ain of their
football club, even his deputy Vice; would have given all my meed of
laughter for stuttering Jerry's one round of applause when in our match
against Highbury he knocked up his century, and so won the victory for
us by just three.

Till the end I never quite abandoned hope of exchanging my vine leaves
for the laurels. I would rise an hour earlier in the morning to practise
throwing at broomsticks set up in waste places. At another time, the
sport coming into temporary fashion, I wearied body and mind for weeks
in vain attempts to acquire skill on stilts. That even fat Tubby could
out-distance me upon them saddened my life for months.

A lad there was, a Sixth Form boy, one Wakeham by name, if I remember
rightly, who greatly envied me my gift of being able to amuse. He was of
the age when the other sex begins to be of importance to a fellow, and
the desire had come to him to be regarded as a star of wit among
the social circles of Gospel Oak. Need I say that by nature he was a
ponderously dull boy.

One afternoon I happened to be the centre of a small group in the
playground. I had been holding forth and they had been laughing. Whether
I had delivered myself of anything really entertaining or not I cannot
say. It made no difference; they had got into the habit of laughing when
I talked. Sometimes I would say quite serious things on purpose; they
would laugh just the same. Wakeham was among them, his eyes fixed on me,
watching me as boys watch a conjurer in the hope of finding out "how he
does it." Later in the afternoon he slipped his arm through mine, and
drew me away into an empty corner of the ground.

"I say, Kelver," he broke out, the moment we were beyond hearing, "you
really are funny!"

It gave me no pleasure. If he had told me that he admired my bowling I
might not have believed him, but should have loved him for it.

"So are you," I answered savagely, "only you don't know it."

"No, I'm not," he replied. "Wish I was. I say, Kelver"--he glanced round
to see that no one was within earshot--"do you think you could teach me
to be funny?"

I was about to reply with conviction in the negative when an idea
occurred to me. Wakeham was famous among us for one thing; he could,
inserting two fingers in his mouth, produce a whistle capable of
confusing dogs a quarter of a mile off, and of causing people near at
hand to jump from six to eighteen inches into the air.

This accomplishment of his I envie