Coming from one who throughout the journey had seemed to be merely a rather superior sort of clown, this statement took Bobbie Carr by surprise. He stood there beside his bag, watching with wide eyes, waiting for more. But little more came. Rouse was a young man who could never make up his mind to grow up, and with the Grey Man he had never had to don any hypocritical cloak of stiff severity just because he was becoming one of the oldest boys at Harley, and he had got along very well indeed. Perhaps it was going to be different now. He picked up his bag and moved slowly away beside Terence, whilst Toby watched them go slowly and sadly along the platform towards the barrier, and as Bobbie followed after them he saw Rouse shake his head solemnly and heard him say: “It’s a bad business. A bad business. Except for Toby, he was about the only master who’ll ever understand me, Terence, my lad.” And when he knew them better Bobbie came to realise that it was only in moments of considerable gravity that Rouse ever called his friend by his proper Christian name. At the barrier Rouse turned. He seemed suddenly to have remembered the fat boy. At last he observed him making his way flat-footedly and in extreme distress along the platform, and he beckoned. Arthur increased his speed and came up alongside, breathing heavily and with his mouth open. Rouse looked at him gravely. All the heart seemed to have gone out of him. He drew the ticket-collector’s attention to the fat boy indifferently. “This boy,” said he, “has come without his ticket. Will you chronicle the incident in your annals?” The collector looked at him resentfully. In four years Rouse had never yet passed his barrier without saying something to him which he could not for the life of him understand. “Will you,” continued Rouse, “record his history in your black book?” The man turned patiently to the fat boy. “You come without your ticket. How did you do that?” “He found it easy,” observed Rouse in a hollow voice. “What’s your name?” Arthur trembled before the glare of the man in uniform, and stuttered out the simple answer: “Coppin.” “What will he do?” he inquired of Rouse as soon as they were clear of the station. “He will communicate with the Headmaster,” answered Rouse, “and you will never be allowed to travel by train again.” And then he lapsed into silence. At last Terence turned to look at him, and Rouse glanced up and sighed. “I shall miss the Grey Man,” said he. “The school won’t seem the same.” CHAPTER II THE GREAT GAME