of the
field, and from that moment it never got out of the "thirties," as the
imaginary line between the two distance flags was called. To Crofter
belonged the honour of first wiping off scores with the enemy. And
after him Redwood dropped a goal, first from one side line, then from
the other. Pridgin, too, scored a smart run in; but, unluckily, the
kick fouled the goal post and saved the Fifteen a further disaster then.
But before time was called a fourth goal was placed to the credit of
the veterans. The vanquished fought gamely to the end. Once or twice
Tempest broke away, but for want of effective backing was repulsed. And
once a smart piece of dribbling down the touch line by Wales gave the
Eleven's half-backs an anxious moment. But that was all. The match
ended, as every one expected, in a slashing victory for the old hands,
together with a general verdict that Tempest and Wales, at any rate, had
won their laurels and were safe for two of the vacant caps.

In the stampede which followed I missed my opportunity of restoring
Redwood's property, as he vanished immediately after the game, and my
comrades would by no means allow me out of their sight. Indeed, it was
not till after evening chapel that I contrived to elude their vigilance
and start on my second run to Bridge Street.

But if I eluded them I was less fortunate with another sentinel. For at
the gates I encountered the forbidding presence of Mr Jarman.

"What are you doing here?"

"Please, sir, this is Redwood's belt, and I promised to give it to him."

"Go back. What is your name?"

"Jones, sir."

"Whose house are you in?"

"Mr Sharpe's."

"Do not let me find you out of bounds again, Jones."

And he fixed me with his eye as if to impress me with the fact that he
would certainly know me again.

"But, sir, Redwood--"

"Did you hear me, sir?"

I capitulated, cowed and indignant. I was beginning to understand what
the fellows said about Mr Jarman.

"It's all rot," said the Philosophers, when I confided my grievance to
them; "it's not out of bounds before 6:30--and if it was, it's no
business of his. It's the house master's business, or the house
captain's. If you get lagged by them, all right; but _he's_ got no
right to lag fellows, the cad."

In my present humour I was far from disputing the appellation.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

CHEAP ADVERTISING EXTRAORDINARY.

I spent a bad quarter of an hour that evening before bed-time i