fter a few minutes he was fetched to
fill a gap in a House game. He was shoved into the scrum, was perfectly
useless, and spent his whole time trying to escape notice. Only once he
got really near the ball. Just before half-time the ball was rolling
slowly towards him, the opposing full-back had failed to reach touch.
Gordon, steadying himself as at soccer, took a tremendous kick at the
ball, which screwed off his foot, and landed in the hands of the outside
three-quarter, who easily outpaced the defence and scored.

"You bloody little fool," said someone. "For God's sake, no soccer
tricks here."

Gordon did not attempt to repeat the performance. He was supremely
wretched, and merely longed for the day to end. No one understood him,
or even wanted to. His home became a very heaven to him during these
days.

But sooner or later pain grows into a custom. The agonies of Prometheus
and Ixion must after a little while have ceased to cause anything more
than boredom. As soon as the mind is accustomed to what is before it,
there is an end of grief. It is the series of unexpected blows that
hurts. And so, Gordon after his first week found that life was not so
hard after all. He knew where his various class-rooms were: his
time-table was complete; he had slipped into the routine, and found that
there was a good deal of merriment for anyone with a sense of humour.

Fleming was a constant source of amusement. One day Mansell, a member of
the School House Fifteen, had forgotten his book. The usual penalty for
forgetting a book was a hundred lines. Mansell had been posted on the
Lower ground. If he did well, he might be tried for the Second Fifteen.
The book must be got at all costs.

"Please, sir, may I go and get a handkerchief?"

"Yes, young man, and hurry up about it."

After five minutes Mansell returns, blowing his nose vigorously in his
silk handkerchief of many colours, for Mansell is by way of being a nut.
The book is under his coat. He sits down.

Fleming fixes him with a stony glare--a long pause.

"Mansell, take that book from under your coat."

Reluctantly the miscreant does so. The dream of a Second's cap vanishes.

"Conjurer!"

The roar of laughter was sufficient to make Fleming forget all about
impositions. But Mansell did not perform very well on the Lower ground,
and Gordon overheard Lovelace remarking to Meredith that Mansell was
really rather a come-down for a School House cap.

But, whatever his