Jan tried to speak, but he had tied his own tongue. He could not explain to the doctor, he could not explain to Heriot. He did not know why he had fainted for the first time in his life that morning; he only knew that it was not his heart, that he had never felt better than after yesterday’s match. And now he was to be deprived of the one thing he liked at school, the one thing he was by way of getting good at, his one chance of showing what was in him to those who seemed to think there was nothing at all! And another Under Sixteen house-match would be played next week, perhaps against Haigh, who had also won their tie. And all he would be able to do would be to stand by yelling “Reds!” and having his shins lashed by some beastly præpostor, and hearing himself bracketed with Chips as a “sham” and a “sloper”—and knowing it was true! That was the worst of it. His heart was all right. It was all a complete misunderstanding and mistake. It was a mistake that Jan knew he could have set right by going to Heriot and explaining why he had never played football before, and why it was barely true to say that he had not been allowed. But Jan was not going to anybody to say anything of the kind. CHAPTER IX CORAM POPULO On the notice-board in the colonnade there was a sudden announcement which no new boy could understand. It was to the effect that Professor Abinger would pay his annual visit on the Monday and Tuesday of the following week. Neither Carpenter nor Rutter had ever heard his name before, and, on the way up the hill to second school, they inquired of Rawlinson, the small fellow in his own house whom Haigh had begun reviling on the first morning of the term. “Who’s Abinger?” repeated Rawlinson. “You wait and see! You’ll love him, Tiger, as much as I do!” “Why shall I?” asked Jan, who liked Rawlinson, and only envied him his callous gaiety under oppression. “Because he’ll get us off two days of old Haigh,” said Rawlinson, capering as though the two days would never end. “Don’t hustle!” “I’m not hustling. I take my oath I’m not. Grand old boy, Abinger, besides being just about the biggest bug alive on elocution!” “Who says so?” “Jerry, for one! Anyhow he comes down twice a year, and takes up two whole days, barring first school and private work; that’s why Abinger’s a man to love.” “But what does he do? Give us readings all the time?” asked Chips, one of whose weaknesses was the inane question. “Give _us_ readings? I like that!” cried Rawlinson, shouting with laughter. “It’s the other way about, my good ass!” “Do we have to read to him?” “Every mother’s son of us, before the whole school, and all the masters and the masters’ wives!”