They moved out of the study and went slowly and soberly along the corridor, arm-in-arm, towards Terence’s own room. And, behind them, with hands in his pockets and a troubled brow, came the man who was typical of Harley’s best. In the little room, which was cosy with an arm-chair and curtains, they sat down and faced each other across the table. Toby came in and stood by the fireplace. Presently Terence leaned forward and indicated Rouse affectionately with his forefinger. “It’s bound to be all right. If he says that any particular man is not to be captain of footer——” “He _has_ said it,” interrupted Toby. “The _IF_ has ceased to count. He stopped me outside the house and said it as definitely as any man could. He said: ‘I refuse to sanction the school team being led by a boy like that. You will arrange immediately for a new election, and you will give all those concerned clearly to understand that the boy who is chosen is to be a senior prefect of the Sixth Form.’ It was no use arguing. I’d nothing to go on except the same arguments as I’d used already. Now that I know I’ll go round and have it out with him, but if you ask me for the honest truth—and you’re both fellows who can stand it—I don’t believe for a moment that he’ll alter his mind. He’s come here with what he believes to be a reputation, and he’s not going to start by admitting he’s made a fool of himself. Besides, he’s Headmaster. If he and I were on equal footing I’d go there with the fixed idea of not coming away again till he’d given in; but he’s the Head, and if I let myself say too much I shall be politely told to push off and get a job taking tickets at a peep-show, which at the moment I don’t intend to do. Now that this has cropped up I mean to see it through to the finish. There are breakers ahead, and if we don’t look out the school footer’s going to suffer pretty severely. A lean year takes a long time to wipe out. It means not only getting licked every week; it means that the school colts aren’t being properly brought up, and that means other lean years to come.” “Couldn’t we write to the Grey Man?” suggested Terence. “The Grey Man’s ill. And he hasn’t got any say in it now, anyway. This man’s Headmaster now. All the Grey Man could do would be to give Rouse a thundering good character, and this fellow would simply light his pipe with it.” Rouse jumped up with sudden passion and threw out his arms.