced to waive the point.

The same argument had to be urged with regard to boots, as none of the others had patent leathers, which Percy insisted was the first thing any one looked to see if you had on at a party. It was urged that as most of the time would be spent with the feet under the table, this, though sound in law, was not in the present case of such vital importance in equity. Objection waived once more.

Finally, when all was ready, Percy held a full-dress parade of his forces, and looked each of them up and down as minutely and critically as an officer of the Guards inspecting his company. He objected to Cash wearing white gloves, as he had none himself, and he nearly cashiered Cottle for having a coloured handkerchief, because he himself had a brand-new white one. At length, however, all these little details were arranged, and as the school clock began to chime the hour the order to march was given, and the company proceeded at the double to Mr Stratton's house.

Mr Stratton was more or less of a favourite with both sides at Fellsgarth. He had a small house, in which were representatives of both factions, but most of them of the quieter sort, who, being obliged to live together under one roof, did not see so much to quarrel about out of doors. Mr Stratton, too, took the juniors' divisions of each school, and so kept fairly well in touch with both. Add to this, that he was a good all round athlete, that he had a serene and cheerful temper, and, what is of scarcely less importance, a charming young wife, and you have several very good reasons why he was one of the most popular masters at Fellsgarth. The juniors, on the whole, appreciated him. When he was down on them they forgave him on account of his youth, and when he complained that he could not get them to understand his precepts, they asked one another whose fault was that. Occasionally he condoned all his offences by an act of hospitality, and for once in a way betrayed that he recognised the merits of a select few of his pupils by asking them to tea.

This was evidently the ease now, and as our five young Moderns trotted across the Green, they wished their enemies in Wakefield's could only have looked out and witnessed their triumph.

Little they dreamed that at that moment Wally, Ashby, D'Arcy, and Fisher minor, resplendent in shirts and collars fresh from the wash, with their eight hands encased in white kid and their eight feet in patent leather, were standing about in Mr Stratton's drawing-room, wondering who on earth it was whose non-arrival was preventing the ringing of the tea- bell.

When presently Percy and his party were ushered in, and discovered who were their fellow-guests, it did some credit to their breeding that they remembered to go up and shake hands with Mr and Mrs Stratton, and did not immediately fly at the enemy's throat. The enemy, however, were equally taken aback, and were fully entitled to half the credit for the self-control with which the discovery was received.

"There's no need to introduce you to one another, I'm sure," said Mr Stratton. "By the way, Wheatfield—you I mean," pointing to Percy, "I must apologise for calling you minor. It was very kind of you to put me right."

Wally glared up at this, and would have liked to put the matter right there and then, but Mrs Stratton said—

"It isn't fair to number twins at all, is it?"

"Unless," suggested D'Arcy, blushing to find himself talking, "unless you reckon them half each."

This only mended matters to the extent of raising a laugh at the expense of the twins, who felt mutually uncomfortable.

The tea-bell, however, relieved the tension, "Come," said the hostess. "You must take one another in. No, that won't do, all Mr Wakefield's boys together. Two of you come this side—that's right; and Cottle and Ramshaw, you go over there. Now, you're beautifully sorted. Edward, dear, you mustn't talk till you've handed round the tea-cake to our guests. Lickford, do you take cream and sugar? And you too, twins? Oh really, dear, you don't call those slices, do you? Do let Ashby cut up the cake; I'm sure he knows better than you what a slice is; don't you, Ashby?"

Apparently Ashby did; and the party, thus genially thrown together and set to work, soon began, to experience the balmy influences of a convivial high tea.

Very little was spoken at first except by Mr Stratton, who gave a brief account of a University cricket match in which he had once played—a narrative which served as a most soothing refrain to the silent exercise in which his listeners were engaged. Presently a few questions were put in by the boys, followed by a few observations which gradually, by the adroit piloting of the host, loyally backed up by his wife, developed into a discussion on the use and abuse of "third man up" in modern cricket. After this knotty point was disposed of the talk grew more general, and Wally became aware that his brother was handing him the apricot jam.

The act, simple in itself, meant a great deal to Wally. He liked apricot jam, and had not been able to get at it all the evening. As he now helped himself he admitted to himself that Percy was not quite such a lout as he had occasionally thought him.

"Thanks awfully, Percy. Did you like that toffee I gave you the other day?"

"Rather. It was spiffing," said Percy. "I say, I don't mind writing home this week if you like."

"Oh, don't you grind; I will."

"Really I don't mind."

"No more do I. I say, can you reach the butter?"

"Rather. Better rinse this dish up here between us. There's another down there."

Similar scenes of reconciliation were taking place elsewhere. Cottle was asking Ashby his riddle; D'Arcy was laying down the law in the admiring hearing of Ramshaw and Lickford as to the cooking of sprats on the shovel; while Fisher minor was telling the sympathetic Mrs Stratton all about the people at home. Mr Stratton was wise enough not to disturb this state of affairs by talk of his own. When, however, the meal began to flag, and his guests one by one abandoned the attack, he proposed an adjournment to the drawing-room.

"I want the advice of you youngsters," said he presently, "about something I dare say you all know something about. I mean the old School shop."

The party looked guilty. Didn't they know the tuck-shop?

"It seems to me," said Mr Stratton, "it's rather in a bad way just now; don't you think so? Robert hasn't time to look after it, and wants to give it up. He says it doesn't pay; and really some of his things aren't particularly nice. I went and had a jam tart there this morning. It was like shoe-leather; and the jam was almost invisible."

Wally laughed. He knew those tarts well.

"I think it would be a pity if it was given up; don't you? We all want a little grub now and then; besides, it's an old School institution."

"Robert charges three-halfpence a-piece for those tarts," said D'Arcy.

"Yes—think of that. I've no doubt you could get them for half the price at Penchurch. What I was thinking was, why shouldn't some of us carry on the shop ourselves?"

The boys opened their eyes. The idea of carrying on a tuck-shop on their own account opened a vista of such endless possibilities, that they were quite startled.

"It ought to be easy enough if we manage properly," said Mr Stratton. "Suppose, now, we who are here were to form a committee and decide to run the shop, how should we begin?"

"It depends on what Robert left behind," said Percy.

"Oh, we wouldn't take over any of his stuff. No, the first thing would be to reckon up how much we should want to start with, and either club together or get some one to advance it. How many tarts do you suppose are sold a day?"

"Hundreds," said Ashby.

"Well, according to Robert, about eighty. But say one hundred. That at a penny each would be about 8 shillings for tarts. Then the ginger- beer. Would twenty bottles do? That would be 3 shillings 4 pence, supposing they cost 2 pence each. That's 11 shillings 4 pence. What next? Apples? Suppose we put them down at 2 shillings 6 pence—13 shillings 10 pence. Sweets? Well, say 2 shillings 6 pence more—16 shillings 4 pence. Nuts 1 shilling—17 shillings 4 pence. It mounts up, you see. We ought at least to have 25 or 30 shillings to start with. Well, I happen to know somebody who would lend that amount to the shareholders for a little time if we should want it. Now suppose we've got our money. We ought to send to some of the best shops and market people in the town to see what we could get our things for. As it happens, Mrs Stratton when she was in Penchurch this morning did inquire, and this is her report. The tarts that we should sell for a penny we could get for three farthings each, so that on a hundred tarts we should make a profit of 2 shillings 1 penny. And the confectioner would send his cart up every day with fresh tarts of different kinds of jam, and take back yesterday's stale ones at half-price. That would be a great improvement, wouldn't it?"

"Rather," said everybody.

"Then the ginger-beer. Would you believe it, if we undertake to take not less than twelve bottles a day daring the half we can get them for a penny each, and might sell them for three-halfpence. That would make a great increase in the demand, I fancy, and every bottle we can sell, we make a dear halfpenny profit. The same with the sweets. You can get most sorts for 9 or 10 pence a pound, and if we sell at a penny an ounce, you see we get 7 or 8 pence profit. I should vote for only getting the best kind of sweets, and making rather less profit than that. At any rate, you see, if we are careful, we ought pretty soon to be able to pay back what we owe, and after providing for the expense of a person to mind the shop and do the selling, put by a little week by week, which will go to the School clubs or anything else the fellows decide. What do you think of the plan?"

They all thought it would be magnificent.

"I see no reason why you youngsters should not manage it splendidly by yourselves at soon as you get once started. You'll have to draw up strict rules, of course, for managing the shop, and make up the accounts; and look out sharp that you aren't selling anything at a loss. Remember, the cheaper you can sell (provided you get a fair profit), the more customers you'll have. And the better your stuff is, the more it will be liked. Mrs Stratton says she will act as banker, and take care of the money at the end of each day and pay out what you want for stores. Don't say anything about it out of doors at present; talk it over among yourselves daring the week, and if you think it will work, tell me, and we'll have a regular business meeting to settle preliminaries. Now suppose we have a game of crambo?"

When the party broke up, Moderns and Classics strolled affectionately across the Green arm in arm, deep in confabulation as to the projected shop.

When they reached the door of Wakefield's, Wally said, "By the way, have any of you chaps lost a football? There's one kicking about in our room. Hang outside and I'll chuck it to you out of the window."

Which he did. And the ball proved to be the very one the Moderns had lost a week ago! How curious!



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

FELLSGARTH VERSUS RENDLESHAM.

How it came that Rollitt played, after all, in the Rendlesham match, no one could properly understand.

His name was not down on the original list. Yorke had given up asking him to play, as he always either accused himself, or, what was worse, promised to come and failed at the last moment.

