race.
Our times are sure to be the better for it."

Boys liked him for that word "our." It sounded like a common cause, and
they were quick to hail the first symptom of such feeling in a master.

The next fortnight witnessed a smart athletic fever in the house. Of
course, it soon spread abroad what Railsford's was up to, and the School
form generally improved in consequence. In fact, when the day arrived
for the School sports, it was generally felt that Grandcourt had rarely
come on to the ground better up to the mark. Alas! Grandcourt came on
to the ground in two halves, and on two different days. When the boys
of the school-House, Roe's, Bickers's, and Grover's turned out to the
starting-post, Railsford's, chafing like greyhounds in the leash, turned
in to their penitential dinner.

"Never mind," said Ainger, as the distant shouts were wafted from the
playing-fields into the common room, "it will be our turn to-day week!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A FLY IN THE OINTMENT.

Ainger's prediction that the house was not likely to get much backing-up
in its new efforts from Felgate, looked likely enough to be fulfilled.
While everyone else was full of athletic and scholastic fervour, he
remained listless and even sulky. Some said it was because Ainger had
proposed the great scheme, and Felgate disdained to play second riddle
even to the captain. Others said it was because he could not win
anything even if he tried. Others darkly hinted that he was one of the
authors of the house's present disgrace; and others whispered that there
was no love lost between Railsford and his fourth prefect. In this last
conjecture the gossips were right. Felgate and the Master of the Shell
had not hit it from the first day of their acquaintance; and within the
last few days an occurrence had taken place which had brought the two
into violent collision.

Railsford on leaving his room one afternoon had been attracted by the
noise of groans and weeping at the far end of the passage. Going in the
direction of the melancholy sounds, he discovered Bateson, the Baby,
with a face as white as a sheet, huddled up all of a heap, the picture
of misery and tribulation.

"What is the matter?" inquired the master.

The sufferer did not hear him at first; but on a repetition of the
question he looked up and groaned.

"Oh, I'm dying! I'm so ill! Oh, what _shall I_ do?"

Railsford was alarmed. The boy looked so white, and trembled all o