The return journey of a school team after a crushing defeat in aforeign match is never a very exhilarating business. Those members ofthe side who have not yet received their colours are wondering which ofthem is to be sacrificed to popular indignation and "chucked": therest, who have managed to get their caps, are feeling that even nowtwo-thirds of the school will be saying that they are not worth a placein the third fifteen; while the captain, brooding apart, is becomingsoured at the thought that Posterity will forget what little good hemay have done, and remember only that it was in his year that theschool got so many points taken off them by So-and-So. Conversationdoes not ripple and sparkle during these home-comings. The Wrykyn teammade the journey in almost unbroken silence. They were all stiff andsore, and their feelings were such as to unfit them for talking topeople.

　　The school took the thing very philosophically--a bad sign. When aschool is in a healthy, normal condition, it should be stirred up by abad defeat by another school, like a disturbed wasps' nest. Wrykyn madeone or two remarks about people who could not play footer for toffee,and then let the thing drop.

　　Sheen was too busy with his work and his boxing to have much leisurefor mourning over this latest example of the present inefficiency ofthe school. The examination for the Gotford was to come off in twodays, and the inter-house boxing was fixed for the following Wednesday.

　　In five days, therefore, he would get his chance of retrieving his lostplace in the school. He was certain that he could, at any rate make avery good show against anyone in the school, even Drummond. Joe Bevanwas delighted with his progress, and quoted Shakespeare volubly in hisadmiration. Jack Bruce and Francis added their tribute, and the knifeand boot boy paid him the neatest compliment of all by refusingpoint-blank to have any more dealings with him whatsoever. Hisprofessional duties, explained the knife and boot boy, did not includebeing punched in the heye by blokes, and he did not intend to be putupon.

　　"You'll do all right," said Jack Bruce, as they were motoring home, "ifthey'll let you go in for it all. But how do you know they will? Havethey chosen the men yet?""Not yet. They don't do it till the day before. But there won't be anydifficulty about that. Drummond will let me have a shot if he thinksI'm good enough.""Oh, you're good enough," said Bruce.

　　And when, on Monday evening, Francis, on receipt of no fewer than fourblows in a single round--a record, shook him by the hand and said thatif ever he happened to want a leetle darg that was a perfect bag oftricks and had got a pedigree, mind you, he, Francis, would be proud tosupply that animal, Sheen felt that the moment had come to approachDrummond on the subject of the house boxing. It would be a littleawkward 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 thesituation. Allardyce was having tea with Drummond, who had beenstopping in with a sore throat. He had come principally to makearrangements for the match between his house and Seymour's in thesemi-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 beenvery much out of sorts. He put it down to a chill caught after theRipton match. He had never mustered up sufficient courage to spongehimself with cold water after soaking in a hot bath, and heoccasionally 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 thething there. Oh, didn't you? That was why they had such a bad teamout.""Bad team!" murmured Drummond.

　　"Well, I mean not their best team. They had four of their men down withmumps. Here's what Keith says. Listen. Bit about hoping we got back allright, and so on, first. Then he says--here it is, 'Another of ourfellows has got the mumps. One of the forwards; rather a long man whowas good out of touch. He developed it a couple of days after thematch. It's lucky that all our card games are over. ............