"Oh yes, he fairly rolled out his qualifications, like a maid-servant applying for a post." "Oh, well, never mind," said Mansell; "he is a good chap, really, only he can't keep his temper. He'll probably apologise to you both before the end of the day. I remember Ferguson said once: 'All men are fools and half of them are bloody fools.' Not so bad for Ferguson that! Cheer up!" "Yes; but, damn it all, it is a bit thick," said Lovelace. "And a tick like Burgoyne to boot." As they were changing, a fag from Buller's made a nervous entry; he looked very lost, but finally summoned up enough courage to ask Davenport if he knew where Caruthers was. "Yonder, sirrah, lurking behind the piano." The fag came up. "Oh--I say--er--Caruthers. 'The Bull'--er, I mean Mr Buller wants to see you as soon as you are changed." "Right," said Gordon. "I said so," said Mansell; "he will weep over you and shake your hand like a long-lost brother; and after you will follow Lovelace, who will once more lead the lads with white jerseys and red dragons to victory against Osborne. Good-bye; you needn't stop, you know," he informed the fag, who was giving a stork-like performance, by gyrating first on one foot then on another. "That means I shall miss my tea," said Gordon. "I fear so," answered Mansell. "I don't really think you can expect 'the Bull' to receive you with crumpets and muffins and other goodly delights. Of course to-morrow is Sunday; you might manage to work a supper-party, but don't rely on it. Come and tell me the result of your chat; you will find me in my study; don't knock; just walk in; you are always welcome." As Gordon walked across the courts to Buller's study he had not the slightest doubt as to how the interview would end. "The Bull" was often like this. Only yesterday Foster had told him some long yarn of how he had beaten a lad in Christy's and had hit his hand by mistake; and to kick a person was, after all, a far more undignified method of assault. It was almost actionable. Quite contentedly he knocked on the door and went in. He was not, however, welcomed with open arms. "The Bull" stood with his back to the door, facing the fireplace, his hands behind his back. He did not speak for a minute or so. Gordon wondered if it would be correct to take a chair. "The Bull" broke the silence. "Well, Caruthers, are you sorry for what happened this afternoon?" This took Gordon by surprise: it was hardly the interview he had been led to expect. He murmured "Yes, sir" rather indistinctly. "Are you, though? Because if you are going to come in here and say you are sorry, when you are not, simply to smooth things over, you would be a pretty rotten sort of fellow." "Yes, sir." Gordon had recovered his self-control and was ready for a fight.