you, etc.' So, 'Toby' evidently has no doubt
who's to go there."

"Toby" Tucker was our racket professional, and when he spotted a pair
for the public-school rackets, Fenton, the master who finally chose the
pair, never said "Nay." "Toby" was incorruptible. With both his little
eyes fixed inexorably on merit, the greatest joys of his life were
consummated when the St. Amory's pair brought the championship home.

"Congratulate you, old man. If Acton pulls off the Aldershot and you and
Vercoe the rackets--"

"If I only felt as confident on our lifting that as I do of Acton
bringing off his, I'd go straightway and smother 'Toby.' He almost works
one to death."

CHAPTER XIX

HOW THEY "'ELPED THE PORE FELLER"

As a rule, the laboratory was empty on half-holidays, and Gus used to
work through his tables in solitude, when he tried a little
"bottle-washing" as a change from the refereeing, but one afternoon he
found no less a person than W.E. Grim, the prize fag of Biffen's, doing
something very seriously with a green powder.

"Hullo, young 'un! What are you footling round here for?"

"Lancaster has given me this salt to analyze, Todd. I think there's
copper in it."

"What have you been up to, that Lancaster has run you in? Half-holiday,
too!"

"He hasn't run me in," said Grim, sulkily. "As a special favour he's let
me come in here to work a little myself. I did a ripping chemistry paper
last week, and--"

"Oh, I see. Are _you_ going to give Biffen's another leg up, too?"

"Just as soon as you give Taylor's one," said Grim, who, in common with
all the juniors, did not fear the easy-going Todd.

"No cheek!" said Gus. "If I mixed up coal-dust and brick-dust, how'd
you separate 'em?"

"Ask my grandmother for a telescope, and look out the mix through the
butt end."

"Quite so," said Todd, chuckling. "I suppose you've given me a specimen
of Biffen's latest brand of wit. Well, don't make too big a row in
hunting for your copper, and then I'll not chuck you out."

Grim murmured something disparaging Todd's authority for chucking out,
but Gus languidly sidled off to his own particular bench, where, out of
sight of Grim, he prepared to do an afternoon's quiet work.

Meanwhile Grim's particular cronies, Wilson, Rogers, Sharpe, Poulett,
and young Bourne, arrayed in all the glory of mud-stained footer-togs,
after vainly waiting outside Biffen's, were seeking high and low for the
copper-hunting chemist, who, f