CHAPTER XVI
A GREAT DISTURBANCE
Time waits for no one, and that statement was as true of Ranleigh boys as of any others. Clive Darrell, in a mere twinkling as it seemed, had become quite an old stager at the school. Since that momentous match when Sturton had led his eleven to victory, thereby stimulating Clive to declare the most ambitious of sentiments, two and a half years had slipped by, two and half years which had seen great changes at Ranleigh.
"But always the Old Firm hangs on and exists," reflected Bert, as he sat on the table in Upper Sixth and stared into the fire. "I remember the term when Harvey left."
"One of the best," interjected Susanne, now no longer a gawky, ill-dressed youth, given to smoking cigarettes on every occasion, but spick-and-span, as immaculate as Rawlings, very English in appearance, and looking quite twenty-one years of age, for the great Susanne sported a moustache, and could, had he wished it, as he often declared, have grown a beard even.
"Better than any of the masters, too," he had said. "Awful bore, don't you know, you fellows. A chap has to shave regularly now every day. That means getting up half an hour earlier——"
"Draw it mild," Hugh had cried. "Half an hour. That's enough for a dozen shaves."
Whereat Susanne had crushed his friend with a withering glance and an air of superiority which made Hugh blush.
"What do you know of shaving?" he had asked satirically, closely inspecting his friend's smooth chin. "Not much. You're a baby."