“But, Mr. Morris, the school is going to lose the credit of victory.” “Ah! it must do that in any case. _One_ of our men fumbled, you know, whether accidentally or not; it makes no difference in the result of the game:—Boxford won. What’s really at stake, my boy, is the character of those two fellows, and that’s everything—_everything_, Reggie!” “By Jove, Mr. Morris,” exclaimed the boy impetuously, “if anyone will ever make me believe that, you and Deering will.” And he shook the master’s hand more heartily than he had ever done before. Deering appeared the next day at his usual place in school, and faced the ordeal bravely enough. It was an ordeal despite a general effort on the part of a majority of the boys to avoid discussion of the game in his presence. Here and there, to be sure, he met with the veiled glance of contempt or unfriendliness. Hardest of all, however, he found it to receive Sandy Maclaren’s and Mr. Stenton’s kindly sympathy. The Great Sandy, as the boys affectionately called him, from his pinnacle as the Head of the School, was a hero to Tony. Sandy’s confidence and friendliness had been one of the chief factors in what he regarded as his success. The friendliness was still there, but Tony sadly feared the confidence was shattered. Stenton took him by the arm as the boys were pouring out of morning Chapel the next day, where they had heard a sermon in which the Doctor had obviously taken his illustrations from the defeat of the day before. Stenton drew Tony along with him toward the Old School. “I want to apologize to you, Deering,” he began, “for the way I spoke to you yesterday afternoon. I was horribly upset by the unexpectedness of things, and simply lost my temper. I know you did your best, and I know too that no one is proof against accident in football or anything else.” Tony bit his lip and set his teeth. “Thanks, Mr. Stenton,” he said briefly. “I appreciate your speaking to me in this way.” “It was poor interference, anyway,” went on the master, “Chapin might have saved the day if he had been a bit faster. He had no wind yesterday.” Tony kept silent, and there was an awkward pause in the conversation, during which they came to the steps of the Old School. “Well,” said Stenton, turning off, “I only wanted to tell you that I am sorry I spoke irritably. I want you to have your chance next year again, and show that you are the player I think you are.” “Thank you very much, Mr. Stenton,” said Tony again, and turned away.