with Ripton to end the season. It
is about time they got into form, as you say."

Clowes stared pensively into the fire.

"They struck me," he said, "as the sort of team who'd get into form
somewhere in the middle of the cricket season."

"That's about it," said Allardyce. "Try those biscuits, Trevor. They're
about the only good thing left in the place."

"School isn't what it was?" inquired Trevor, plunging a hand into the
tin that stood on the floor beside him.

"No," said Allardyce, "not only in footer but in everything. The place
seems absolutely rotten. It's bad enough losing all our matches, or
nearly all. Did you hear that Ripton took thirty-seven points off us
last term? And we only just managed to beat Greenburgh by a try to
nil."

"We got thirty points last year," he went on. "Thirty-three, and
forty-two the year before. Why, we've always simply walked them. It's
an understood thing that we smash them. And this year they held us all
the time, and it was only a fluke that we scored at all. Their back
miskicked, and let Barry in."

"Barry struck me as the best of the outsides today," said Clowes. "He's
heavier than he was, and faster."

"He's all right," agreed Allardyce. "If only the centres would feed
him, we might do something occasionally. But did you ever see such a
pair of rotters?"

"The man who was marking me certainly didn't seem particularly
brilliant. I don't even know his name. He didn't do anything at footer
in my time," said Trevor.

"He's a chap called Attell. He wasn't here with you. He came after the
summer holidays. I believe he was sacked from somewhere. He's no good,
but there's nobody else. Colours have been simply a gift this year to
anyone who can do a thing. Only Barry and myself left from last year's
team. I never saw such a clearance as there was after the summer term."

"Where are the boys of the Old Brigade?" sighed Clowes.

"I don't know. I wish they were here," said Allardyce.

Trevor and Clowes had come down, after the Easter term had been in
progress for a fortnight, to play for an Oxford A team against the
school. The match had resulted in an absurdly easy victory for the
visitors by over forty points. Clowes had scored five tries off his own
bat, and Trevor, if he had not fed his wing so conscientiously, would
probably have scored an equal number. As it was, he had got through
twice, and also dropped a goal. The two were now having a late tea with
Allardyce in h