and do a good stroke without the striker
being aware of it.

Warminster was unanimously elected president, and bore his blushing
honours with due meekness.

"Old Sal"--the Philosophers had taken to abbreviating my pet name this
term, I know not on what principle of familiarity--"Old Sal piles it on
a bit," remarked he. "Of course he couldn't help rotting the club a bit
last term. That's the way he's born. But considering what a rank
outsider he was, I suppose he did his best." (Laughter, and cries of
"What about Jarman's guy?") "Yes, that was a howling mess. I vote we
keep out of that this term, or leave it to the louts. I tell you what,"
said he, "I vote we make a show up at the sports next month, and take
some of the side out of those day-boy kids. They fancy themselves a
jolly sight too much."

"Dicky Brown told me," said I, "they were sure of both the jumps and the
Quarter-mile and the Tug--and that Selkirk's were going to pull off the
others, all except the Half-mile Handicap; and we may get that, he says,
because they'll probably give us fifty or sixty yards' lead."

"Howling cheek!" exclaimed every one in furious rage. The idea of being
given sixty yards' start in a half-mile by a day boy was too much even
for a Philosopher.

Whereupon we solemnly considered the list of events "under 15," and
divided them out among ourselves, with a vow to eat our heads if we
didn't pull off as many for Sharpe's as all the rest of the school put
together.

We decided to postpone making our entries till the last moment, so as to
delude the enemy into the impression that we were shirking the sports
altogether. Then we would, as Warminster politely put it, "drop down
and rot the lot."

Before we adjourned for the night the question of Tempest and Crofter
came up, _a propos_ of a report, which some one mentioned, that Tempest
had entered for the Open Mile against Redwood, and was expected to prove
a warm customer.

"Is Crofter in?"

"No--Pridgin is, but of course he won't come up to scratch, and Wales
only enters for the show of the thing."

"Crofter couldn't look in at Tempest over the Mile," said Langrish, "but
he ought to enter, for all that."

"Can he look in at Tempest over anything?" said I.

"Don't ask questions, and you won't be told no whoppers," astutely
replied Trimble. "I wonder if he expects us to back him up?"

"I sha'n't," said one. "Nor shall I," said one or two others.

"I vote we let hi