Bob scratched thoughtfully at the turf with a spike of his boot. “Of course, it was awfully decent----” Then again the monstrous nature of the affair came home to him. “But what did you do it _for_? Why should you rot up your own chances to give me a look in?” “Oh, I don’t know.... You know, you did _me_ a jolly good turn.” “I don’t remember. When?” “That Firby-Smith business.” “What about it?” “Well, you got me out of a jolly bad hole.” “Oh, rot! And do you mean to tell me it was simply because of that----?” Mike appeared to him in a totally new light. He stared at him as if he were some strange creature hitherto unknown to the human race. Mike shuffled uneasily beneath the scrutiny. “Anyhow, it’s all over now,” Mike said, “so I don’t see what’s the point of talking about it.” “I’m hanged if it is. You don’t think I’m going to sit tight and take my first as if nothing had happened?” “What can you do? The list’s up. Are you going to the Old Man to ask him if I can play, like Lionel Tremayne?” The hopelessness of the situation came over Bob like a wave. He looked helplessly at Mike. “Besides,” added Mike, “I shall get in next year all right. Half a second, I just want to speak to Wyatt about something.” He sidled off. “Well, anyhow,” said Bob to himself, “I must see Burgess about it.” CHAPTER XXII WYATT IS REMINDED OF AN ENGAGEMENT There are situations in life which are beyond one. The sensible man realises this, and slides out of such situations, admitting himself beaten. Others try to grapple with them, but it never does any good. When affairs get into a real tangle, it is best to sit still and let them straighten themselves out. Or, if one does not do that, simply to think no more about them. This is Philosophy. The true philosopher is the man who says “All right,” and goes to sleep in his arm-chair. One’s attitude towards Life’s Little Difficulties should be that of the gentleman in the fable, who sat down on an acorn one day, and happened to doze. The warmth of his body caused the acorn to germinate, and it grew so rapidly that, when he awoke, he found himself sitting in the fork of an oak, sixty feet from the ground. He thought he would go home, but, finding this impossible, he altered his plans. “Well, well,” he said, “if I cannot compel circumstances to my will, I can at least adapt my will to circumstances. I decide to remain here.” Which he did, and had a not unpleasant time. The oak lacked some of the comforts of home, but the air was splendid and the view excellent. To-day’s Great Thought for Young Readers. Imitate this man. Bob should have done so, but he had not the necessary amount of philosophy. He still clung to the idea that he and Burgess, in council, might find some way of making things right for everybody. Though, at the moment, he did not see how eleven caps were to be divided amongst twelve candidates in such a way that each should have one.