ard at it for nearly a mile, now fairly
struck, and declared he couldn't keep it up any longer, and as he had
really done a very good spell of work, Bloomfield consented to land at
the Willows and bathe; after which he and Game would run back, and young
Parson might scull home the tub.

Which delightful plan Master Parson by no means jumped at. He had
calculated on getting at least a quarter of an hour for his Caesar
before morning chapel if they returned as they had come. But now, if he
was expected to lug that great heavy boat back by himself, not only
would he not get that, but the chances were he would get locked out for
chapel altogether, and it would be no excuse that he had had to act as
galley-slave for Bloomfield or anybody else.

"Look alive!" cries Bloomfield from the bank, where he is already
stripped for his header. "And, by the way, on your way up go round to
Chalker's and tell him only to stick up one set of cricket nets in our
court; don't forget, now. Be quick; you've not too much time before
chapel."

Saying which, he takes a running dive from the bank and leaves the
luckless Parson to boil over inwardly as he digs his sculls spitefully
into the water and begins his homeward journey.

Was life worth living at this rate? If he didn't tell Chalker about the
nets that imbecile old groundsman would be certain to stick up half a
dozen sets, and there'd be no end of a row. That was 7:30 striking now,
and he had to be in the chapel at five minutes to eight, and Chalker's
hut was a long five minutes from the boat-house. And then those eight
French verbs and that Caesar--

It was no use thinking about them, and Parson lashed out with his
sculls, caring little if that hulking tub went to the bottom. He'd
rather like it, in fact, for he wanted a swim. He hadn't even had time
to tub that morning, and it was certain there'd be no time now till
goodness knew when--not till after second school, and then probably he'd
be spending a pleasant half-hour in the doctor's study.

At this point he became aware of another boat making down on him, manned
by three juniors, who were making up in noise and splashing what they
lacked in style and oarsmanship.

Parson knew them yards away. They were rowdies of Welch's house, and he
groaned inwardly at the prospect before him. The boy steering was our
old acquaintance Pilbury, and as his boat approached he shouted out
cheerily, "Hullo, there, Parson! mind your eye