tand out of the way, though, while I take a shot."

Before, however, Jeffreys could step aside, a neat and, for a wonder,
accurate drop-kick from Forrester sent the ball violently against the
side of the unwieldy senior's head, knocking off his hat and nearly
precipitating him a second time to the earth.

The storm fairly burst now. As the fleet-footed junior darted past him
the other struck out wildly; but missing his blow, he seized the ball
and gave a furious kick in the direction of the retreating enemy.

It was a fine drop-kick, and soared far over the head of its intended
victim, straight between the goal posts, an undoubted and brilliant
goal.

Forrester stopped his retreat to applaud, and Scarfe scornfully joined.
"Awfully good," said he; "you certainly must play on Saturday. We've
nobody can kick like that."

"I meant it to hit Forrester," said Jeffreys, panting with his effort,
and his lips nearly white with excitement.

"Would you like another shot?" called out the young gentleman in
question.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, losing your temper like that,"
said Scarfe bitterly. "Couldn't you see he hit you by accident?"

"He did it on purpose," said Jeffreys savagely.

"Nonsense. He was aiming at the goal and missed. You did the same
thing yourself, only you aimed at him."

"I wish I had hit him!" growled Jeffreys, glaring first at Scarfe, than
at Forrester, and finally shambling off the ground.

"There's a nice amiable lamb," said Forrester, as he watched the
retreating figure. "I'm sometimes half ashamed to bait him, he does get
into such tantrums. But it's awfully tempting."

"You'd better keep out of his way the rest of the day," said Scarfe.

"Oh, bless you, he'll have worked it off in half an hour. What do you
bet I don't get him to do my Latin prose for me this afternoon?"

Forrester knew his man; and that afternoon, as if nothing had happened,
the junior sat in the Cad's study, eating some of the Cad's bread and
jam while the Cad wrote out the junior's exercise for him.

CHAPTER TWO.

A FOOTBALL TRAGEDY.

The two days' grace which Mr Frampton had almost reluctantly allowed
before putting into execution his new rule of compulsory athletics told
very much in his favour.

Bolsover, after the first shock, grew used to the idea and even
resigned. After all, it would be a variety, and things were precious
dull as they were. As to making a rule of it, that was absurd