"That's Welch's," he says, pointing to the right wing of the long Tudor
building before them--"that's Welch's on the right, and Parrett's in the
middle, and the schoolhouse on the left. Jolly rooks' nests in the
schoolhouse elms, only Paddy won't let us go after them."

"Who is Paddy?" inquires the father.

"Oh, the doctor, you know--Dr Patrick. You'll see him down in `The
Big,' and his dame, and--"

"And what's written up over the door there?" inquires Captain Cusack,
pointing up to the coat-of-arms above the great doorway.

"Oh, some Latin bosh! I don't know. I say, we'd better look sharp,
father, or they'll have started the open hurdles."

"What are the open hurdles?" mildly inquires the somewhat perplexed
captain, who has been at sea so long that he is really not up to all the
modern phrases.

"Why, you know, it's the sports, and there are two open events, the
hurdles and the mile, and we've got Rawson, of the London Athletic, down
against us in both; but I rather back Wyndham. He made stunning time in
the March gallops, and he's in prime form now."

"Is Wyndham a Willoughby boy?"

"Rather. He's our cock, you know, and this will be his last show-up.
Hullo! you fellows," he cries, as two other small boys approach at a
trot; "what's on? Have the hurdles started? By the way, this is my
father, you know; he came down."

The two small boys, who are arrayed in ducks and running-shoes, shake
hands rather sheepishly with the imposing visitor and look shyly up and
down.

"And are you running in any of the races, my men?" says Captain Cusack,
kindly.

He couldn't have hit on a happier topic. The two are at their ease at
once.

"Yes, sir, the junior hundred yards. I say, Cusack, your gov--your
father's just in time for the final heat. In the first I had a dead
heat with Watkins, you know," continues he, addressing the captain.
"Watkins was scratch, and I had five yards, and the ruck got ten. It
was a beastly shame giving Filbert ten, though--wasn't it, Telson?--
after his running second to me in the March gallops; they ought to have
stuck him where I was. But I ran him down all the same, and dead-heated
it with Watkins, and Telson here was a good second in his heat."

"I was sure of a first, but that young ass Wace fouled me," puts in
Telson.

"And now it's dead-even which of us two wins. We both get five yards on
Watkins, and he'll be pumped with the long jump, and none of the others
are hot