football performances, Mansell was a continual source
of laughter. He and Gordon were in the same Greek set and studied under
Mr Claremont, a dry humorist, who had adopted schoolmastering for want
of something better to do, had apparently regretted it afterwards, and
developed into a cynic.

Mansell was easily the most popular man and the worst scholar in the
set, in which there were nineteen in all. Each week Claremont read out
the order. Gordon was usually about half-way up. Mansell fluctuated; one
week he "bagged" the translation Clarke was using for scholarship work.
He was second that week. But Clarke discovered the theft. There was a
fall. Many names were read in the weekly order, but Mansell's was not of
them. At last Claremont reached him.

"Greek Prose, Mansell 19th; Greek Translation, Mansell 19th; Combined
Order, Mansell 19th." A roar of laughter. "Well, Mansell, I don't think
that a titter from your companions is a sufficient reward for a week's
bad work."

The immediate result of this was that Mansell, realising that without
some assistance, printed or otherwise, his chances of a good report were
small, got leave from Clarke to fetch Gordon from the day-room to his
study in hall to prepare the work together. Gordon at once thought
himself a tremendous blood. There were advantages, after all, in being
moderately clever.

About this time another incident helped to bring Gordon a little more
before the public eye. There had been a match in the afternoon _v._
Milton A. Lovelace, as happens to all athletes at times, had an off day.
He missed an easy drop, fumbled two passes, and when the School were
leading by one point just before time, failed to collar his man, and
Milton A won by two points. "The Bull" raged furiously. Lovelace took
hall that night. He sat at the top of the table in the day-room and
gazed about, seeking someone on whom to vent his wrath. There was a dead
silence. Gordon was writing hard at a Latin prose. He looked up for a
second while thinking of a word.

"Caruthers, are you working?" Lovelace snapped out.

"Yes."

"You liar, you were looking out of the window, weren't you?"

"Yes, but----"

"I'll teach you to tell lies to me. Come and see me at nine o'clock."

Very miserably Gordon continued his work. After about a quarter of an
hour:

"Caruthers, will you take six, or a hundred lines?"

Gordon thought it was not the thing to take lines:

"Six."

"Will you have it now or