Usually such functions were of the most formal character. The senior "old colour" was elected Captain, and the next man Secretary; the Reverend William Mortimer was unanimously re-elected President (with an ungrammatical vote of thanks for past services thrown in); and the proceedings terminated. But this term matters were not so simple. There were five old colours available: Pip, sturdy, popular, just eighteen, the best bowler, according to that infallible oracle the ground-man, that the school had known in a generation; Linklater, a beautiful bat and a brilliant field, with the added recommendation of a century against the County last summer; Ellis, a steady bat and a good change bowler, a singularly right-minded and conscientious boy, and therefore slightly unpopular; Fagg, a wicket-keeper pure and simple; and Jarvis, a stripling of considerably more promise than performance, who had scraped into the Eleven at the end of the summer term on the strength of a brilliant but fluky innings against the Authentics. Of these five, Pip, from every conceivable point of view save one, was the obvious and natural man for the post. But the captaincy of the Eleven carried with it a School Monitorship, and the Law, as represented by an inflexible head master's decree, said that no member of the school could wear a Monitor's cap who was not a member of the Sixth. Now, Pip was only a member of the Fifth, and occupied but a sedimentary position in that. Consequently the Committee heaved a resigned if dissatisfied sigh when Uncle Bill, after taking the chair, announced with real regret that Wilmot--this, you may possibly remember, was Pip's name--was not eligible for the post of Captain. "Lucky thing Link got his remove this term," whispered Fagg to Jarvis, "or he'd have been barred too." "Dry up," said Jarvis, with a warning nudge; "Uncle Bill has got something on his chest." Uncle Bill indeed appeared to be labouring under some embarrassment, for his good-humoured face was clouded, and he hesitated before continuing his remarks. "I have another message from the Head," he said at length. "I will give it you exactly as I received it, without comment. It is not a pleasant message, but you--we have no choice but to obey orders. It is this. The next in seniority, Linklater, is a member of the Sixth, and therefore eligible for office; but on account of his--of a regrettable incident in connection with Mr. Bradshaw last term, the Head feels unable to make him a Monitor, and consequently he cannot be Captain of the Eleven." Uncle Bill had created a sensation this time. There was a startled stir all round the table, and one or two glanced stealthily in the direction of Linklater. He was deathly pale. He was an ambitious boy,--as he was an ambitious man in after life,--and the snub hurt his pride more than most of them suspected. The fact that a far better man than himself had been passed over, too, did not occur to him. He was not that sort.