After the defeat of the Moderns at the second election, the question of the selection of the fifteen had been allowed to drop; and those who were keen on victory hoped no further difficulty would arise. Two days before the match, however, Brinkman was unlucky enough to hurt his foot, and to his great mortification was forbidden by the doctor to play. The news of his accident caused general consternation, as he was known to be a good forward and a useful man in a scrimmage. Clapperton increased the difficulty by coming over to say that as Brinkman was laid up, he had arranged for Corder to play instead.

Corder, as it happened, was a Modern senior, a small fellow, and reputed an indifferent player.

"He wouldn't do at all," said Yorke, decisively.

"Why not? Surely we've got a right to find a substitute for our own man," said Clapperton, testily.

"What do you mean by your own man? Who cares twopence whose man he is, as long as he plays up? The fifteen are Fellsgarth men, and no more yours than they are mine."

"If they were as much mine as yours no one would complain."

"You mean to say that if you were captain of the fifteen you'd put Corder in the team for a first-class match?"

"Why not? There are plenty worse than he."

"There are so many better, that he is out of the question."

"That means only five of our men are to play against ten of yours."

"You're talking rot, Clapperton, and you know it. If I'm captain, I'll choose my own team. If you don't like it, or if the best fifteen men in the school aren't in it, you are welcome to complain. I hope you will."

"It strikes me pretty forcibly our fellows won't fancy being snubbed like this. It would be a bad job if they showed as much on the day of the match."

"It would be a bad job—for them," said the captain.

When Yorke repeated this disagreeable conversation to his friends later on, they pulled long faces.

"I suppose he means they don't intend to play up," said Dalton.

"If that's so," said Fisher major, "why not cut them all out and make up the fifteen of fellows you can depend on?"

"That wouldn't do," said Yorke. "I expect when the time comes they'll play up all right. After all, Clapperton and Fullerton are two of our best men."

"But what about the vacant place?"

"I've four or five names all better than Corder," said the captain, "but none of them as good as Brinkman."

The company generally, it is to be feared, did not lament as honestly as Yorke did, the accident to their rival. They did not profess to rejoice, of course; still they bore the blow with equanimity.

Next morning, to the astonishment of everybody, the notice board contained an abrupt announcement in the captain's hand, that in consequence of Brinkman's inability to play, Rollitt would take his place in the fifteen.

Yorke himself could not account for this sudden act of patriotism. Rollitt, he said, had looked into his room last night at bedtime and said—

"I'll play on Saturday," and vanished.

Fisher minor was perhaps, of all persons, better able to explain the mystery than any one else. He had overheard in Ranger's study a general lamentation about the prospects for Saturday, and a wish expressed by his brother that Rollitt were not so unsociable and undependable. Everybody agreed it was utterly useless to ask him to play, and that they would have to get a second-rate man to fill the empty place, and so most probably lose the match.

Fisher minor heard all this, and when presently, on his way to his own den, he passed Rollitt's door, a tremendous resolution seized him to take upon himself the duty of ambassador extraordinary for the School. Rollitt appeared to owe him no grudge for throwing stones the other day, and had already come to his relief handsomely at the time of the second election and in the affair with Dangle. On the whole, Fisher minor thought he might venture.

Rollitt was reading hard by the light of one small candle when he entered.

"Please, Rollitt," said the boy, "would you ever mind playing for the School on Saturday?"

Rollitt looked up in such evident alarm that Fisher major put his hand on the latch of the door, and made ready to bolt.

"I'll see—get out," said Rollitt.

And Fisher minor did get out.

It was really too absurd to suppose that Rollitt was going to play in the fifteen to oblige Fisher minor. So at least thought that young gentleman, and remained discreetly silent about his interview, hoping devoutly no one would hear of it.

The joy of the Classics was almost equal to the fury of the Moderns. The latter could not deny that Rollitt was a host in himself, and worth a dozen Corders. Yet it galled them to see him quietly put in the vacant place, and to hear the jubilation on every hand.

For Rollitt was the fellow who had publicly insulted the Moderns in the person of Dangle; and not only that, but—poor and shabby as he was—had shown himself utterly indifferent to their indignation and contemptuous of their threats.

"Why," Dangle said, "the fellow's a pauper! he can't even pay for his clubs! His father's a common fellow, I'm told."

"Yes, and I heard," said Brinkman, "his fees up here are paid for him. Why, we might just as well have Bob in the fifteen."

"A jolly sight better. Bob knows how to be civil."

"It is a crime to be poor," said Fullerton. "I hope I shall never commit it."

"Well," said Clapperton, ignoring this bit of sarcasm, "if he was well enough off to buy a cake of soap once a term, it wouldn't be so bad. I believe when he wants a wash he goes down to Mrs Wisdom and borrows a bit of hers."

"By the way, that reminds me," said Dangle; "did you fellows ever hear about Mrs Wisdom's boat? The lout had it out the other day in the rapids, and let it go over the falls, and it got smashed up."

"What!" exclaimed everybody.

"Do you mean," said Brinkman, "poor Widow Wisdom has lost her boat owing to that cad? Why, she'll be ruined? However is she to get a new one?"

"That's the extraordinary thing," said Dangle. "It was she told me about it. She says that Rollitt went straight away to the lake and bought her a boat that was for sale there; and she's got it now down in the lower reach; and it's a better one than the other."

"What!" exclaimed Clapperton, incredulously; "Rollitt bought a new boat! Bosh!"

"It was a second-hand one for sale cheap. But it cost five pounds. She showed me the receipt."

"Stuff and nonsense. She was gammoning you," said Clapperton.

"All right," said Dangle, snappishly; "you're not obliged to believe it unless you like."

And there the conversation ended.

The day of the great match came at last. The Rendlesham men, who had to come from a distance, were not due till one o'clock, and, as may be imagined, the interval was peculiarly trying to some of the inhabitants of Fellsgarth. The farce of morning school was an ordeal alike to masters and boys. If gazing up at the clouds could bring down the rain, a deluge should have fallen before 10 a.m. As the hour approached the impatience rose to fever heat. It was the first match of the season. For the last three years the two teams had met in deadly combat, and each time the match had ended in a draw, with not one goal kicked on either side. Victory or defeat to-day would be a crisis in the history of Fellsgarth. Woe betide the man who missed a point or blundered a kick!

Percy and his friends put on flannels in honour of the occasion and sallied out an hour before the time to look at the ground and inspect the new goal and flag posts which Fisher major, as the first act of his treasurership, had ordered for the School.

It disgusted them somewhat to find that Wally and his friends—also in flannels—were on the spot before them, and, having surveyed the new acquisitions, had calmly bagged the four front central seats in the pavilion reserved by courtesy for the head-master and his ladies.

Since the tea at Mr Stratton's, the juniors had abated somewhat of their immemorial feud, although the relations were still occasionally subject to tension.

"Hullo, you kids," cried Wally, as his brother approached, "how do you do? Pretty well this morning? That's right—so are we. Have a seat? Plenty of room in the second row."

Considering that no one had yet put in an appearance, this was strictly correct. Yet it did not please the Modern juniors.

"You'll get jolly well turned out when Ringwood comes," said Percy. "Come on, you chaps," added he to his own friends. "What's the use of sitting on a bench like schoolboys an hour before the time? Let's have a trot."

"Mind you don't dirty your white bags," cried D'Arcy.

"No, we might be mistaken for Classic kids if we did," shouted Cottle. "Ha, ha!"

Whereupon, and not before time, the friends parted for a while.

When Percy and Co. returned, they found the pavilion was filling up, and, greatly to their delight, the front row was empty. The enemy had been cleared out; and serve them right.

"Come on, you chaps," said Lickford; "don't let's get stuck in there. Come over to the oak tree, and get up there. It's the best view in the field."

Alas! when they got to the oak tree, four friendly voices hailed them from among the leaves.

"How are you, Modern kids? There's a ripping view up here. Have an acorn? Mind your eye. Sorry we're full up. Plenty of room up the poplar tree."

The Moderns scorned to reply, and walked back sulkily to the pavilion, not without parting greetings from their friends up the oak tree, and squatted themselves on the steps.

The place was filling up now. Mrs Stratton was there with some visitors. All the little Wakefields were there, of course—"minor, minimus, and minimissima," as they were called—uttering war-whoops in honour of their house. And there was a knot of Rendlesham fellows talking among themselves and generally taking stock of the Fellsgarth form. Mr Stratton, in civilian dress, as became the umpire, was the first representative of the School to show up on the grass. A distant cheer from the top of the oak tree hailed his arrival, and louder cheers still from the steps of the pavilion indicated that the popular master was not the private property of any faction in Fellsgarth.

To Fisher minor it was amazing how Mr Stratton could talk and laugh as pleasantly as he did with the umpire for the other side. He felt sure he could not have done it himself.

Suddenly it occurred to Fisher minor, by what connection of ideas he could not tell, what an awful thing it would be if Rollitt were to forget about the match. The horror of the idea, which had all the weight of a presentiment, sent the colour from his cheeks, and without a word to anybody he slid down the tree and began to run with all his might towards the school.

"What's the row—collywobbles!" asked D'Arcy.

But no one was in a position to answer. A fusillade of acorns from the tree, and derisive compliments of "Well run!" "Bravo, Short-legs!" from the pavilion steps, greeted the runner as he passed that warm corner. He didn't care. Even the captain and his own brother, whom he met going down to the field of battle, did not divert him. He rushed panting up the stairs and into Rollitt's study.

Rollitt was sitting at the table taking observations of a crumb of bread through a microscope.

"Rollitt," gasped the boy, "the match! It's just beginning, and you promised to play. Do come, or we shall be licked!"

Rollitt took a further look at the crumb and then got up.

"I forgot," said he; "come on, Fisher minor."

