ear (was not a cup at
stake?) and demanded their own extinction. The first played forward to
a slow half-volley and was caught and bowled, the next put his leg in
front of the straight ball on the leg stump, the last was caught off a
slow full toss. That was how Berney's won the cup.

Rayner walked home silently with Martin. "You great man!" was all he
could say.

"It was the great god Funk," answered Martin. "They just asked to get
out."

"You certainly bowled muck," admitted Rayner. "But it was all sheer
joy."

And though they pretended to treat the matter as a great jest, they
both felt a very genuine pleasure because they had won the cup for
Berney's.

That evening the captain of the School Eleven, who had heard that
Martin had taken seven wickets for twelve and thereby rendered Berney's
cock house, gave him his Second Eleven colours. He had not seen Martin
bowl.

Martin took the news to Rayner. "Well that," said Rayner, "fairly puts
the lid on it."

Together they shook the walls with laughter. Life is occasionally
dramatic, and the finale of Martin's school career had certainly a
touch of comedy.

It is commonly believed that boys undergo regrets and deep emotions
when they leave school. But Martin noticed that only a few Elfreyans
were moved at the thought of saying good-bye: some were charmed by the
prospect of entering a world of unlimited smokes and drinks and girls
and motor bicycles, others by the prospect of intellectual as well as
practical freedom. There were some who really regretted the end of
life's first act, boys who had enjoyed the games and the friendships
and were now passing to office work without the freedom of three or
four years' residence at the university. But those who were more
fortunate were eager as a rule to be up and off. Martin had been
amused by his last term with its athletic adventures and he had come to
appreciate to the full his uncle's advice about making the best of
existing institutions. Rayner, too, was a good sort and an excellent
friend. But the prospect of Oxford, notwithstanding his gloomy
foretaste of the place, attracted him undeniably--no, he could not be
moved.

On the last Sunday night Foskett delivered an address and ended with a
special appeal to those who were leaving to remember the honour and
welfare of their house and their school as well as their king and
country. But Martin was wondering all the time whether it were more
satisfact