“No, that isn’t quite right,” objected Bert. “I didn’t mean you to think that every fellow has that idea in his head. I guess more than half of us take part in athletics because we want to. I know that in my case I never thought of getting any advantages by it. In fact, I don’t believe I ever thought the thing out before. I play football just as I play tennis or hockey or anything else, because I like the game, like mixing with a lot of good fellows, like to do what I can for the School.” “And like to beat Mount Morris,” said Hugh, smiling. “You bet!” “That’s the part of it that seems a bit odd, now. As I make it out you don’t care so much for playing football as you do for winning from the other chap, the rival school, you know. If you do win it’s all awfully jolly and everyone’s as happy as a lark. If you lose, why, you all draw long faces and feel sort of disgraced.” “That’s rather exaggerated, but you get the idea. And why not? Don’t you like to win when you start out to?” “Oh, rather! But playing a game is playing a game, old chap. It isn’t business or war, is it? Why not play for the fun of it? Try as hard as you like and then if you don’t win――er――forget it!” Hugh was palpably proud of his bit of slang. “That’s all right,” replied Bert. “I’ve heard a lot about your English sportsmanship and all that, but I notice that when we go over to your side of the pond and beat you, you don’t like it a bit and you come back at us with charges of professionalism.” “I didn’t know we did,” said Hugh. “If we do, maybe it’s because you go into it so hard that――that you look like professionals! You know you do go a pretty long way sometimes to beat the other chap.” “Oh, rot! If you’re out to beat a fellow, beat him. That’s my idea.” “Yes, I know, but there are some things a chap wouldn’t do to win, aren’t there? He wouldn’t cheat, for instance, and he wouldn’t take advantage of――of technicalities, if you know what I mean. Oh, I dare say I’ll come around to your way of looking at it after a bit,” Hugh added cheerfully. “Anyway, I’m going to keep on plugging along at football, because, maybe, you know, after a while I’ll really think it’s fun!” “Meaning that you don’t now?” laughed Bert. Hugh smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t――yet. Beastly grind, I’d call it now. I say, isn’t it time for eats?” CHAPTER VII “HIS GRACE, THE DUKE”