"Aren't you going to put on flannels?" asked the boy.

"Why!" said Rollitt roughly, stalking out.

Fisher minor wondered if the reason was that he had none. But he was too full of his mission to trouble about that, and, keeping his prize well in sight, for fear he should go astray, had the satisfaction of seeing him arrive on the field of battle just as the opposing forces were taking their places, and just as the Classic seniors were inwardly calling themselves fools for having depended for a moment on a hopeless fellow of this sort.

The Classic juniors felt a good deal compromised by the champion's shabby cloth trousers and flannel shirt, but they cheered lustily all the same, while the Moderns, having expressed their indignation to one another, relieved their feelings by laughing.

But a moment after, everybody forgot everything but the match.

The Rendlesham men looked very trim and dangerous in their black and white uniform; and when presently their captain led off with a magnificent place-kick which flew almost into the School lines, Classics and Moderns forgot their differences and squirmed with a common foreboding. Fullerton promptly returned the ball into medias res, and the usual inaugural scrimmage ensued. To the knowing ones, who judged from little things, it seemed that the present match was likely to be as even as any of its predecessors. The forwards were about equally weighted, and the quarter and half-backs who hovered outside seemed equally alert and light-footed.

Presently the ball squeezed out on the School side and gave Ranger the first chance of a ran. He used it well, and with Fisher major and Yorke on his flanks got well past the Rendlesham forwards amid loud cheers from the oak tree. But the enemy's quarter-back pinned him in a moment; yet not before he had passed the ball neatly to Fisher on his left. Fisher struggled on a few yards further with the captain and Dangle backing up, but had to relinquish the ball to the former before he could reach the half-backs. Yorke, always wary and cool-headed, had measured the forces against him, and as soon as he had the ball, ran back a step or two, to break the ugly rush of two of the enemy who were nearest, and then with a sweep distanced them, and charging through their half-backs made a dash for the goal. For a moment friend and foe held their breath. He looked like doing it. But in his detour he had given time for Blackstone, the Rendlesham fast runner, to get under way and sweep down to meet him just as he reeled out of the clutches of the half- backs. Next moment Yorke was down, and Dangle was not there to pick up the ball.

This rush served pretty well to exhibit the strong and weak points of either side. It was evident, for instance, that both Ranger and Yorke were men to be marked by the other side, and that Dangle, on the contrary, was playing slack.

A series of scrimmages followed, in the midst of which the ball gravitated back to the centre of the field. Runs were attempted on either side; once or twice the ball went out into touch, and once or twice a drop-kick sent it flying over the forwards' heads. But it came back inevitably, so that after twenty minutes' hard play it lay in almost the identical spot from which it had first been kicked off.

The onlookers began to feel a little depressed. It was not to be a walk-over for the School, at any rate. Indeed, it seemed doubtful whether from the last and toughest of these scrimmages the ball would ever emerge again to the light of day.

Suddenly, however; it become evident that the status quo was about to give way, and that the fortunes of either side were going to take a new turn. No one in the game, still less outside, could at first tell what had happened. Then it occurred to Yorke and one or two others that Rollitt, who had hitherto been playing listlessly and sleepily, was waking up. His head, high above his fellows, was seen violently agitated in the middle of the scrimmage, and presently it struggled forward till it came to where the ball lay. A moment later, the Rendlesham side of the scrimmage showed signs of breaking, and a moment after that Rollitt, quickly picking up the ball, burst through both friend and foe.

"Back up, Dangle! back up, Ranger!" shouted Yorke.

"Look out behind!" cried the Rendlesham captain.

Rollitt carried that ball pretty much as he had carried Dangle a day or two before, almost contemptuously, indifferent as to who opposed him or who got in his way. The only difference was that whereas he then walked, now he ran. And when Rollitt chose to run, as Fellsgarth knew, even Ranger, the swift-footed, was not in it.

The enemy's forwards were shaken off, and their quarter-backs distanced. The half-backs closed on him with a simultaneous charge that made him reel. But he kept his feet better than they, and staggered on with one of them hanging to his arm.

"Look out in goal!" shouted the Rendlesham men.

"Back up, you fellows!" cried Yorke.

In his struggle with the man on his arm, Rollitt lost pace enough to enable Blackstone to overtake and make a wild dash, not at the man, but the ball. The onslaught was partly successful, for the ball fell. Dangle, who was close behind, made an attempt to pick it up, but before he could do so, Rollitt, like a hound momentarily checked, dashed back to recover it himself, knocking over, as he did so, both Dangle and Blackstone.

He had it again, and once more was off, this time with only the enemy's back to intercept him. The back did his best, and sacrificed himself nobly for his side, but he was no match for the Fellsgarth giant, who simply rode over him, and followed by a mighty roar of cheering from the onlookers, carried the ball behind the goals, touching it down with almost fastidious precision exactly half-way between the poles.

A minute later and Yorke, with one of his beautifully neat "places," had sent the ball spinning over the bar, as unmistakable a goal as the School had ever kicked.

The cheers which followed this exploit were completely lost on Rollitt, who, having completed his run, dawdled back to his fellow-forwards, and had not even the curiosity to watch the issue of the captain's kick.

As the sides changed ends, Dangle, with a black face, came up to him.

"You knocked me over on purpose then, you cad, I could see it!" snarled he.

"Get out!" said Rollitt, shouldering the speaker aside.

This was too much for Dangle. Full of rage, he went to Yorke.

"I don't mean to stand this, Yorke. Rollitt—"

"Shut up!" said the captain. "Spread out, you fellows, and be ready. Go to your place, Dangle."

Dangle sullenly obeyed.

"I'll let you see if I'm to be insulted and made a fool of before all the school," growled he. "Catch me bothering myself any more."

As if to give him an opportunity of enforcing his protest, the kick-off of the losing side fell close at his feet. He picked it up, and for a moment the sporting instinct prompted him to make a rush. But he caught sight of Yorke and Rollitt both looking his way, and the bad blood in him prevailed. He deliberately sent the ball with a little side-kick into Blackstone's hands, who, running forward a step, sent it, with a mighty drop, right over the School line. It almost grazed the goal post as it passed, and it was all Fullerton could do to save the touch-down before the whole advance guard of the enemy were upon him.

The whole thing had been so wilfully done that there was no mistaking its meaning.

"Hold the ball!" cried Yorke, as the side ranged out for the kick-off. "Dangle, get off the field."

"What do you mean?" said Dangle, very white.

"What I say. You'll either do that or be kicked off."

Here Clapperton interposed.

"Don't go, Dangle; he's no right to turn you off or talk to you like that before the field because of an accident. If you go, I'll go too."

"Go, both of you, then," said Yorke.

The two Modern boys looked for a moment as though they doubted their own ears. What could Yorke mean, in the middle of a critical match like this?

He evidently meant what he said.

"Are you going or not?" said he.

It was a choice of evils. To play now would be to surrender. To stay where they were would render them liable to a kicking in the presence of all Fellsgarth. They sullenly turned on their heels and walked behind the goals. Most of the spectators supposed it was a case of sprained ankle or some such damage received in the cause of the School. But the acute little birds who sat in the oak tree were not to be deceived, and took good care to point the moral of the incident for the public benefit.

"Whiroo! Cads! Kicked out! Serve 'em right! Good riddance! Play up, you chaps!"

The chaps needed no encouragement. With two men short it was next to impossible to add to their present advantage. But they contrived to stand their ground and save the School goal. And when at last the welcome "No side" was called, the cheers which greeted them proclaimed that the School had won that day one of the biggest victories on its record.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE MODERNS ON STRIKE.

In the festivities with which the glorious victory of the School against Rendlesham was celebrated Yorke took no part.

The captain was very decidedly down in the mouth. This was the end of his endeavour to administer rule with a perfectly even hand, and give no ground for a whisper of anything like unfair play to the opposition! This was what his popularity and authority were valued at! For the first time in her annals, Fellsgarth fellows had mutinied on the field of battle and to their captain's face.

Had it been Dangle only, it would have mattered less. His feud with Rollitt was notorious, and would account for any ebullition of bad temper. But when Clapperton not only patronised the mutiny but joined in it, things were come to a crisis which it required all Yorke's courage and coolness to cope with.

It might have solaced him if he could have heard a discussion which was taking place in the rebels' quarters.

"It served them precious well right," said Clapperton, trying to justify what, to say the least of it, wanted some excuse. "We'd stood it long enough."

"It's bad enough," said Dangle, "to have the fifteen packed with Classic fellows; but when they take to attacking us before the whole field, it's time something was done. I'm as certain as possible that Rollitt deliberately knocked me over that time."

"It was rather warm measures, though," said Brinkman, "to walk off the field. We might have got licked."

"I'm not at all sure if it wouldn't have been a very good thing if we had," said Clapperton. "At any rate, it will be a lesson to them what it might come to."

"Nothing like scuttling a ship in mid-ocean if you want to be attended to. The only awkward thing is, you are apt to go down with it," said Fullerton.

"Do shut up, and don't try to be funny," said Clapperton. "Of course no one wants to wreck the clubs. We shall play up hard next time, and then they'll see it's worth their while to be civil to us."

"Yes," said Brinkman, "it won't do to let them say we aren't the friends of the School."

"There's not the least fear of any one thinking that now," gibed Fullerton.

"Well," said Dangle, "as we are to play the return with Rendlesham this day week, we shall have a chance of letting them see what we can do. Only if that cad Rollitt plays, it won't be easy to be civil."

These patriotic young gentlemen were a good deal disconcerted next morning to find that they had been reckoning without their host. The captain had posted up the fifteen to play next week. The list contained the names of Fullerton, Brinkman, and two others on the Modern side, but omitted those of Clapperton and Dangle.

