Well, the day was done, the battle was fought and won, and Ranleigh was weary of triumph and happiness.
"Good night," whispered Susanne to Clive.
"Good night," came the answer. "Er—I say, Susanne."
"Eh?"
"There's one thing."
"Heaps," was the sleepy response.
"Yes, but I'm serious. I'm going to stick to footer till I get into the team. Hear that?"
"Mighty interesting," yawned Susanne. "Wake me up when you've got there, and, by the way, don't forget to speak when you are Captain."
Clive grew red with vexation. For he was serious, very serious indeed. In his own secret mind he registered that night a resolve to grow up as fine a fellow as Sturton, to fight his way into the football eleven, and—the biggest resolve of all—to even ascend to the glories of Captain of Ranleigh.
"I'll do it," he mumbled as he fell asleep.