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He didn't do anything at footer in my time," said Trevor. "He's a chap called Attell. He wasn't here with you. He came after the summer holidays. I believe he was sacked from somewhere. He's no good, but there's nobody else. Colours have been simply a gift this year to anyone who can do a thing. Only Barry and myself left from last year's team.
He pinned his slip of paper to the door, and, after waiting for a short while for Mr Spence and finding the process chilly, went for a trot round the gymnasium to pass the time. Mr Spence had not arrived during his absence, but somebody else had. At the door of the second court, gleaming in first-fifteen blazer, sweater, stockings, and honour-cap, stood Attell.
Yet it is one of the things which everybody knows, that they are in the black books of the authorities, and that sooner or later, in the picturesque phrase of the New Yorker, they will "get it in the neck". To this class Stanning and Attell belonged. It was plain to all that the former was the leading member of the firm.
What?" thereby delivering the day-room bound into the hands of the enemy. "Sheen's apologised to Attell." There was a sensation in the senior day-room, as Stanning had expected. He knew his men. He was perfectly aware that any story which centred round Sheen's cowardice would be believed by them, so he had not troubled to invent a lie which it would be difficult to disprove.
There was a "confused noise without", as Shakespeare would put it, and into the shop came clattering Barry and McTodd, of Seymour's, closely followed by Stanning and Attell. "This is getting a bit too thick," said Barry, collapsing into a chair. From the outer shop came the voice of Sergeant Cook. "Let me jest come to you, you red-'eaded " Roars of derision from the road.
He wondered if the master had seen the little episode which had taken place immediately before his arrival. Then he remembered that it had happened inside the court. It must have been over by the time Mr Spence had come upon the scene. "Are you waiting for somebody, Attell?" asked Mr Spence. "Stanning? He will be here directly. I passed him on the way."
The only other Wrykinians with whom Sheen was known to be friendly were Stanning and Attell, of Appleby's. And here those who troubled to think about it wondered still more, for Sheen, whatever his other demerits, was not of the type of Stanning and Attell.
"We were a fine team last year," agreed Clowes, "and especially strong on the left wing. By the way, I see you've moved Barry across." "Yes. Attell can't pass much, but he passes better from right to left than from left to right; so, Barry being our scoring man, I shifted him across. The chap on the other wing, Stanning, isn't bad at times. Do you remember him? He's in Appleby's.
"I've got this court," he said. "I think not," said Sheen silkily. "I was here at ten to seven, and there was no paper on the door then. So I put mine up. If you move a little, I'll put it up again." "Go and find another court, if you want to play," said Attell, "and if you've got anybody to play with," he added with a sneer. "This is mine." "I think not," said Sheen.
Attell left the court, and they began their game. "You've hurt your eye, Sheen," said Mr Spence, at the end of the first game. "How did that happen?" "Boxing, sir," said Sheen. "Oh," replied Mr Spence, and to Sheen's relief he did not pursue his inquiries. Attell had wandered out across the gravel to meet Stanning. "Got that court?" inquired Stanning. "No." "You idiot, why on earth didn't you?
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