In their wildest dreams the malcontents had never reckoned on the captain taking such a step as this. They knew that they were necessary to the efficiency of any team, and that without them, especially against Rendlesham, it would be almost a farce to go into the field at all.

At first they were disposed to laugh and sneer; then to bluster. Then it dawned on them gradually that for once in their lives they had made a mistake. They had not even the credit of refusing to play, but had been ignominiously kicked out.

A council of war was held, in which mutual recriminations, assisted by Fullerton's candid reflections on the situation, occupied a considerable share of the time.

The result of their deliberations was that Clapperton and Dangle went over in no very amiable frame of mind to the captain.

Yorke, as it happened, was having an uneasy conference with his own side at the time. Delighted as the Classics were at the blow which had been struck at the mutineers, the prospect of almost certain defeat next Saturday made them anxious for compromise.

"If I were you," said Fisher major, "I'd give them a chance of explaining and apologising."

"There can be no apology," said Yorke.

"You are quite right in theory," said Denton; "but wouldn't it be rather a crow for them to see that we are licked without them?"

"We mustn't be licked," said the captain. "We held our own without them yesterday."

"Yes; but we were on our own ground, and had a goal to the good before they struck."

"I think old Yorke is quite right," said Ranger. "We may be licked, and if we are they'll crow. On the other hand, if we let them play now they'll crow worse. I think we'd better be beaten by Rendlesham than by traitors."

"Shan't you let them play at all this half?" said Fisher.

"That depends on themselves," said Yorke.

"Hullo! here they come," said Ranger.

The two Moderns were a little disconcerted to find themselves confronted with the body of Classic seniors.

"Oh, you're engaged," said Clapperton; "we'll come again."

"No, we were talking about the team; I suppose that's what you've come about."

"Yes," said Clapperton; "we want to know what it means!"

"Really I don't see how it could have been put plainer. It means that the fifteen men named are going to play on Saturday."

"Look here, Yorke," said Clapperton, "if you think I've come over here to beg you to put Dangle and me into the team, you're mistaken—"

"I don't think it. You know it's impossible."

"All I can say is, it's sheer spite and nothing else. Dangle was deliberately knocked over by that cad Rollitt—"

"Who is not present, and may therefore be called names with safety," said Ranger.

"Shut up, Ranger, there's a good fellow," said the captain.

"And Dangle had a right to object," continued Clapperton.

"He had no right to play into the hands of the other side," said Yorke.

"How do you know I did?" said Dangle.

"Do you mean to say you didn't?" said Yorke.

"I didn't come here to be catechised by you. Are you going to put Clapperton and me in the fifteen or not? That's what we came to know."

"No—certainly not," said the captain; "and as that's all, you may as well go."

"Very well," sneered Clapperton, who was in a high temper, "you'll be sorry for it. Come on, Dangle."

"There's only one thing to be done now," said he, when they had got back to their own side; "we must none of us play. That will bring them to reason."

Brinkman approved of the idea.

"There's more sense in that," said he, "than you two sticking out. That will reduce the team to a Classic fifteen, and if they get licked it won't matter."

"There's no possible chance of their making up a fifteen without us?" asked Dangle.

"None at all. They haven't the men," said Clapperton, brightening up. "The fact is, we have them at our mercy; and if they want us to play again they'll have to ask us properly."

"Meanwhile Fellsgarth will get on splendidly," said Fullerton.

"Shut up. Don't you see it will be all the better for everybody in the long run?"

"I can't say I do at present. It may come by and by—"

"We must see that everybody backs up in this," said Brinkman. "One traitor would spoil everything."

"That's what Yorke said on Saturday, wasn't it?" asked Fullerton innocently, "At least, he said two traitors. Yorke will not see that what's right for one fellow is naughty for another."

"Look here, Fullerton," said Clapperton, who was sensitive enough to feel the sting of all this, "you don't suppose we're doing this for fun, do you? Will you promise not to play on Saturday, even if you are asked?"

"What if I don't?" said Fullerton.

"You won't find it particularly comfortable on this side of the School, that's all," said Brinkman.

Fullerton meditated and turned the matter over.

"I think on the whole," said he, mimicking Clapperton, "that as this is for the highest good of the School, and as everybody is to be all the better in the long run, and as we're all going to be noble and sacrifice ourselves together, you may put me down as not playing on Saturday. Dulce et decorum est pro patria—I beg pardon, I'm not on the Classic side yet."

The other players named on the list consented more or less reluctantly to follow the same example. After morning school, therefore, when the fellows looked at the notice board, they saw, to their bewilderment, the names of the four Modern fellows struck out and the following note appended to the captain's list—

"Notice.

"The following players protest against the exclusion of two names from the above list, and decline to play on Saturday, viz., Brinkman, Fullerton, Ramshaw major, and Smith."

Underneath this, a juvenile hand had carefully inscribed in bold characters—

"Jolly good riddance of bad rubbish." Signed, "Wheatfield, W., D'Arcy, Ashby, Fisher minor."

Fisher minor, who signed this latter manifesto by proxy had hastened to carry the news of it to his brother.

"The cads!" said the junior. "We are sure to be beaten; I shall never dare to get Rollitt twice running."

"What do you mean?" asked the elder brother, turning round.

"Oh, don't tell," said Fisher minor, "I didn't mean to say anything; you see, I thought he wouldn't fly out, so I asked him last time."

"You! What do you know of Rollitt? Why should he play to oblige you?"

Fisher minor, wishing he had not mentioned Rollitt's name, related, somewhat apologetically, the story of the adventure on the Shayle.

"Why," said the elder brother, "you saved his life, young 'un. No wonder he's civil to you!"

"Oh, please don't tell him I told you."

"All right; but what about the boat? It must have been smashed to bits. What did Mrs Wisdom say?"

"Oh, Rollitt was very honourable and bought her another. She told me so—and I've seen the new boat."

"Rollitt bought it! Why, he's as poor as a church mouse. How could he get the money, I'd like to know?"

"He got it the very next day," said Fisher minor. "I suppose he had some; but promise you won't say anything."

"What's the use of making a secret of it? I won't say anything unless you like. But I must go to Yorke."

The captain was quite prepared for the action of the Moderns.

"They've struck," said he. "Now the question is, shall we play on Saturday, or scratch the match?"

The unanimous verdict was in favour of playing, whatever the result.

"Of course we are never sure of Rollitt until we've got him," said he, "so we may have to play without him."

"Would Stratton play for us?" asked some one.

"No, don't let's go outside and ask masters. We're in for a licking; but we'll make the best fight we can."

So yet another notice appeared on the board before nightfall.

"The School team on Saturday will consist of the following." (Here followed the names, all, of course, on the Classical side.)

"A meeting of the clubs is summoned for October 3, at four p.m., in Hall."

Of these two announcements the first amused, the second perplexed the good young men of the Modern side. The new fifteen consisted half of raw outsiders who had never played in a first-class match before, and were utterly unknown to fame on the football field. But the summons for October 3 was puzzling. Did it mean a general row, or was the captain going to resign, or was an attempt to be made to expel the mutineers?

Clapperton did not like it. He had expected Yorke would have come to terms before now, and it disconcerted him to see that, on the contrary, the captain seemed determined to carry the thing through.

The only thing, of course, was for the Moderns to abstain in a body from the meeting. But could they depend on their forces to obey their leaders? It was all very well to compel four players to refuse to act; but to constrain 120 boys to do the same was a less easy task.

It seemed to Clapperton that he would do best to strike the iron while hot; and for that purpose he made a descent next morning into the quarters of his fag. If he could secure the juniors, it would be something.

He found Percy there alone, diligently working. That young gentleman had in fact been reminded in pretty forcible terms by Mr Forder that he had not yet handed in his Latin letter of apology ordered a week ago. Percy had hoped if he forgot it long enough Mr Forder would forget it too, and it had startled and grieved him very much to-day to receive notice that unless he brought his poena in an hour he would be sent up to the doctor.

Consequently, while his comrades were out enjoying themselves, he was here in a shocking bad temper, with a Latin Dictionary in front of him, trying to express his contrition for having used bad language in class a week ago.

He had got a little way. Latin prose for a Modern junior is a trifle thorny; but Percy had a rough and ready way with him which, if it did not emulate Cicero, at least made his meaning tolerably clear.

"Care Magistere Fordere, Ego sum excessive tristis ut ego usebam malam linguam in classem alteram diem. Ego apologizo, et ego non facerebo illud iterum. Ego spero ut vos voluntas prodonnere," (it took him some time to arrive at this classical term for "you will forgive") "me hanc tempus."

This was all very well, but it only took up about six lines out of ten, and he was in despair how to continue. His ideas, his temper, and his Latin had all evaporated. When Clapperton entered, he did not even look up.

"Cut, whoever you are, and hang yourself," said he.

"Hullo, Percy! What's the row with you?"

"Don't talk to me," said Percy. "It's that beast Forder."

"Where are the others? I want to talk to you youngsters."

"How do I know where every ass in the place is? What do you want?"

The tone in which the inquiry was made was not encouraging.

"It's about the meeting next week. We don't mean to attend it."

"Don't you? Our lot does. We're going. Rather."

"It's a dodge of the other side. They're going to get the clubs into their own hands, and we've decided none of our fellows shall go. Then they can't do anything."

"Can't they? You don't know my young brother Wally as well as I do. He'll do something, bless you; but I rather fancy they won't have it all to themselves. We'll put a spoke in their wheels."

"Look here, young Wheatfield," said Clapperton, put out by the obtuseness of his fag, "the long and short of it is you're not to go. You know what's happened. Our side has been snubbed and cut out of the games by those fellows; and now they want to get us to come to their precious meeting to help them collar the clubs."

