The next day—a bright fair day in mid-November, only a few days before the Boxford game, when the first team were laying off from practice, Tony and Kit, instead of going out early for a walk with their team-mates, went into the fives court after dinner and began a game, keeping an eye, however, on the on-lookers. It rejoiced them to see Thornton’s fat ill-natured face amongst a crowd of loafers on the benches. The bell rang for call-over, and the boys ran out to report to the master of the day, who was accustomed to take his stand at the Gymnasium door. To-day Mr. Roylston happened to be on duty. The roll call over, most of the boys went off to engage upon some form of exercise or game for the afternoon; but a few lazy ones, disdaining the occupations open to them, straggled back into the fives court to watch the games going on there. Later they would swim in the tank, and then stand for half-an-hour under a steaming hot shower, unless a vigilant master happened to catch them and send them about better things. Among these stragglers was Ducky Thornton. About half-an-hour later Mr. Roylston, beginning to make his rounds of the various houses—a customary duty of the master in charge—came into the fives courts. He stood at the door, noting on his rollslip the boys who were present. By this time only Tony and Kit were playing and some half-a-dozen smaller boys were squabbling on the benches. Tony glanced at the master, and saw beyond him, standing outside on the deserted tennis-courts, the forlorn Finch who looked about him in a bewildered fashion as if he did not know what to do. As Mr. Roylston finished making his notes, he fixed Tony and Kit with a glare of unmitigated contempt. “The delight of doing nothing for some boys,” he said in a sharp, jerky tone, “is only equalled by their incapacity to do anything. Get out into the air, and take some manly exercise, or I shall send the lot of you for a walk to the end of the point.” The younger boys sheepishly slipped out, the scowling Thornton amongst them, who, Tony noticed, stopped outside and spoke to Finch for a moment. Suddenly he realized that Mr. Roylston was still speaking. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,” he said quickly. “I did not understand that you were speaking to us.” “If you would condescend occasionally, Deering,” said the master, “to abstract yourself from the depths of self-satisfaction into which you are habitually plunged, you would not make it necessary for me to take your inattention for mere bad manners.” Tony flushed, started to speak, bit his tongue, and kept silent. He met Mr. Roylston’s glance unflinchingly. “Did you wish to say anything, sir?” he said at last, with tantalizing politeness.