"I'm glad of that," said Taylor, as though he really were. "I promised to referee this afternoon—Hargon's v. Sharpe's—but I want to cry off now. Neuralgia, Todd, is simply torturing me this moment, and refereeing wouldn't improve it. Do you mind taking my place? Do please say 'No' if you'd rather not."
"Very sorry, sir," said Gus, referring to the neuralgia. "Referee!"
"Yes," said Taylor, with a ghost of a smile at Todd's astonishment.
"Certainly, I will, sir—I mean I'll take your place. But the fellows will gasp when I step into the arena."
"Thank you, Todd. Why will they gasp?"
"Footer isn't my line, sir."
"Hasn't been, Todd. Anyhow, they'll be delighted when you whistle them up."
"I hope they'll be delighted when I've finished, sir," said Gus, doubtfully.
"One side won't, of course," said Taylor, cheerfully. "That is natural, and the usual thing. Do you know, I never played football, but I like refereeing immensely. Positive it's the best thing after playing, and I know that a really first-class referee is a very rare fowl. Of course it's the off-side rule and, etc."
Taylor delivered himself of a little homily on the subject of refereeing. He was enthusiastic almost to the point of forgetting his neuralgia, and Todd got quite interested in the theme so earnestly handled. He had not thought there was much fun in it until the house-master unfolded its possibilities, but he took over the whistle fairly sanguine.