"That's just why I and my chaps are going to turn up," said Percy. "We'll let them know!"

"Do you hear what I say? You're not to go, you or any of them. If you can't understand the reason, I dare say you'll understand a thrashing. You'll get it unless you stand out like the rest of us."

"I say, what's the Latin for 'wrong,' Clapperton?"

"Do you hear what I say?"

"Yes, yes—is it 'malus,' or 'unrectus,' or what?"

"Are you going to do what I tell you?"

"How can I say what the chaps'll do?"

"You must tell them; you're fags' captain. They must do what you tell them."

"I'd jolly well like to catch them not," said Percy, tossing his head: "I'd teach 'em. I say, do you think 'unrectus' will do?"

"Remember, you'll get it pretty hot if you disobey in this, I promise you."

"Perhaps 'malus' is better form," suggested the junior.

Clapperton left in despair.

"What a fearful ass I was," said Percy when he had gone, "not to make him write my impot! Just like me. Catch our lot not going to that meeting! We aint going to skulk. Whew! there goes the quarter to! I shall never get done this brutal thing."

"Id est malus non facere quad magister dicit. Vos voluntas laetus audire ut Fellsgarthus liquebat Rendleshamus ad pedemballum super Saturdaium durare," (Saturday last). "Nos obtenebanus unum goalum ad nil quod non erat malum. Ego debeo nunc concludere. Ego sum vestrum fideliter Perceius Granum agrum." (Percy flattered himself he knew the correct Latin for his own name.)

He had a rush to get this work of art over to Mr Forder in time, and was considerably mortified to observe that the master did not seem at all gratified by the performance. Just like Forder! the more you laid yourself out to please him, the worse he was.

"Leave it, sir. I'll speak to you to-morrow."

"That means a licking," said Percy to himself. "I can see it in his eye. All serene. That's his way of showing his gratitude."

And he went back in a very bad temper to his own room, where his comrades had arrived to greet him.

"Why ever can't you chaps be in the way when you're wanted?" prowled Percy. "There was Clapperton in here just now talking rot about the meeting next week. What do you think? He says we're not to go to it."

"Why not?"

Percy in his lucid manner tried to explain.

"All gammon," said Lickford. "If we're to be stopped going to Hall, we shall be stopped grub next."

This was an argument that went home.

"If Clapperton had made it worth our while, you know," said Cottle, "it might have been different. I don't care much about the meeting; but if I stop away for him, I'll get something for it."

This mercenary view of the subject was new to Percy, but he frankly accepted it.

"I tell you what," said he; "here, give us a pen; we'll just draw up a few conditions. If he accepts them we'll stay away; if he don't, he may hang himself before we sit out."

After much deliberation, the following charter of six points was drawn up and laid on Clapperton's table.

"On the following conditions the undersigned will stop out of Hall on October 3,—namely, to wit, viz., i.e.:—

"1. No more fagging.

"2. Don't go to bed till 9:30.

"3. A study a-piece.

"4. The prefects shall be abolished. Any prefect reporting to Forder to be kicked.

"5. Except between 9:30 p.m. and 7:30 a.m. we do as we like.

"6. That the four following Classic cads get their noses pulled; namely Wheatfield, W., D'Arcy, Ashby, and Fisher minor.

"If these are agreed to, we won't go to the meeting."

(Signed by) Wheatfield, P., M.P. Cottle, Major-General. Lickford, D.D. Ramshaw minor, F.S.A. Cash, LL.D., etcetera, etcetera.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

CORDER TO THE FRONT.

The morning of the return match with Rendlesham was damp and muggy, and so assorted well with the spirits of Fellsgarth generally.

The juniors of course were cheerful—everything came in the day's work for them—but among the seniors on either side gloom prevailed. Even Ranger, the lighthearted, was snappish, as his fag discovered; and Denton, the amiable, hoped he would not, for his temper's sake, meet too many Moderns between morning and evening. The captain, though he kept up his usual show of serenity, was evidently worried. But he had no notion of giving in. No! If the School was to be thrashed let them take their thrashing like men, and not whine about like the "other boys."

"After all," said he to Ranger, "we may not get glory, but we needn't lose it. Only, for goodness' sake, let us keep our rows to ourselves, and not talk about them out of doors."

"Right you are!" said his friend. "I wish I had your temper. The cads! And after the way you've treated them, too. Why, some of us thought you went out of your way to favour them."

The captain grunted, and began to throw his flannels into his bag.

"What about Rollitt?" he asked.

"No go. He's gone off for a day's fishing."

The captain whistled dismally. "Then we must play a man short. There's no one else worth putting in. It's like marching to one's execution," he said; "I wish it was all over. But it's only just beginning."

The Moderns were gloomy too. They had taken their course, and they must stand by it now. When they came to reflect, it was not a particularly glorious one, nor did it seem to promise much by way of compensation. They were done out of football for the rest of the term; they were reduced to a faction in Fellsgarth, and what was worse, they were secretly doubtful whether they were quite as much in the right as they tried to persuade themselves.

They had taken their coarse, however, and must go on.

"I suppose none of our side will go on the omnibus," said Brinkman.

"Why not?" said Clapperton. "It will do them good to have spectators. I shall go; not that I care about it, but just to assert my rights."

"Hurrah for self-sacrifice!" said Fullerton. "If your principles will allow you to take chicken and tongue sandwiches with you, I'll go too."

"It's ten to one they'll try to prevent our going," said Dangle; "I hope they'll try."

When the two coaches drove up to carry the fifteen and the prefects and other privileged boys to the scene of conflict, a good deal of surprise was evinced at the appearance of Clapperton, Brinkman, Dangle, and Fullerton, in ordinary costume, and without bags, ready to accompany the party.

Contrary to their expectations and hopes, no protest was made, and, as far as the Classic seniors were concerned, no notice was vouchsafed them. This was annoying, particularly as the juniors present took care to call attention to their presence.

"Look at 'em," cried Wally; "don't they look clever?"

"Kicked out of the team—serve 'em right!" shouted Ashby.

"Who's kicked out?" retorted the Modern fags. "It would take better chaps than you to kick them out."

"Don't you wish you could kick them in? They know better," retorted Percy and Co.

Amid such embarrassing comments, the four Modern heroes mounted to their places.

The cheers of their adherents hardly made up for the chilly welcome of their travelling companions. Yorke, seeing Clapperton looking for a place, politely moved up to make room, and then turned his back and talked to Ranger. The other three were similarly cut off, Dangle finding himself in between Fisher major and Denton, who talked across him. Brinkman, on another coach, was tucked in among some rowdy Classic middle-boys who were discussing the "strike" very vigorously among themselves. As for Fullerton, he was lucky enough to get the seat beside the driver, where, at any rate, he could count on one sympathetic soul into whose ears to pour his occasional words of wisdom.

Just as the first coach was starting, a shout was heard from across the Green, and Corder, the Modern boy whose services were declined on the previous occasion, equipped in an ulster and with his bag in his hand, appeared signalling for the cortege to wait.

"Well! what is it?" demanded Dangle.

"Is Yorke there? Yorke, can I play to-day?"

"No, you can't," said Dangle in a menacing undertone. "None of us are playing; you know that."

"I don't see why I mayn't play if I have the chance," said Corder. "I awfully want to play in the fifteen."

"We're a man short," said Yorke. "You can play, Corder."

"If you dare to come and play," said Dangle, still in a whisper, "you'll find it so precious hot for yourself afterwards that you'll be sorry for it."

"Yorke says I may play," persisted Corder; "I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Cad! traitor! blackleg!" yelled Percy and Co., as they saw their man mount the coach.

"Ha, ha! got one man among you who isn't a coward and a sneak, and— and a howling kid!" retorted Wally. "Gee up!" Whereat the whips cracked and the happy party drove off.

Corder was one of those obtuse youths who can never take in more than one idea at a time. His present idea was football. He had come up this term with a consuming ambition to get into the fifteen, and had played hard and desperately to secure his end. Last week, when Brinkman was obliged to retire, he thought his chance was come, and great was his mortification when he found that his nomination was not accepted by the captain. Still he didn't despair. When he saw the vacancies caused in the team by the defection of the Moderns, his hopes rose again; but once more they were dashed by the captain's announcement of a fifteen made up wholly of Classics.

To-day he had not had the heart to come out and see the coaches start, and was moping in his own room, when some one brought in word that Rollitt was not going to play after all, and that the team was setting out a man short.

Whereupon Corder dashed into his ulster, flung his flannels into his bag, and tore out of his house just in time to secure for himself the long-coveted honour, and find himself in the glorious position of "playing for the School."

How was such a fellow likely to trouble his head about strikes, and protests, and organised desertion?

Fortunately for the comfort of his journey, he had to pack himself away on the floor between the feet of Ridgway and another of the team, who, if they kicked him at all, only did it by accident or by way of encouragement, and not as Dangle or Brinkman might have done, in spite.

The rain was coming down pretty steadily by the time the party got to their destination, and the gloom on the brows of the four Modern prefects deepened as they looked up and speculated on the delights of standing for an hour on the wet grass watching their rivals play.

"Dangle," said Clapperton, "we must stop that cad Corder's playing at all cost. It will upset everything. Come and talk to him."

But Corder, perhaps with an inkling of what was in store for him, had entrenched himself behind a number of other players, and in close proximity to Ranger, who had evidently told himself off to see that the last recruit of the fifteen was not tampered with.

The signals of the two seniors were studiously not observed, and when Dangle, getting desperate, said—

"Corder, half a minute; Clapperton wants you." Ranger interposed with—

"Come on, you fellows, it's time we got into our flannels," and effectually checkmated the manoeuvre.

