one another that once on a time he had murdered his
mother, or somebody. The curious discovered that he was a lineal
descendant of Judge Jeffreys, of hanging celebrity. The seniors
represented him as a cross between Nero and Caliban, and could not
forgive him for being head classic.

The one thing fellows could appreciate in him was his temper. A child
in arms, if he knew the way, could get a rise out of Cad Jeffreys, and
in these dull times that was something to be thankful for.

Forrester was perhaps the most expert of Jeffreys' enemies. He worried
the Cad not so much out of spite as because it amused him, and, like the
nimble matador, he kept well out of reach of the bull all the time he
was firing shots at him.

"Hullo, Jeff!" he called out, as the Cad approached. "Are you going to
play in the match on Saturday?"

"No," said Jeffreys.

"You're not? Haven't you got any old clothes to play in?"

Jeffreys' brow darkened. He glanced down at his own shabby garments,
and then at Scarfe's neat suit.

"I've got flannels," he said.

"Flannels! Why don't you play, then? Do you think you won't look well
in flannels? He would, wouldn't he, Scarfe?"

"I don't see how he could look better than he does now," replied Scarfe,
looking at the figure before him. Then noticing the black looks on his
enemy's face, he added--

"Forrester and I were having a little practice at kicking, Jeff. You
may as well join us, whether you play in the match or not."

"Why, are you going to play?" asked Jeffreys, not heeding the
invitation. "Frampton has no right to make us do it."

"Why not? He's head-master. Besides, you can get a doctor's
certificate if you like."

"No, I can't; I'm not ill."

"Then you'll have to play, of course. Everybody will, and you'd better
come and practise with us now. Do you know how to play?"

"Of course I do," said Jeffreys, "I've played at home."

"All serene. Have a shot at the goal, then."

The Cad's experience of football at home must have been of a humble
description, for his attempt at a kick now was a terrible fiasco. He
missed the ball completely, and, losing his balance at the same time,
fell heavily to the ground.

"Bravo!" cried Forrester, "I wish I'd learnt football at home; I
couldn't do that to save my life."

"I slipped," said Jeffreys, rising slowly to his feet, and flushing
crimson.

"Did you?" said the irreverent youth. "I thought it was part of the
play. S