Pillingshot had just finished toasting the muffins, when the door opened, and Venables, of Merevale's, came in. 'I thought I heard you say something about tea this afternoon, Scott,' said Venables. 'I just looked in on the chance. Good Heavens, man! Fancy muffins at this time of year! Do you happen to know what the thermometer is in the shade?' 'Take a seat,' said Scott. 'I attribute my entire success in life to the fact that I never find it too hot to eat muffins. Do you know Pillingshot? One of the hottest fieldsmen in the School. At least, he was just now. He's probably cooled off since then. Venables--Pillingshot, and _vice versa_. Buck up with the tea, Pillingshot. What, ready? Good man. Now we might almost begin.' 'Beastly thing that accident of young Brown's, wasn't it?' said Scott. 'Chaps oughtn't to go slamming about like that with the field full of fellows. I suppose he won't be right by next Saturday?' 'Not a chance. Why? Oh, yes, I forgot. He was to have scored for the team at Windybury, wasn't he?' 'Who are you going to get now?' Venables was captain of the St Austin's team. The match next Saturday was at Windybury, on the latter's ground. 'I haven't settled,' said Venables. 'But it's easy to get somebody. Scoring isn't one of those things which only one chap in a hundred understands.' Then Pillingshot had an idea--a great, luminous idea. 'May I score?' he asked, and waited trembling with apprehension lest the request be refused. 'All right,' said Venables, 'I don't see any reason why you shouldn't. We have to catch the 8.14 at the station. Don't you go missing it or anything.' 'Rather _not_,' said Pillingshot. 'Not much.' * * * * * On Saturday morning, at exactly 9.15, Mr Mellish distributed the Livy papers. When he arrived at Pillingshot's seat and found it empty, an expression passed over his face like unto that of the baffled villain in transpontine melodrama. 'Where is Pillingshot?' he demanded tragically. 'Where is he?' 'He's gone with the team to Windybury, sir,' said Parker, struggling to conceal a large size in grins. 'He's going to score.' 'No,' said Mr Mellish sadly to himself, 'he _has_ scored.' [2] THE ODD TRICK