d ask why the subject of an active verb
could not be in the ablative. Two minutes later he would emerge with a
broad grin on his face, and murmur to whoever might be near that
Claremont was "a most damnable ass, but none the less a pleasant
creature." And in the evening hall he and Gordon would discuss how one
or other of them had advanced a step further into the enemy's country,
and taken one more pawn in the gigantic game of bluff. They were both in
their own fashion working to the same end.

But at this point the serene calm of Gordon's life was suddenly rudely
interrupted by an incursion on the part of "the Bull." About three weeks
after the term had begun the Colts played their first game, and like
most sides at the beginning of a season, they were terribly
disorganised. Lovelace, who had been in under-sixteen teams for years,
was the Senior Colts badge and was captain. Burgoyne led the scrum; he
was a rough diamond, if indeed a diamond at all, and was not too popular
with the side. Foster was scrum half; Collins and Gordon were in the
scrum. It was really quite a decent side, but this particular afternoon
it started shakily. "The Bull" raged so madly and cursed so furiously
that the side became petrified with funk, and could do nothing right.

Once and only once did the Colts look like scoring, and then Lovelace
knocked on the easiest pass right between the posts.

"Never did I see anything like it," bellowed Buller. "For eighteen years
I have coached Fernhurst; and before that I coached Oxford and
Gloucestershire; and I am not going to stand this. Lovelace, you are not
fit to be captain of a pick-up, let alone a school Colts side. Burgoyne,
skipper the side. Now then, two minutes more to half-time; do something,
Colts."

The Colts did do something. They let the other side score twice. At
half-time Buller poured forth a superb torrent of rhetoric. And suddenly
there came over Gordon an uncontrollable desire to laugh. "The Bull"
looked so funny, with his hair ruffled, and his eyes flaming with wrath.
Gordon had to look the other way, or he would have burst into paroxysms
of laughter. When one is overexcited and worried, hysteria is not far
absent. Gordon turned away.

Then suddenly he felt a terrific assault on his backside. Someone had
booted him most fiercely, and turning round he saw the face of Buller
still more distorted with rage.

"Never saw such rudeness! Here am I trying to coach the rottenest side