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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Yes?" said Trevor, stopping at the door. Milton's voice had taken on the tone of one who is about to disclose dreadful secrets. "Would you like to know what I think?" "What?" "Why, I'm pretty nearly sure who it was that ragged my study?" "By Jove! What have you done to him?" "Nothing as yet. I'm not quite sure of my man." "Who is the man?" "Rand-Brown." "By Jove!
His mind never worked very rapidly. "What about Rand-Brown, then?" he said. "Rand-Brown's been chucked out. Can't you understand? You are an idiot. Rand-Brown's playing for the second, and I'm playing for the first." "But you're " He stopped.
He said he didn't care, so long as I didn't tell everybody, so I said I wouldn't tell anybody except you, so he said all right, then, I could stop if I wanted to. So that was how I saw it. Well, after we'd been waiting a few minutes, Rand-Brown came in sight, with that beast Merrett in our house, who'd come to second him. It was just like one of those duels you read about, you know.
O'Hara had given up his rushing game, and was waiting for his man, and when he came at him he'd put in a hot counter, nearly always at the body. After a bit Rand-Brown began to get cautious, and wouldn't rush, so the fourth round was the quietest there had been. In the last minute they didn't hit each other at all. They simply sparred for openings.
It is only when he comes to be tried in football of a higher class that he is seen through. In the second fifteen the fact that Rand-Brown was afraid to tackle his man had almost escaped notice. But the habit would not do in first fifteen circles. "All the same," said Clephane, pursuing his subject, "if they don't play him, I don't see who they're going to get.
He was knocked down three or four times more, and once, when he'd rushed Rand-Brown against one of the walls, he hit out and missed, and barked his knuckles jolly badly against the wall. That was in the middle of the third round, and Rand-Brown had it all his own way for the rest of the round for about two minutes, that is to say. He hit O'Hara about all over the shop.
It was in the fifth round that O'Hara began to forge ahead. About half way through he got in a ripper, right in the wind, which almost doubled Rand-Brown up, and then he started rushing again. Rand-Brown looked awfully bad at the end of the round. Round six was ripping. I never saw two chaps go for each other so. It was one long rally.
He had the League's letter about the bat in his pocket. He would confront him with it and insist on searching the study there and then. If Rand-Brown were really, as he suspected, the writer of the letter, the bat must be in this room somewhere. Search it now, and he would have no time to hide it. He pulled out the letter. "I believe you wrote that," he said. Trevor was always direct.
He jumped up when he saw that it was Trevor who had come in, and to his visitor it seemed that his face wore a guilty look. "What do you want?" said Rand-Brown. It was not the politest way of welcoming a visitor. It increased Trevor's suspicions. The man was afraid. A great idea darted into his mind. Why not go straight to the point and have it out with him here and now?
"I was afraid you wouldn't. Did he give any explanation? What made him go in for the thing at all? What earthly motive could he have for not wanting Barry to get his colours, bar the fact that Rand-Brown didn't want him to? And why should he do what Rand-Brown told him? I never even knew they were pals, before today." "He told me a good deal," said Trevor.
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