ompliment of all by refusing
point-blank to have any more dealings with him whatsoever. His
professional duties, explained the knife and boot boy, did not include
being punched in the heye by blokes, and he did not intend to be put
upon.

"You'll do all right," said Jack Bruce, as they were motoring home, "if
they'll let you go in for it all. But how do you know they will? Have
they chosen the men yet?"

"Not yet. They don't do it till the day before. But there won't be any
difficulty about that. Drummond will let me have a shot if he thinks
I'm good enough."

"Oh, you're good enough," said Bruce.

And when, on Monday evening, Francis, on receipt of no fewer than four
blows in a single round--a record, shook him by the hand and said that
if ever he happened to want a leetle darg that was a perfect bag of
tricks and had got a pedigree, mind you, he, Francis, would be proud to
supply that animal, Sheen felt that the moment had come to approach
Drummond on the subject of the house boxing. It would be a little
awkward at first, and conversation would probably run somewhat stiffly;
but all would be well once he had explained himself.

But things had been happening in his absence which complicated the
situation. Allardyce was having tea with Drummond, who had been
stopping in with a sore throat. He had come principally to make
arrangements for the match between his house and Seymour's in the
semi-final round of the competition.

"You're looking bad," he said, taking a seat.

"I'm feeling bad," said Drummond. For the past few days he had been
very much out of sorts. He put it down to a chill caught after the
Ripton match. He had never mustered up sufficient courage to sponge
himself with cold water after soaking in a hot bath, and he
occasionally suffered for it.

"What's up?" inquired Allardyce.

"Oh, I don't know. Sort of beastly feeling. Sore throat. Nothing much.
Only it makes you feel rather rotten."

Allardyce looked interested.

"I say," he said, "it looks as if--I wonder. I hope you haven't."

"What?"

"Mumps. It sounds jolly like it."

"Mumps! Of course I've not. Why should I?"

Allardyce produced a letter from his pocket. "I got this from Keith,
the Ripton captain, this morning. You know they've had a lot of the
thing there. Oh, didn't you? That was why they had such a bad team
out."

"Bad team!" murmured Drummond.

"Well, I mean not their best team. They had four of their men down with
mumps