"Never did I see anything like it," bellowed Buller. "For eighteen years I have coached Fernhurst; and before that I coached Oxford and Gloucestershire; and I am not going to stand this. Lovelace, you are not fit to be captain of a pick-up, let alone a school Colts side. Burgoyne, skipper the side. Now then, two minutes more to half-time; do something, Colts." The Colts did do something. They let the other side score twice. At half-time Buller poured forth a superb torrent of rhetoric. And suddenly there came over Gordon an uncontrollable desire to laugh. "The Bull" looked so funny, with his hair ruffled, and his eyes flaming with wrath. Gordon had to look the other way, or he would have burst into paroxysms of laughter. When one is overexcited and worried, hysteria is not far absent. Gordon turned away. Then suddenly he felt a terrific assault on his backside. Someone had booted him most fiercely, and turning round he saw the face of Buller still more distorted with rage. "Never saw such rudeness! Here am I trying to coach the rottenest side that has ever disgraced a Fernhurst ground, and you haven't the manners to listen to me. Good man, are you so perfect that you can afford to pay no attention to me? For heaven's sake, don't make your footer like your cricket, the slackest thing in the whole of Fernhurst. Come on, we'll go on with this game." For ten more minutes "the Bull" watched the Colts making feverish endeavours to do anything right. But his powers of endurance were not equal to the strain. "Here," he shouted, as Harding was going up to change after superintending a pick-up, "you might referee for about ten more minutes here, will you? I can't bear the sight of the little slackers any longer." A sigh of relief went up as the figure of Buller rolled out through the field gate. Strangely enough, the Colts did rather better after this, and Collins scored a really quite fine try. But the side left the field glowing with resentment. None more than Gordon and Lovelace. "What does the fool mean by making a little ass like Burgoyne captain?" complained Gordon. "Dirty little beast, who does not wash or shave. And he hacked me up the bottom, too, the swine. I'm getting a bit sick of 'The Bull.'" "So am I. What we really want is my brother back again. He kept him in order all right. My brother was a strong man, and did not stand any rot from Buller or anyone else." "Hullo, you two, you look about fed up! What's the row?" They turned round; Mansell was coming up behind them. Lovelace burst out perfervidly: "It's that fool Buller. He cursed the Colts all round, and he made Burgoyne captain instead of me, and he hacked Gordon's bottom, and told him he had no manners. Believe me, we have had a jolly afternoon." "And I suppose he said that he had captained Oxford, Cambridge, New Zealand and the Fiji Islands, and that in his whole career he had never seen anything like it."