belief you chalked the cane."

"N-no. But I've a very straight eye. Perhaps that misled you."

That opened the flood-gates of fresh memories, and they all told tales
out of school.

When Crandall minor that was--Lieutenant R. Crandall of an ordinary
Indian regiment--arrived from Exeter on the morning of the match, he
was cheered along the whole front of the College, for the prefects
had repeated the sense of that which the Head had read them in Flint's
study. When Prout's house understood that he would claim his Old Boy's
right to a bed for one night, Beetle ran into King's house next door
and executed a public "gloat" up and down the enemy's big form-room,
departing in a haze of ink-pots.

"What d'you take any notice of those rotters for?" said Stalky,
playing substitute for the Old Boys, magnificent in black jersey, white
knickers, and black stockings. "I talked to _him_ up in the dormitory
when he was changin'. Pulled his sweater down for him. He's cut about
all over the arms--horrid purply ones. He's goin' to tell us about it
to-night. I asked him to when I was lacin' his boots."

"Well, you _have_ got cheek," said Beetle, enviously.

"Slipped out before I thought. But he wasn't a bit angry. He's no end of
a chap. I swear, I'm goin' to play up like beans. Tell Turkey!"

The technique of that match belongs to a bygone age. Scrimmages were
tight and enduring; hacking was direct and to the purpose; and around
the scrimmage stood the school, crying, "Put down your heads and shove!"
Toward the end everybody lost all sense of decency, and mothers of
day-boys too close to the touch-line heard language not included in the
bills. No one was actually carried off the field, but both sides felt
happier when time was called, and Beetle helped Stalky and McTurk into
their overcoats. The two had met in the many-legged heart of things,
and, as Stalky said, had "done each other proud." As they swaggered
woodenly behind the teams--substitutes do not rank as equals of hairy
men--they passed a pony-carriage near the wall, and a husky voice cried,
"Well played. Oh, played indeed!" It was Stettson major, white-checked
and hollow-eyed, who had fought his way to the ground under escort of an
impatient coachman.

"Hullo, Stettson," said Stalky, checking. "Is it safe to come near you
yet?"

"Oh, yes. I'm all right. They wouldn't let me out before, but I had to
come to the match. Your mouth looks pretty plummy."

"Turkey trod on