ardyce agreed. He had marked Dunn in the match of the previous term,
and that immaculate sportsman had made things not a little warm for
him.

"Where are all the others, then?" he asked. "Where's that other half of
yours? And the rest of the forwards?"

"Mumps," said Keith.

"What!"

"It's a fact. Rot, isn't it? We've had a regular bout of it. Twenty
fellows got it altogether. Naturally, four of those were in the team.
That's the way things happen. I only wonder the whole scrum didn't have
it."

"What beastly luck," said Allardyce. "We had measles like that a couple
of years ago in the summer term, and had to play the Incogs and Zingari
with a sort of second eleven. We got mopped."

"That's what we shall get this afternoon, I'm afraid," said Keith.

"Oh, no," said Allardyce. "Of course you won't."

And, as events turned out, that was one of the truest remarks he had
ever made in his life.

* * * * *

One of the drawbacks to playing Ripton on its own ground was the crowd.
Another was the fact that one generally got beaten. But your sportsman
can put up with defeat. What he does not like is a crowd that regards
him as a subtle blend of incompetent idiot and malicious scoundrel, and
says so very loud and clear. It was not, of course, the school that did
this. They spent their time blushing for the shouters. It was the
patriotic inhabitants of Ripton town who made the school wish that they
could be saved from their friends. The football ground at Ripton was at
the edge of the school fields, separated from the road by narrow iron
railings; and along these railings the choicest spirits of the town
would line up, and smoke and yell, and spit and yell again. As
Wordsworth wrote, "There are two voices". They were on something like
the following lines.

Inside the railings: "Sch-oo-oo-oo-oo-l! Buck up Sch-oo-oo-oo-oo-l!!
Get it OUT, Schoo-oo-oo-oo-l!!!"

Outside the railings: "Gow it, Ripton! That's the way, Ripton! Twist
his good-old-English-adjectived neck, Ripton! Sit on his forcibly
described head, Ripton! Gow it, Ripton! Haw, Haw, Haw! They ain't no
use, RIPton! Kick 'im in the eye, RipTON! Haw, Haw, Haw!"

The bursts of merriment signalised the violent downfall of some
dangerous opponent.

The school loathed these humble supporters, and occasionally fastidious
juniors would go the length of throwing chunks of mud at them through
the railings. But nothing discouraged them or