pian and reveals the deity as he walks. It was tremendous to watch
Moore battling in the line-out, or Llewelyn heaving an enemy to the
ground, or Raikes, capped now and the undisputed successor to Spots'
position on the left wing, go plunging along the touch-line with that
long and powerful stride. Martin could even forgive him for ousting
Spots when he saw him pick up an opponent by the knees and pitch him a
full three yards into touch.

For sixty minutes Martin stood wedged in a mass of shoving, bawling
humanity. And he had bawled, bawled till his voice and breath were
gone and he saw that he would need all his strength to avoid being
barged out of his position in the front row, a treasured post won by a
tedious wait. And now the long-drawn roar of 'Schoo-ool' went up
almost in despair. Ashminster were leading by six points to three and
Elfrey, with only ten minutes more, were being penned in their own
twenty-five. Never had their prospects looked more gloomy: the
forwards were losing the ball in the scrummage time after time and only
the perfect tackling of the backs kept down the score. Suddenly Ross,
on the right wing, intercepted a fumbled pass and was off. Someone
shouted: "Kick, man, kick." But this was no moment for safety play,
and Ross went on. Not till he was close to the fullback did he kick,
and then it was no feeble punt into touch that he made, but a great
swinging kick across field. For a moment there was a silence. Then a
great roar went up, the greatest roar since the beginning of the match.
Raikes, on the left wing, had foreseen the move, and following up with
the speed of the wind had magnificently caught the ball and was making
for the enemy's undefended line. It was the kind of movement that
comes crashing into the mind of the spectator years later on without
cause or suggestion just because it is unique.

But he was not over the line yet. Carter, the Ashminster centre, who
had captained his school for three years and played for the Harlequins
in the holidays, was in desperate pursuit. It was a race from the
half-way line and Raikes had five yards' start. Martin, crushed
against the ropes, hoarse and gasping, discerned with horror the deadly
speed of Carter. It was growing dark and a November mist was creeping
over the great field: impossible to trace that relentless pursuit: one
could only wait and listen. A roar went up. Raikes had been collared.
The teams gathered round the