"If he doesn't get paid out for this," growled Clapperton, "I'm precious mistaken."

"Yes; and the other fellows must see that he is. If this sort of thing spreads, we may as well cave in at once."

The Rendlesham fellows hovered about under shelter till the last moment, grumbling at the weather, the grass, and the dock. At length the Fellsgarth boys put in an appearance; sides were solemnly tossed for, and the order to "spread out" was given.

"Hullo!" said one of the Rendlesham men as he passed Clapperton and Dangle, "why aren't you playing? Afraid of the cold?"

"No, we scratched because—"

"Have you got that big man down who was so hot in the scrimmages? I forget his name. He's not one of the delicate ones, I fancy."

"No more are we; we're not playing because—"

"Hullo! they're waiting," said the player, and went off, leaving the explanation still unfinished.

One of the last to run out was Corder.

"You young cad," growled Clapperton as he passed; "take my advice and don't play, unless—"

"Come on, Corder—waiting," shouted Yorke.

Corder obeyed like lightning.

The match began disastrously for Fellsgarth. Within five minutes of the kick-off, a run up by one of the Rendlesham quarter-backs carried the ball right into the School lines, and a touch-down resulted. On a fine day like last Saturday a goal would have been certain, but on the wet grass, the try did not come off. But five minutes later, a drop-kick from the middle of the field by the Rendlesham captain secured a magnificent goal for the home team.

Clapperton sneered.

"What I expected," said he. "They'll be lucky if they don't lose a dozen."

Yorke, on the contrary, was cheering up. Bad as these opening ten minutes had been, he fancied his team was not going to do so badly after all. The new players were working like mad in the scrimmage. Ranger was as quick on his feet in the wet as in the dry; and Corder at half- back had been surprisingly steady.

Before kicking off again he made one or two changes. He moved Ridgway, who was a heavy weight, up into the forwards. Corder, greatly to his delight, was entrusted with the goal, and Fisher major moved up to half- back. The forwards were ordered on no account to break loose, but if necessary to keep the ball among them till time was called.

Then, with his well-known "On you go!" he lacked off.

The ball was almost immediately locked up in a tight, fierce scrimmage. The boys took the captain's advice with a vengeance, and held the ball among their feet doggedly, neither letting it through on their side, nor forcing it out on the side of the enemy.

At length, however, it could be seen filtering out sideways, just where the captain was hovering outside the scrimmage.

"Let it come!" he whispered. "Look out, Ranger!"

Next moment the ball was under his arm, and before any one realised that the scrimmage was up, he was off with it and among the enemy's half- backs. The half-backs knew Yorke of old, and closed upon him before he could double or get round them.

"Pass!" shouted Ranger.

It was beautifully done, while Yorke was falling and Ranger brushing past. The enemy's half-backs were not in it with the fleet Fellsgarth runner, nor was their back; and to their own utter amazement, three minutes later the School placed to their credit an easy goal.

Then did Clapperton and Dangle and Brinkman gnash their teeth till they ached, and Fullerton, standing near, had his gibe.

"It was worth coming here in the rain to see that, wasn't it?"

The match was not yet over. The Rendlesham men, startled into attention by this unexpected rebuff, took care that such a misadventure should not happen again, and making all the use they could of their superior weight, bore down the scrimmages and forced the ball into the open. Once they carried it through with a splendid rush, and their captain picking it up under the very feet of the boys, ran it forward a few yards, and took a drop-kick which missed by only a few inches.

A little later came Corder's chance. He had lived all the term for this moment. If he was taken back to Fellsgarth on a shutter he would not care, so long as he did himself credit now.

He had a clear field to start with, and was well out of touch before the advance guard of the enemy bore down on him. Then it was a sight to see him wriggle and dodge, and twist and turn in and out among them, threading them like a needle through a string of beads, and slipping through their hands like an eel.

"Well played indeed, Corder!" cried Yorke.

Oh, what music was in the sound! What would he not dare now!

On he went, now diving under an arm, now staggering round a leg; now jumping like a kangaroo against an opponent. The very sight of his evolutions seemed to demoralise the Rendlesham men. They floundered and slid on the slippery grass, and made wild grabs without ever reaching him. It was really too ridiculous to be eluded by a raw hand like this—and yet he eluded them.

Half-way down the field he ran with a roar of applause at his back, and only a handful of the enemy left ahead. How splendid if he could only pass them, and make his record with a run from one goal to the other!

Alas! a swoop from behind greeted the proud thought; two hands clawed at his shoulders, and from his shoulders slipped to his waist, and from his waist slid down to his ankles, where for a moment they held, and sent the runner tripping over on his nose in the mud, with the ball spinning away a yard ahead.

It was all up. No! Fisher was on the spot, and at Fisher's heels Ridgway. The Rendlesham backs flung themselves in the way, but only to divert, not to stop their career. When Corder picked himself up and rubbed the mud out of his eyes, the first thing he saw was Ridgway sitting behind the enemy's line with the ball comfortably resting on his knee! It was another for the School—perhaps a goal.

Alas! on that ground the long side-kick was too much even for Yorke. It shot wide, and Rendlesham breathed again.

But the long and short of it was that the match was a tie; a goal and a try to each side; and that to Corder belonged the credit of a big hand in the lesser point.

"Awfully well run, Corder," said the captain, as, time having been called, the two walked off the field together. "You must play for us again."

After that, who should say life was not worth living?

The very weather seemed to change for Corder. The sun came out, flowers sprang up at his feet, birds started singing in the trees overhead. What a letter he would have to write home to-morrow! The captain's pat on the back sent a glow all through him. Who wouldn't be a Fellsgarth chap after all?

It scarcely damped his joy to perceive that neither Clapperton, Dangle, nor Brinkman shared in the general congratulations, but looked more black and threatening than ever as he passed. Pooh! what did he care for that!

How he enjoyed the glorious Rendlesham high tea, and the drive home in the rain with everybody talking and laughing and rejoicing, singing songs and shouting war-cries! He was quite sorry when it came to an end, and he had to dismount and go over alone to his own house.

He could hear the shouts and huzzas of the Classics across the Green as Wakefield's turned out in a body to welcome their men. No one at Forder's turned out to welcome him. The four prefects themselves had not even waited for him.

For the first time that day Corder felt himself wishing he had a little sympathy in his jubilation. It was dull, when everybody over on the other side was shouting himself hoarse, to hear not a "cheep" of congratulation from his own fellows.

However, it didn't matter much. He went to his room and changed, and hoped his messmate Wilson would not be long in coming for supper and a gossip.

Wilson came presently, but his face was glum and his manner frigid.

"Oh, here you are, old chap; I'm peckish. Did you hear about the match, we—"

"Shut up," said Wilson; "you're a cad. I don't want to talk to you."

Corder put down his knife and fork, and looked up in amazement. This from Wilson! He knew Clapperton was sore about it, but Wilson—

He went on eating while thinking it out, and Wilson ate too in silence, and then rose to go.

"Are you not going to prepare to-night?"

"Yes, in Dangle's room."

And Corder was left alone.

This was too bad of Wilson—to-night of all nights. He would go and look up Selby. Selby, he knew, would be interested in the day's news, for had they not practised drop-kicks together for an hour a day all this term?

Selby was in, but not at all glad to see him.

"Are you busy, old man?" asked Corder.

"I don't want you here," said Selby.

"Why, what's the row?"

"Row? You're a sneak, that's the row. Cut!"

Surely Selby must be out of sorts to talk like that. Corder stood in the door for a moment, on the off-chance that his friend might be joking. But no; Selby turned his back and began to read a book.

This was getting monotonous. Corder returned to his study to think it out a little more. His fag, Cash, was there looking for a paper.

"Hullo, youngster! that you? We didn't get beaten after all, to-day, I suppose you heard."

Cash's reply was laconic, to say the least of it. He turned round and put out his tongue.

"None of your cheek, I say," said Corder, "or I'll—"

"How dare you speak to me!" said the junior; "you're a cad—I'm not going to fag for a cad."

And he vanished.

Corder went to bed that night sorely perplexed. And his perplexity was not relieved when he rose next morning and found a paper on his table with the following genial notice:—

"Any boy in Forder's found speaking to Corder the sneak will be cut by the house. By Order."



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE SHOP OPENS.

Robert—no one knew his surname—was a regular institution at Fellsgarth. Pluralist and jack-of-all-trades as he was, he seemed unable to make much of a hand at anything he took up. He was School porter, owner of the School shop, keeper of the club properties, and occasional School policeman; and he discharged none of his functions well. The masters did not regard him with much confidence, the boys, for the most part, did not care for him, the other men about the place disliked him. And yet, as part and parcel of Fellsgarth, every one put up with him.

As has already been hinted, his management of the School shop had been a conspicuous failure—both for himself and the young innocents who squandered their substance on his tarts. He complained that he could make no profit; and as his method for recouping himself was to supply the worst possible article at the highest possible price, his young customers neglected him and aggravated his loss.

It was rumoured that another more questionable method of replenishing his exchequer was by laying odds on the School games, which (as in the case of the second Rendlesham match) did not always turn out in the way he expected. This, however, was only rumour, and was not to be reckoned among Bob's known transgressions, which were general stupidity, surliness, unsteadiness, and an inveterate distaste for veracity.

Such being his reputation, it astonished no one on the Monday following the events recorded in the last chapter to see the shutters of the shop at the Watch-tower Gate up, and a rudely scrawled announcement, "This shop is closed."

