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He flung himself around, trying to escape from Collingwood’s clutch, and saw Irving. The smile faded from Irving’s face; Westby looked at him sullenly for a moment, then broke away and made a rush up the stairs. For two or three days the intercourse between Irving and Westby was of the most formal sort.
Yet Lawrence, rushing down upon them, was too quick, too clever; Dennison’s attempt to block him off was only a glancing one that staggered him for the fraction of an instant; and the ball had no sooner struck in Collingwood’s arms than Lawrence launched himself and hurled the runner backwards. “Whew! What a fierce tackle!” ejaculated a boy near Irving admiringly.
Westby’s aim missed, his sponge-tipped lance slid past Collingwood’s shoulder, and the next instant Collingwood’s sponge—well weighted with water—smote Westby full in the chest and hove him overboard. For one moment Carroll struggled to keep the canoe right side up, but in vain; it tipped and filled, and with a shout he plunged in head foremost after his comrade.
When I was sent on board Admiral Collingwood’s ship during the action I observed a great anxiety in the officers’ faces. It immediately occurred to me that Lord Nelson had fallen, and I put the question to one of the lieutenants, who told me he was mortally wounded and that he could not live long.
Collingwood, he knew, was captain of the school football eleven, and naturally had all the latest developments of the game, such as the forward pass, very much on his mind. Still that was no excuse for playing football in the corridor. Morrill had caught the ball, and as Irving approached, undertook to return it. But it ricochetted against the wall and bounced down at Collingwood’s feet.
“In September we sailed to join Lord Collingwood’s fleet in the Mediterranean. I need not go through all the events of that cruise. We took a great many prizes, and had a good many actions with batteries.
He would secure some forbidden article of food and ostentatiously appear to be eating it with the greatest enjoyment until he caught Collingwood’s eye; a large circular doughnut or a chocolate éclair delicately poised between his thumb and finger were his favorite instruments for torturing his captain’s peace of mind.
Looking back, he could comprehend Louis Collingwood’s indignation and amazement at a master who would coldly turn away when a boy was trying to illustrate for him the forward pass. One afternoon from watching the football practice Irving moved aside for a little while to see the finish of the autumn clay-pigeon shoot of the Gun Club.
“Of all the chumps!” he muttered; and he turned, and poising the ball again, flung it with all his strength at the master’s door. It went straight to the mark, crashed against the upper panel with a tremendous bang, and rebounded to Collingwood’s feet. Irving opened the door and came out with a leap.
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