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Updated: May 22, 2025
"I never liked Mill much," said Barry, "but I think it's rather bad luck on the man." "Once," announced M'Todd, solemnly, "he kicked me for making a row in the passage." It was plain that the recollection rankled. Barry would probably have pointed out what an excellent and praiseworthy act on Mill's part that had been, when Rand-Brown came in. "Prefects' meeting?" he inquired.
He had been going to point out that Barry's tender years he was only sixteen and smallness would make it impossible for him to play with success for the first fifteen. He refrained owing to a conviction that the remark would not be wholly judicious. Barry was touchy on the subject of his size, and M'Todd had suffered before now for commenting on it in a disparaging spirit.
He had set his heart on playing for the second this term. Then suddenly he noticed a remarkable phenomenon. The other wing three-quarter was Rand-Brown. If Rand-Brown was playing for the second, who was playing for the first? He looked at the list. "Come on," he said hastily to M'Todd. He wanted to get away somewhere where his agitated condition would not be noticed.
Barry disappeared through the door. After a moment's pause, M'Todd followed him. He came up with him on the senior gravel. "What's up?" he inquired. "Nothing," said Barry. "Are you sick about not playing for the second?" "No." "You are, really. Come and have a bun."
I'm going to practise that left swing at the body this round. The one Fitzsimmons does." And they "put 'em up" once more. On the evening following O'Hara's adventure in the vaults, Barry and M'Todd were in their study, getting out the tea-things. Most Wrykinians brewed in the winter and Easter terms, when the days were short and lock-up early.
"Or haven't they made you a prefect yet, M'Todd?" M'Todd said they had not. Nobody present liked Rand-Brown, and they looked at him rather inquiringly, as if to ask what he had come for. A friend may drop in for a chat. An acquaintance must justify his intrusion. Rand-Brown ignored the silent inquiry. He seated himself on the table, and dragged up a chair to rest his legs on.
"Ages ago," said M'Todd. A look of intense alarm appeared on Shoeblossom's classical features. "You've not finished, really?" "We've finished cooking everything," said Drummond. "We haven't begun tea yet. Now, are you happy?" Shoeblossom was. So happy that he felt he must do something to celebrate the occasion. He felt like a successful general.
M'Todd, whose idea of exercise was winding up a watch, had been spending his time since school ceased in the study with a book. He was in his ordinary clothes. Football clothes will stand any amount of water, whereas M'Todd's "Youth's winter suiting at forty-two shillings and sixpence" might have been injured. Barry, however, did not look upon the episode in this philosophical light.
A babel of voices discussed the match of the afternoon, each trying to outshout the other. In one corner Linton was beating wildly on a biscuit-tin with part of a broken chair. Shoeblossom was busy in the opposite corner executing an intricate step-dance on somebody else's box. M'Todd had got hold of the red-hot poker, and was burning his initials in huge letters on the seat of a chair.
"I tell you what we'll do after school," said Barry, "we'll have some running and passing. It'll do you a lot of good, and I want to practise taking passes at full speed. You can trot along at your ordinary pace, and I'll sprint up from behind." M'Todd saw no objection to that. Trotting along at his ordinary pace five miles an hour would just suit him.
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