But what did cause astonishment was a subsequent announcement inscribed in print letters:—

"This establishment will reopen on Wednesday under entirely new management. Superior grub at greatly reduced prices. No more shoe- leather or flat swipes! Best tarts 1 penny each; ditto ginger-beer 11/2 pence a bottle. Fresh fruit and pastry daily. Rally round the old shop!

"By Order."

Speculation ran high as to who the enterprising new tradesman could be. Some said it was Mrs Wisdom. Others said one of the Penchurch shops was going to run it as a branch. Others suggested that some of the seniors had a hand in it. But the truth never once leaked out.

Our nine juniors played an artful part in that day's business. They mingled with the crowd in front of the notice, and freely bandied about wild conjectures as to who the new manager or managers could be, at the same time hinting broadly that they intended to patronise the new concern.

"Tell you what," said D'Arcy, "perhaps it's the doctor wants to turn an honest penny. Don't blame him either."

"Perhaps it's Rollitt," suggested Cash, amid laughter. "What a game! He'll go selling tarts by the pint and ginger-beer by the ounce. Whew! think of Rollitt's ginger-beer."

"I asked Bob if he knew who it was," said Wally, "and he said, 'No, he wished he did; he'd get something out of him for good-will.'"

"What's that?" asked Ashby. "If he'd said bad temper, there might have been some of that going about."

"Anyhow," said Wally, "I rather fancy the thing myself. The things can't be worse than they have been, and if they're fresh every day, they're bound to be better, and the tarts are a halfpenny less, and so's the ginger-pop."

"Hooroo!" said Cottle; "you can get half as much again for the same money. I wish they'd open to-day."

After which, one by one they tailed off, leaving a general impression behind them that whoever else was in the secret, these nine young innocent lambs were not.

Matters had not advanced to this stage without considerable deliberation. Several committee meetings had been held, some of which, under Mr Stratton's presidency, had been of a practical nature, others, without his controlling presence, had ended in dust. On the whole, however, the young merchant adventurers had exhibited a reasonable grasp of their responsibilities and an aptitude for dealing with the necessary details.

One point discussed was whether the shop should be open all day, or only at certain times. Mr Stratton was in favour of the latter. He urged that during the off hours between eleven and twelve, and in the afternoon between four and six, would be ample.

The committee argued, from personal experience, that there were other hours of the day when a fellow felt in the humour for a "blow out." To this Mr Stratton replied, "Let him 'blow out' by all means, but not on the company's premises. He could do his shopping during shop hours, and 'blow out' with his purchases at any hour of the day or night the School rules permitted. They couldn't undertake to provide a banqueting hall for their customers."

"But," urged the committee, "if you have a shopman, why not get your money's worth out of him?"

"Why waste our money on a shopman at all?" propounded Mr Stratton to his astounded fellow-directors. "Why not take turns behind the counter ourselves; say one of the Wheatfields and Cash one week, and Cottle and Ashby the next, and so on? The hours proposed were not school hours; and though the persons on duty might occasionally be done out of a game, still it would fall on all alike, and would be a little sacrifice for the common good."

"But," said Percy, whose hair was on end at this tremendous proposition, "suppose Wally—that is, I mean, wouldn't it be necessary to count the tarts before each chap went on duty and see how many there were at the end?"

"It might with you and your lot," retorted Wally, very red in the face. "It'd be best to have a weighing machine handy and charge you 8 pence a pound for every pound extra you weighed at the end of the day!"

"We'll neither count nor weigh," said Mr Stratton; "we'll trust to every fellow's honour. Why, if we couldn't do that, do you suppose the shop would keep open a week?"

This impressed the meeting vastly, and the discussion was changed to the question of profits.

The boys were in favour of screwing all they could out of their customers. They didn't see why, if Bob sold bad tarts for three- halfpence, they shouldn't sell good ones at least for the same price.

"It's giving it to 'em both ends," said they.

"Why not?" said the master. "We want the fellows to get the benefit. We don't want all the profit. As it is, we shall make a farthing on every tart we sell. We ought to sell four times as many as Bob did, oughtn't we?"

"Quite that," said they.

"Very well; see how that works out."

And Mr Stratton took his chalk and worked out this sum on the black- board:—

12 bad tarts at 11/2 pence = 1 shilling, 6 pence, cost 9 pence, profit 9 pence.

48 good tarts at 1 penny = 4 shillings, cost 3 shillings, profit 1 shilling.

"You see," said he, "if we can only increase the demand, we shall easily make Bob's profit, and more. Having good tarts will increase it in one way, and selling cheap will increase it another. It's worth trying, anyhow."

And so the deliberations went on, and the boys' minds gradually took on the new idea.

The thirty shillings, Mr Stratton reported, had been advanced, and Mrs Stratton was appointed a subcommittee to lay it out. A method of accounts was arranged. The first day's stock was to be charged at the selling price to the shopman for the day. At the end of the day he was to hand over to the treasurer the money he had taken and what was left of the stock, which two items together ought to make up the sum of his responsibility. It was felt that in a very few days the committee would ascertain pretty nearly what quantity of each article was consumed, and would be able to order accordingly. Any deficiency was to be set down to bad management, and no other reason; and any shopman deficient three days running was to forfeit his right to officiate again during that term.

Lots were solemnly drawn for the distinction of opening the shop, and the choice fell on D'Arcy, and Lickford, who for the next day or two went about shaking in their shoes. As the day drew nearer, the venture seemed a tremendous one, and Mr Stratton had to use all his powers of encouragement to keep his colleagues from not taking fright at the last moment.

"It will all go swimmingly, you'll see," said he. "I will hold myself in readiness to come down and back you up if there's the least hitch, but I shall be greatly disappointed if you need me."

The last act of the committee before commencing proceedings was to draw up a manifesto, which was copied out and duly affixed to the notice boards and the shop-shutters on the morning of the opening.

Under the distinguished patronage of Mr and Mrs Stratton.

The Fellsgarth Shop will be opened this day from 11 to 12, And 4 To 8, and daily (sundays excepted) till further notice. The following prime goods, at the cheap prices affixed. [Here followed a list of the stores.] Ready money. No tick. Change given. no more stomach-ache!! Real jam! Ripe fruit! Fresh pastry! All the season's novelties. Nothing stale. Boys of Fellsgarth— Come in your thousands! No risk to man or boy. No favour. Masters and fags treated alike. All the profits for the clubs. Treasurer, Mrs Stratton. Managing directors, Nine gentlemen, Carefully Selected. President, Mr Stratton. Plenty for all. No questions asked. All are welcome. Come early and stay late.

By Order.

This soul-stirring manifesto, which had the hearty approval both of the president and treasurer (who carefully revised the spelling), threw some satisfactory light on the mystery. Who were the "carefully selected gentlemen" was still obscure, although it was generally held that Fellsgarth only contained nine individuals answering to that particular description. What was more important was that Mr and Mrs Stratton were at the back of the venture. If so, it was not a swindle, and the grub was pretty sure to be right. The new price list, moreover, was very satisfactory, and on the whole the hours were approved of.

When the eleven o'clock bell sounded, on the Wednesday morning, a general movement was made for the Watch-Tower Gate, where, firmly entrenched behind a clean counter piled up with the good things a schoolboy holds dear, demurely stood D'Arcy and Lickford, looking very anxious and scared.

At judiciously selected points among the crowd their friends looked on sympathetically.

After the laughter which had greeted the discovery had died away, an awkward pause ensued. No one exactly liked to start. The seniors present felt their dignity would be compromised. The middle-boys did not like to do what the seniors were too shy to do. The juniors were afraid some one might laugh if they led off. Consequently for a minute or two every one stared at the two shopmen, who cast down their eyes, and blushed and simpered.

At length, however, the ice was broken in a very pretty way. For Mrs Stratton on her way out of the school looked in, and taking in the situation, advanced to the counter and said—

"A bottle of ginger-beer, if you please, Lickford."

Lickford, who, to use his own polite phrase, was "bossing the drinks and fruit" for the day, nearly tumbled down with the shock of this sudden challenge, and made a wild grab at the nearest bottle within reach. The eyes of Fellsgarth were upon him; he lost his head entirely, and made herculean efforts to draw the cork without loosing the wire. His contortions were terrible.

When he could not hold the bottle firm enough between his knees, he tried gripping it between his feet. Then in a hot whisper he besought D'Arcy to hang on to the end, and for a time the bottle was invisible under the two. Then he took another, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the spectators, and was proceeding to release the corkscrew from the refractory vessel, when Mrs Stratton said in her pleasant way—

"I see you keep the new kind of bottles that have the corks wired down. They are much better than the old, and it's very little trouble undoing the wire."

This saved Lickford. In a moment the wire was removed, and the cork burst out triumphantly, even before it was pulled, showering a grateful froth of fizz into the waistcoat of the operator.

"It's beautifully well up. Thank you, Lickford, how much?" said Mrs Stratton.

"They're a shilling a dozen. I mean three-halfpence each," said D'Arcy. "We can give you change."

"Here's twopence. I'll take a halfpenny apple. That will make it right, won't it?"

And amid loud cheers she departed.

The ice thus broken, a rush took place, as Ridgway, who was poetical, said—

"Fellows may step in where angels didn't fear to tread."

Then did D'Arcy and Lickford pant and perspire, and wish they had never been born. Hands reached in from all sides, and helped themselves to cakes and tarts, and coppers showered in on them from nobody could tell where.

They found themselves handing change out into space, and sowing sweets broadcast among the crowd.

The other directors meanwhile, as in duty bound, nobly rallied round them, and added to their embarrassment.

