wly the Easter term moved on. As the days went by the sense of
failure, which had overhung everything Gordon had done the term before,
returned with an increased poignancy. The Thirds ended in a defeat which
was rendered no more pleasant by the fact that it was inevitable. No one
expected the House to win. The defeat was no reflection on Gordon's
leadership. The Chief, in fact, said to him: "We were much too small a
side, Caruthers, but I think we put up a plucky fight. You haven't
anything to grumble at. We did much better than I expected."

But Gordon was always too prone to judge by results. He contrasted the
game with last year's triumphs, and with the glorious defeat of the
year before, which had brought more honour than many victories. It was
very different from what he had hoped for. There would not be much to
remember his captaincy by.

One morning towards the middle of February he was glancing down the
casualty list, when he saw Jeffries's name among those killed. He put
the paper down, and walked very quietly across to his study. Jeffries
was well out of it, perhaps; but still Gordon wished he could have seen
him once more. That last terrible scene in Study 16 rose before his
eyes. He could almost hear the bang of the Chief's door. And now
Jeffries was dead; and no one would care. A master, perhaps, might
notice his name and say: "Just as well; he would have made a mess of his
life." They had never known Jeffries.

"You look rather upset this morning," murmured Morgan from a corner of
the room. Gordon had not noticed him.

"I am rather; a chap who had a study with me ... Jeffries ... he is in
the casualty list this morning."

"A.R. Jeffries?"

"Yes. But you didn't know him, did you?"

"Oh no; but I saw his photo in a winning Thirds group."

"Yes, that would be him. He was a fine forward."

Gordon was glad to think that that was what his friend was remembered
for. Only the good remained. It was as Jeffries would have wished....

The Two Cock drew near. There had been a good chance of winning once,
but influenza had played havoc with the side. Gordon told them they were
going to win, encouraged them, presented a smiling face, but his heart
was heavy. He saw another cup going to join the silver regiment on the
Buller's sideboard. He had never found life quite so hard before; only
Morgan's unshatterable optimism, Ferrer's volcanic energy, and his own
friendship for Morcombe made things bearable at all.