Chips knew it was a sore subject. He knew more about it than he ever intended to betray; but he had committed his blunder, and it would have made bad worse to try to retrieve it by a suspicious silence or an incontinent change of topic. Besides, a part of his knowledge came from Jan’s own deliverances on the sort of time he had in Norfolk. “But surely they’re jolly proud of your being in the Eleven?” “My uncle might be. But he’s in India.” “And I suppose the old people don’t know what it means?” “They might. I haven’t told them, if you want to know.” Chips looked as though he could hardly believe his ears. Comment was impossible now; he shifted his ground to the sporting personal interest of such records as he would have treasured in Jan’s place. “You’ll bowl for the Gentlemen before you’ve done,” said Chips, “and then you’ll be sorry you haven’t got the first chapter in black and white. You should see the book A. G. Swallow keeps! I saw it once, when he came to stay at my private school. He’s even got his Leave to be in the Eleven, signed by Jerry; but upon my Sam if I were you I’d have that in a frame!” It was a characteristic enactment that nobody could obtain his Eleven or Fifteen colours without a permit signed and countersigned by House Master and Form Master, and finally endorsed by Mr. Thrale himself, whose autograph was seldom added without a cordial word of congratulation. “I believe I have got that,” said Jan, “somewhere or other.” And Chips eventually discovered it among the Greek and Latin litter on the floor. “What a chap you are!” he cried. “I’m going to keep this for you until one or other of us leaves, Tiger. You’re—I won’t say you’re not fit to be in the Eleven—nobody was ever more so—but I’m blowed if you deserve to own a precious document like this!” Yet there was another missive, and souvenir of his success, which Jan had already under lock and key, except when he took it out to read once more. Chips never saw or heard of this one; but he would have recognised the fluent writing at a glance, and Jan knew what sort of glance it would have been. This was the little note, word for word:— “THE LODGE, ”June 1st. “DEAR OLD JAN, “I can never tell you how I rejoice at your tremendous success. Heaps of congratulations! I’m proud of you, so will they all be at home. “School is awful for dividing old friends unless you’re in the same house or form. You know that’s all it is or ever was! Will you forgive me and come for a walk after second chapel on Sunday? Always your old friend, “EVAN.”