But the long and short of it was that the match was a tie; a goal and a try to each side; and that to Corder belonged the credit of a big hand in the lesser point. "Awfully well run, Corder," said the captain, as, time having been called, the two walked off the field together. "You must play for us again." After that, who should say life was not worth living? The very weather seemed to change for Corder. The sun came out, flowers sprang up at his feet, birds started singing in the trees overhead. What a letter he would have to write home to-morrow! The captain's pat on the back sent a glow all through him. Who wouldn't be a Fellsgarth chap after all? It scarcely damped his joy to perceive that neither Clapperton, Dangle, nor Brinkman shared in the general congratulations, but looked more black and threatening than ever as he passed. Pooh! what did he care for that! How he enjoyed the glorious Rendlesham high tea, and the drive home in the rain with everybody talking and laughing and rejoicing, singing songs and shouting war-cries! He was quite sorry when it came to an end, and he had to dismount and go over alone to his own house. He could hear the shouts and huzzas of the Classics across the Green as Wakefield's turned out in a body to welcome their men. No one at Forder's turned out to welcome him. The four prefects themselves had not even waited for him. For the first time that day Corder felt himself wishing he had a little sympathy in his jubilation. It was dull, when everybody over on the other side was shouting himself hoarse, to hear not a "cheep" of congratulation from his own fellows. However, it didn't matter much. He went to his room and changed, and hoped his messmate Wilson would not be long in coming for supper and a gossip. Wilson came presently, but his face was glum and his manner frigid. "Oh, here you are, old chap; I'm peckish. Did you hear about the match, we--" "Shut up," said Wilson; "you're a cad. I don't want to talk to you." Corder put down his knife and fork, and looked up in amazement. This from Wilson! He knew Clapperton was sore about it, but Wilson-- He went on eating while thinking it out, and Wilson ate too in silence, and then rose to go. "Are you not going to prepare to-night?" "Yes, in Dangle's room." And Corder was left alone. This was too bad of Wilson--to-night of all nights. He would go and look up Selby. Selby, he knew, would be interested in the day's news, for had they not practised drop-kicks together for an hour a day all this term? Selby was in, but not at all glad to see him. "Are you busy, old man?" asked Corder. "I don't want you here," said Selby. "Why, what's the row?" "Row? You're a sneak, that's the row. Cut!" Surely Selby must be out of sorts to talk like that. Corder stood in the door for a moment, on the off-chance that his friend might be joking. But no; Selby turned his back and began to read a book.