in the usual Easter Term games.
Footer was only played occasionally, but there was one blessing, the
fellows need not play the usual Thursday Old Game. As for cross-country
running, paper chases, _et hoc genus omne_, Acton refused to have
anything to do with them. "That sort," he said to Dick Worcester, "isn't
in the same street with footer."

"Why not try and lift the Public School Heavy at Aldershot?" suggested
Worcester.

"There's Hodgson in for it, Dick."

"A good man; but if you would only apply yourself seriously to the
business I'd back you. You're a good weight, and got a longer reach than
Hodgson."

"There's Bourne, too."

"Personally, I believe Phil is only pacing Hodgson to take him along
quicker."

"It's an awful fag, and I believe Eton have got the Heavy safe and sure
this year. A cousin of mine there says that their pet, Jarvis, would walk
right through the best man we've ever turned out."

"Oh, that's their usual brag!"

"Personally, I don't think so. They have got a young Bermondsey
professor--who is up to all the latest dodges--to coach. Our sergeant is
a bit old-fashioned--good, but old-fashioned. Does not do enough with his
right."

"I'm quite an amateur," said Dick. "Don't understand the finer shades of
the arts. Should have thought the sergeant good enough."

"_Dubito!_ Anyhow, Dick, I'll think it over; and if I think I can
make a decent show I'll have a shot. When does it come off?"

"At Aldershot? Oh!--last week in March."

"That gives me nearly two months. One can turn round in two months; and
if I'm satisfied as to my coaching I'll certainly try at Aldershot. But
what has a fellow to do on the half-holidays now? No footer, and one
might do enough practice after tea for the Heavy. I wish Kipling would
write a book every week. He is the only fellow in England who can write."

So Acton, on the half-holidays, prepared to read his novels by his
fireside. Not that he was particularly fond of toasting himself, but
because, for him, it was all he could do.

But Corker came to his rescue. The old man, after having had his back to
the wall for an age, consented to monitors being allowed to cycle by
themselves, and even to be _chaperon_ to any fags who cared to run
with them, and--important _proviso_--whom the monitors did not
object to. Otherwise the old rule of no cycling _sans_ house-master
was in force.

Acton thereupon invested in a swell machine, and he and young Bourne, or
Grim,