Mr. Yard found himself surrounded by a throng of his fellow-players, each endeavouring to outvie the other in compliments and gratitude. With a sudden inspiration, he thrust his way through, and made a dash for the pavilion. It could not have been more than forty-five seconds before the foremost of his laughing pursuers ran in after him, but that priceless interval had not been wasted. In Mr. Yard's breeches-pocket reposed practically the entire stock of loose cash which had previously enriched the hanging line of waistcoats and trousers. "I must be off!" he said hastily, picking up his adopted coat and cap. "Oh, hang it all!" cried Jack. "I was going to suggest that you should come back and have some lunch with us." Mr. Yard shook his head. The thought of food was a very fragrant one, but the money in his pocket clamoured for instant retreat. "Can't," he said regretfully. "It's uncommon good of you, but I've got to get into Plymouth as quickly as possible." "Plymouth!" exclaimed the Colonel, who had just come up. "If you want to go to Plymouth you'd better pack in with us. We can drop you at the Halfpenny Gate, and you can pick up a tram from there." "Thanks!" said Mr. Yard gratefully. "That'll do me fine." "Come along, then," said the Colonel; "we're off right away." "Will you be on the moor next Saturday?" cried Jack, pressing forward with the others to shake the hand of their parting guest. "It's quite possible," admitted Mr. Yard. "Well, you'll come and play for us again, won't you?" "I'd like to," said Mr. Yard, "if I can get away." He clambered into the brake with the soldiers, and waved a parting farewell to his late colleagues, who set up a ringing cheer as the big vehicle slowly rumbled off. "Good set of lads," said the Colonel. Mr. Yard, thoughtfully fingering the money in his pocket, nodded his head. The eight-mile drive into Plymouth was not without its anxieties. At every turn in the road Mr. Yard half expected to find a mounted warder holding up his hand to stop the horses. No such untimely incident, however, marred the harmony of the day, and just as the clocks were striking half-past one the brake was clattering through the ill-paved, straggling streets of Devonport. At the junction of Dockyard Road and Broadway, Mr. Yard's eyes detected a second-hand clothes shop of particularly disreputable aspect. He waited until they reached the next corner, and then, turning to the Colonel, remarked casually: "This'll do all right for me; I want to get some 'baccy." "Right you are," said the Colonel, giving the order to stop. "You know where the bridge is--first to the left, then straight on." Mr. Yard nodded, and climbed out. "Thank ye for the lift," he said. "Not at all," answered the Colonel. "Delighted! The Battery will always be proud to think that they had the honour of playing against you and scoring a try--eh, men?"