The C.P.S., with a couple of beautifully blackened eyes, took the chair. At the other end of the table presided the Constable, whose features presented a curiously intricate study in diachylon, many of the Saddlestraps having seized a mean opportunity of wiping off old scores. Speeches and toasts were made and drunk, and football enthusiastically voted the king of all games. As the Blacksmith—whose arm was in a sling—observed, ‘It was a fair an’ square game. A man know’d what he’d got to do at it. There wasn’t no tiddleywinkin’ in the thing.’ The Doctor had been too busy to come early; but he dropped in for a minute or so during the evening, and with great fire, and amidst much applause, made a splendid speech. In its course he quoted Gordon’s well-known lines—‘A game’s not worth a rap for a rational man to play,’ etc.; and also adapted that saying of the ‘Iron Duke’s’ about the battle of Waterloo being won upon the British football grounds. It was decidedly the ‘speech of the evening,’ and was greeted with hearty cheers as, concluding, he retired to look after his patients. But Crupperton was very sore next morning; and for a whole week there was no more football. Then they looked about them for more victims to their prowess. But they found none at all near home. At last, in despair, and in defiance of the advice of the C.P.S., the executive challenged Cantleville itself—agreeing to journey thither. In due course, and after the C.F.C. had recovered from its surprise, and consulted a ‘Gazetteer,’ it accepted. Cantleville was a very long distance away. Moreover, it was the ‘City’ of those inland parts, and the headquarters of the Civil Service therein. Therefore the C.P.S. and the Constable discreetly refused to accompany their fellows. One of the pair, at least, had doubts as to whether Cantleville played the Crupperton game. So the Blacksmith was elected Captain. ‘You’d better stay at home,’ said the C.P.S., ‘the chaps over there are regular swells, up to all the latest dodges, and they wear uniforms. Besides they may not quite understand our rules.’ ‘Then we’ll teach ’em,’ said the Blacksmith. But the question of a uniform troubled him. So he took counsel with his now fast friend the Saddler, and the result was that everyone packed a stiffly-starched white shirt and a pair of black trousers into his valise. ‘How about your uniforms now?’ said the Blacksmith, ‘nothin’ can’t be neater’n that.’ So they went forth to battle, accompanied by the good wishes of the populace; but neither by Doctor nor Chemist. There were plenty of both at Cantleville. Also they were wise in their generation, and had doubts.