“Sit down,” he commanded. “Don’t stand up there staring. I don’t want any attention called to me at all. I feel about the most congenital idiot any human being could feel.” Terence sat down. “Are you quite sure you can see all right from there,” he inquired. “Shall I ask that pretty gentleman in front to take his hat off?” “That isn’t a hat,” said Rouse, casting dull care aside in the swiftly changing manner that was his wont, “that’s the gentleman’s hair. He has it like that because he’s in the wool-gathering business. It isn’t quite the same colour as it used to be last term though, is it? There seems a faint suspicion of early autumn about it. He’s been reading that advertisement, ‘All handsome men are bronzed,’ I expect, and he thinks it refers to the hair.” The gentleman addressed turned haughtily and addressed himself to Terence. “Would you mind asking your little boy to be quiet,” he said courteously. “I find his remarks a trifle distracting, and I’ve paid for my seat the same as what you ’ave.” “One of the curls is missing,” commented Rouse. “Is some lady the proud possessor, or has his little brother been playing with the shears? It gives the head a rather mothy appearance anyhow. Reminds me of a part-worn doormat more than anything else.” “Oh, rub his face in a bun,” retorted the gentleman with the golden locks. Rouse opened his mouth to reply but his final comment was cut short. Toby Nicholson had risen and there had come a respectful hush. Then, because it was his first official appearance on his return to Harley, cheering broke out. He coloured awkwardly and stood for a minute waiting the chance to speak, and eventually he began. He spoke just long enough to explain the position to them, and to remind those who might not have realised the fact that the school must certainly have suffered in reputation by the leanness of the term just past. “The way to win back our name as one of the first sporting schools in England,” said Toby, “is not to attempt a late cut at a football season, but to put the whole of our heart and soul into boxing and the sports. For that reason you need a captain who can really lead the school into a record year. Boxing has always counted for more at Harley than at many other schools, and this term it must count as the only game worth while. We want every fellow in the school who’s capable to try his hand at it. Only so can we find the very best talent in the school.” He stopped. “Who is proposed?” he said after a moment. Without delay a peculiarly villainous-looking youth rose from his seat and stood for a moment waiting. Rouse nodded towards him. “That lad has a nice open face,” he observed gravely. “Open?” whispered Terence. “You wait till he laughs. It opens from ear to ear.” There came the muffled sound of a suffocated guffaw, and at the same moment the terrible young man spoke. “I propose Coles,” said he, “the senior old colour.”