“Thanks awfully,” said Bob, with equal awkwardness. Trevor moved on, delicately. This was no place for him. Bob’s face was looking like a stuffed frog’s, which was Bob’s way of trying to appear unconcerned and at his ease, while Mike seemed as if at any moment he might burst into tears. Spectators are not wanted at these awkward interviews. There was a short silence. “Jolly glad you’ve got it,” said Mike. “I believe there’s a mistake. I swear I heard Burgess say to Spence----” “He changed his mind probably. No reason why he shouldn’t.” “Well, it’s jolly rummy.” Bob endeavoured to find consolation. “Anyhow, you’ll have three years in the first. You’re a cert. for next year.” “Hope so,” said Mike, with such manifest lack of enthusiasm that Bob abandoned this line of argument. When one has missed one’s colours, next year seems a very, very long way off. They moved slowly through the cloisters, neither speaking, and up the stairs that led to the Great Hall. Each was gratefully conscious of the fact that prayers would be beginning in another minute, putting an end to an uncomfortable situation. “Heard from home lately?” inquired Mike. Bob snatched gladly at the subject. “Got a letter from mother this morning. I showed you the last one, didn’t I? I’ve only just had time to skim through this one, as the post was late, and I only got it just as I was going to dash across to school. Not much in it. Here it is, if you want to read it.” “Thanks. It’ll be something to do during Math.” “Marjory wrote, too, for the first time in her life. Haven’t had time to look at it yet.” “After you. Sure it isn’t meant for me? She owes me a letter.” “No, it’s for me all right. I’ll give it you in the interval.” The arrival of the headmaster put an end to the conversation. * * * * * By a quarter to eleven Mike had begun to grow reconciled to his fate. The disappointment was still there, but it was lessened. These things are like kicks on the shin. A brief spell of agony, and then a dull pain of which we are not always conscious unless our attention is directed to it, and which in time disappears altogether. When the bell rang for the interval that morning, Mike was, as it were, sitting up and taking nourishment. He was doing this in a literal as well as in a figurative sense when Bob entered the school shop. Bob appeared curiously agitated. He looked round, and, seeing Mike, pushed his way towards him through the crowd. Most of those present congratulated him as he passed; and Mike noticed, with some surprise, that, in place of the blushful grin which custom demands from the man who is being congratulated on receipt of colours, there appeared on his face a worried, even an irritated look. He seemed to have something on his mind. “Hullo,” said Mike amiably. “Got that letter?” “Yes. I’ll show it you outside.” “Why not here?” “Come on.”