didn't deserve the cheers he got.

[Illustration: PHIL WALKED DOWN THE STEPS WITHOUT A FRIENDLY CHEER.]

The week before the Carthusian match there was but one solitary player to
be promoted. The position was back, and every fellow in the place knew
that, bar Bourne himself, there wasn't another man that could hold a
candle to Acton there. The committee doggedly, and with meaning, elected
the only player there was to elect, and Acton signified that he was
willing to play. Bourne, as usual, was there, and no one felt more than he
the air of distrust and constraint which hung over the meeting. When Acton
was unanimously elected for back Phil stolidly wrote out the list of the
team and had it pinned up on the notice-board. He had carefully drawn the
line in red ink above the last name--Acton's--which showed that the
pride of Biffen's was not in the eleven yet.

Probably Acton on the next day played as well as even he had ever played
in his life, for he was almost impassable, and the crowd of fellows
cheered him till they were hoarse. The minute the whistle blew, like one
man the whole school swarmed round the pavilion. The question each asked
himself and his chum was, "Would Acton get the last cap?" And the answer
was, "Why, of course! Who else should have it?"

That afternoon to most of the fellows the eleven seemed an age getting
into their sweaters and coats. When Acton appeared first, and it was seen
that he was wearing the pink cap of Biffen's on his head there was more
than astonishment, there was consternation. Whatever did it mean? Acton
smiled good-naturedly at the school as they cheered him to the echo, and
hurried unconcernedly along. The others of the eleven came out dejectedly,
and filed up the hill in gloomy little groups. The whole school waited for
Phil, and when he came out, pale and worried, they received him in icy
silence. As he was coming down the steps one of Biffen's fags shouted
shrilly, "Three cheers for Acton!"

Phil stalked through the shouting school, and as I joined him and we
walked up together, he said, through his clenched teeth--

"I wish, old man, I had never seen that brute."

That evening Bourne wrote to Worcester offering him the remaining cap.

Worcester flew across to Acton's room, and said, "Bourne has offered me
the place--the last cap. He must be stark, staring mad!"

"Take it," said Acton, coolly.

"No fear," said Worcester. "We have a stupid kind of prejudice here for