“Is it easy to shoot?” asked David. “Lord, yes. I get on all right, and I haven’t got your eye!” “Well, it’s awfully good of you. I should like to come if I may. But I don’t care about anything to-day. Hump, I suppose.” Bags looked out over the yellow-green of the midsummer field. “Here’s Maddox,” he said, “almost running. Wonder what he’s in such a hurry for.” David sat up. “So he is,” he said. “I say, let’s sit next each other at house-supper. Take a place for me if you get in first. I’m a singer at concert, and singers always get out last.” “Right oh,” said Bags. He got up quite slowly, and it seemed ridiculous to David that he should not skip away at once. But he still lingered. “I dare say Maddox is coming up to take his cricket things away,” he remarked. “I dare say that’s it,” said David. By a stroke of Providence, Gregson and a friend came by at this moment. “Ripping sport,” said Gregson. “Come on, Bags. There’s a terrier at school-shop, and they’re going to put a ferret into the rat-holes. Place’ll be alive with rats. Coming too, Blazes?” “No; hate rats,” said David. Bags departed; a moment after Frank joined David, just nodded to him, and sat down by him. “Been waiting?” he asked. “Sorry. I couldn’t get through with my jobs before. Have you stuck my things into my bag? Good work. We can just sit here till chapel-bell.” “Yes; I emptied your locker,” said David. “I stuck everything into your bag, old shoes, old twenty-two cap, all there was. Afraid I didn’t pack it very neatly.” “Doesn’t matter,” said Frank. “Funny that there should be an old twenty-two cap still there.” “Very curious,” said David precisely. Frank gave a short little laugh. “It’s all pretty beastly, isn’t it,” he said. “You look rather depressed too. But there’s the house-supper to cheer you up.” “Oh, damn the house-supper,” said David. Frank’s pretence at light conversation broke down. “’Tisn’t as if we were going to lose each other,” said he. “And we’re not dead, either of us, David. Do buck up.” “Can’t,” said David. “Then it’s rotten of you. It isn’t a bit worse for you than me. You’ve lots of things in front of you: you’ll get into the eleven next year, you’ll get into the sixth at Christmas if you try. You’ll swagger horribly, you’ll——” Frank could not manage to pump up any more consoling reflections: they were all beside the point. So, like a sensible boy, he left them alone, and went to the point instead. “David, old chap,” he said, “I don’t believe two fellows ever had such a good time as we’ve had, and it would be rot to pretend not to be sorry that this bit of it has come to an end. I dare say we shall have splendid times together again, but there’s no doubt that this is over. On the other hand, it would be equal rot not to feel jolly thankful for it. The chances were millions to one against our ever coming across each other at all. So buck up, as I said.”