"Walk up, walk up!" shouted Wally. "Try our brandy-balls, eight a penny. Eight brandy-balls for Dalton; you chaps, look sharp. Change for a sov. for Clapperton; beg pardon, sixpence (didn't know he kept such small coins). Hullo, hullo! stand by for my young brother Percy! He's just a-going to begin. Fifteen jam tarts, half a pound of peppermints, half a dozen ginger-beer. Bite his money hard, D'Arcy; see there are no bad 'uns. I know the chap!"

"Bah! I hope they've got better toffee here than that muck you make," said Percy.

"Come, wake up!" cried Cash. "I've been waiting five minutes for my cake."

"Can't have 'em; we've run out," said D'Arcy.

"Well, you must be a green one only to get such a few," said a middle- boy, who had also built his hopes on the same delicacy.

"Very sorry," said Percy to the company generally. "You must excuse these chaps—raw hands—they don't know how to manage at present. Give 'em time. They'll do better; won't you, Lickford? Takes some time to get a notion into Lickford's head, but when it gets there, my word, it sticks. Get in a double lot of cakes to-morrow, do you hear, or I shall give you the sack."

Despite these pleasant recriminations the business went on merrily. The "tuck" was pronounced a great advance on anything Robert had provided, and rumours of its excellence penetrated into quarters which had never contributed customers to the old shop.

In the afternoon the crowd was less, but the business more steady. Mr Stratton dropped in for a slice of cake, and Mrs Wakefield and the three little Wakefields came to patronise the undertaking. One or two fellows, too, sent their fags to secure "extras" for tea, and one or two left orders for another day. Inquiries were made, moreover, for certain articles, such as lemons, tea-cakes, etcetera, which the shopmen took a note of as worth laying in a stock of. And the lack of demand for a few of the things they had, suggested to the same astute young merchants that they might be dispensed with in future.

Of course, a few boys tried to interfere with the regulations by demanding "tick," and wanting to make bargains. But they were promptly met by a non possumus from the directors present, and finally brought to reason by being referred to Mr Stratton.

The day passed without the necessity of any appeal to the president. An anxious consultation was, however, held in his room after closing time. Naturally, owing to the exceptional rush, the accounts were a little out, but as they happened to be on the right side this was a matter for congratulation rather than distress. Nearly two pounds had been taken, and the stock left on hand was valued at five shillings, so that actually it was possible to repay half of the thirty shillings lent, after the very first day. Mr Stratton, however, advised that only ten shillings should be repaid this time, and the other five shillings put into a reserve fund, in case of need.

"Of course, you can't expect to do as big a business as this every day," said he. "It will settle down to a regular jog-trot in a few days, and then we shall be able to judge much better how we stand. I shall be very well satisfied if we make about five shillings clear a day."

"I think you boys have started very well," began the treasurer, but her husband held up his finger admonishingly.

"I should have been very disappointed with them if they had not," said he. "It's easy enough to start, the thing will be to keep it up."

"Remember," he added, "it will be better not to brag out of doors about our profits or that sort of thing. It will be time enough to talk about that when we are able to hand over a good lump sum to the clubs. Now it's time you went to preparation. Good night all."

"I tell you what," said Lickford to his fellow-shopman as they walked across the Green, "we shall have to be pretty smart to-morrow if we're to get to the club meeting."

"Why," said D'Arcy, "I thought none of you Modern cads were going to show up?"

"We heard you'd all funked it," said Wally.

"I don't blame them," said Ashby; "they've not much to be proud of, those Modern chaps."

"Never mind," said Fisher minor, "Fellsgarth can get on well enough without them."

The party came to a halt and regarded one another seriously, and Percy said—

"Whoever told you we weren't going to turn up, told crams. We're coming. We'll see you don't have it all to yourselves, rather!"

"My eye, won't you get licked for it! Nice to belong to a house where you mayn't sneeze unless your senior lets you."

"Go on! Shut up! See if you can't canvass a bit. That's what you're best at—that, and getting it hot on the hands for cheating." Whereupon the troops separated.

The taunts of the Classics made their rivals wince, despite their affected contempt. To-morrow was the day of the meeting; and between now and then they must decide whether or not they would obey their own seniors and stay away, or revolt and take the consequences. The unanimous opinion was in favour of revolt, unless Clapperton made it uncommonly worth their while to obey.

They were not destined to remain long in doubt, for the senior invaded their quarters that very evening.

"Just remember, you youngsters," said he, "no one is going to the meeting to-morrow from our side."

"Oh?"

"Any fellow who goes will get it hot, I promise him."

"Ah! What about our conditions? What have you done about them?"

"Put them in the coal-scuttle; and I've a good mind to put all five of you there too, for your impudence."

"Ah!"

The captain turned on his heel, with a final warning.

"That settles it, you chaps," said Percy, when he had gone. "We go."

"Rather," replied everybody.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

SOMETHING WRONG IN THE ACCOUNTS.

Fisher major sat in his study after morning class, next morning, the picture of boredom and perplexity. Lists of names, receipt-books, cash- box, bills, and account-books were littered on the table before him. Between these and a cobweb on the ceiling his troubled looks travelled, as he gnawed the end of his pen, and passed his fingers aimlessly through his hair.

There was something wrong; and what it was he could not for the life of him make out. To any one familiar with Fisher major's business—or, rather, unbusiness—habits, there was nothing wonderful in that. He was happy-go-lucky in all his dealings. He could receive a subscription one day, and only remember, in a panic, to enter it a week after. His money he kept all over the place; some in his desk, some in the cash-box, some in the drawer of his inkstand. He had a vague idea that he had a special reason for dividing it thus—that one lot may have belonged to the School clubs, another to the House clubs, and another to something else. But which was which it passed his wit to remember.

He had had his doubts of the business all along. His friends had urged him to take the office, and with their help he had persuaded himself its duties were simple and easily discharged. He had determined he would do the thing thoroughly well. He had bought these account-books out of his own private purse, and spent an evening in beautifully ruling them in red ink, with one column for the date, one for the name, and three for pounds, shillings, and pence. He had procured two letter-files, labelled respectively "Club" and "House," into which to put his receipts. And he had provided himself with a dozen elastic bands and an equal number of paper-fasteners. What more could a treasurer desire?

Alas! the beautiful account-books got mixed up with one another, the letter-files remained empty, and the elastic bands somehow did duty as football garters. The Club accounts were scrawled, for the most part, in pencil on the backs of envelopes, awaiting a grand transcription into the books; and the receipts, pending a similar fortunate time, where huddled away in the drawer with Greek verses and letters from the people at home.

Things had now come to a pass. The captain had yesterday suggested that, in view of the meeting to-day, it would be well to have the accounts made up, so as to be able, if called upon, to state exactly how they stood financially.

"All serene," said Fisher; "I'll let you have the lot in ten minutes."

It was now considerably more than ten hours since the rash undertaking had been given, and the accounts were considerably more confused than they had been when Fisher sat down to square them.

The Club and House accounts were hopelessly mixed. Some fellows appeared to have paid several times over to both funds, and others not once to either. Worse than that, Fisher could not find his memorandum of what he had paid out in small disbursements since term began. Still worse, when he did come in desperation to lump both funds together, and deduct the total amount he had spent, he found himself between L4 and L5 out of pocket!

That was the serious discovery which, on this particular morning, was preying on his spirits and making him look a picture of bewilderment.

"I'm bothered if I can make it out," said he to himself. "Everybody's marked down as paid—I remember noticing that weeks ago. At that rate I ought to have L25 for the Clubs, and L9 12 shillings for the House. Yes, that's right—I had that; there's a note of it; three lots—L15 7 shillings 6 pence on September 1, L7 2 shillings 6 pence on September 13, and L12 2 shillings on another day—that makes the total. There you are. Why on earth did I put them away in separate lots? Then I paid L5 for the new goals, and something else—what was it? Oh, that was for the House balls—oh, but we are lumping the two together. What was it? I know, 17 shillings 6 pence—that's L5 17 shillings 6 pence; and something else, I know, came to a pound—L6 17 shillings 6 pence. Take that from L34 12 shillings, leaves L27 14 shillings 6 pence—and I've only got L22 18 shillings 6 pence! Where, in the name of wonder, has the rest gone?"

And once more the dismal operation of adding up, counting, and subtracting began anew, with the same, or almost the same, result—there was a mistake of something like L4 10 shillings, whichever way you looked at it.

Dalton, who came in presently, could throw no further light on the problem. He added up the columns, counted the money, subtracted the payments and arrived at the same result.

Had the difference been smaller, it might have been accounted for by a few subscriptions omitted or a few payments not entered. But L4 10 shillings was too big a sum to leak away by accident; and, with the exception of the new goals, Fisher major was confident nothing had been spent approaching the figure.

Dalton then proposed a fresh hunt through the study, in case the missing sum might be hidden for safety in some corner. So the room was turned upside down; the bed-clothes were shaken out, pockets searched, books turned over, tea-pots peered into; but all to no purpose.

The captain looked in while the search was proceeding.

"Have you got the— Hullo, what's up?"

"Why," said Fisher major, "there's a discrepancy. We ought to have L27 14 shillings 6 pence, and there's about L4 10 shillings short."

"Do you mean that's missing in the Club accounts?"

"Well, either in that or the House clubs, or in both lumped together. I say, I wish you'd add that up, there's a good fellow. The addition may be wrong."

But no; the captain made it the same as Dalton.

Ranger and Ridgway dropped in while the audit was in progress, and were promptly pounced upon to add the columns too. Evidently the mistake was not there. They made the total precisely the same.

"It must be in the payments, then," said Fisher. So the whole party sat down, and scrutinised the hapless treasurer's bills and vouchers, and, after allowing him the benefit of every imaginable doubt, still brought the deficit out at the same uncompromising figure.