To his surprise Westby was not engaged in the disturbance—was, in fact, not visible. Collingwood, with his back turned, was in the act of hurling a football to the farther end of the corridor, where Scarborough and Morrill and Dennison were gathered. The forward pass was new in football this year, and although the playing season had not yet begun, Irving had already seen fellows practicing for it, in front of the Study and behind the dormitory. Collingwood, he knew, was captain of the school football eleven, and naturally had all the latest developments of the game, such as the forward pass, very much on his mind. Still that was no excuse for playing football in the corridor. Morrill had caught the ball, and as Irving approached, undertook to return it. But it ricochetted against the wall and bounced down at Collingwood’s feet. Collingwood seized it and was poising it in his hand for another throw when Irving spoke behind him—sharply, for he was mindful of his resolve to be severe:— “No more of that, Collingwood.” The boy turned eagerly and said,— “Oh, Mr. Upton, I’m just getting on to how to do it. Here, let me show you. You take it this way, along the lacings—the trouble is, my hand’s not quite long enough to get a good grip—and then you take it like this—” “Yes,” said Irving coldly; he had an idea that Collingwood had adopted Westby’s method and was engaged in chaffing him. “You needn’t show me.” And he turned abruptly and went into his room, closing the door behind him. Collingwood stood, looking round over his shoulder after Irving and holding the ball out in the arrested attitude of one about to throw. On his face was an expression of utter amazement, which rapidly gave place to indignation. Collingwood had a temper, and sometimes—even when he was not on the football field—it flared up. “Of all the chumps!” he muttered; and he turned, and poising the ball again, flung it with all his strength at the master’s door. It went straight to the mark, crashed against the upper panel with a tremendous bang, and rebounded to Collingwood’s feet. Irving opened the door and came out with a leap. “Collingwood,” he cried, and his voice was quivering as it had quivered that morning in class, “did you throw that ball?” “I did,” said Collingwood. “Very well. I shall report you. I will have no more of this insolence.” He swung round and shut himself again in his room. The fellows at the other end of the corridor had stood aghast; now they came hurrying up. Collingwood was laughing. “Kiddy’s getting to be a regular lion,” he said, and when Morrill and Dennison were for expressing their indignation, he only laughed the more.