and louder cheers
still from the steps of the pavilion indicated that the popular master
was not the private property of any faction in Fellsgarth.

To Fisher minor it was amazing how Mr Stratton could talk and laugh as
pleasantly as he did with the umpire for the other side. He felt sure
_he_ could not have done it himself.

Suddenly it occurred to Fisher minor, by what connection of ideas he
could not tell, what an awful thing it would be if Rollitt were to
forget about the match. The horror of the idea, which had all the
weight of a presentiment, sent the colour from his cheeks, and without a
word to anybody he slid down the tree and began to run with all his
might towards the school.

"What's the row--collywobbles!" asked D'Arcy.

But no one was in a position to answer. A fusillade of acorns from the
tree, and derisive compliments of "Well run!" "Bravo, Short-legs!" from
the pavilion steps, greeted the runner as he passed that warm corner.
He didn't care. Even the captain and his own brother, whom he met going
down to the field of battle, did not divert him. He rushed panting up
the stairs and into Rollitt's study.

Rollitt was sitting at the table taking observations of a crumb of bread
through a microscope.

"Rollitt," gasped the boy, "the match! It's just beginning, and you
promised to play. Do come, or we shall be licked!"

Rollitt took a further look at the crumb and then got up.

"I forgot," said he; "come on, Fisher minor."

"Aren't you going to put on flannels?" asked the boy.

"Why!" said Rollitt roughly, stalking out.

Fisher minor wondered if the reason was that he had none. But he was
too full of his mission to trouble about that, and, keeping his prize
well in sight, for fear he should go astray, had the satisfaction of
seeing him arrive on the field of battle just as the opposing forces
were taking their places, and just as the Classic seniors were inwardly
calling themselves fools for having depended for a moment on a hopeless
fellow of this sort.

The Classic juniors felt a good deal compromised by the champion's
shabby cloth trousers and flannel shirt, but they cheered lustily all
the same, while the Moderns, having expressed their indignation to one
another, relieved their feelings by laughing.

But a moment after, everybody forgot everything but the match.

The Rendlesham men looked very trim and dangerous in their black and
white uniform; and when presently their captai