Mr. Blake, the master, happened to be a little late in appearing in his classroom, and his pupils availed themselves of the opportunity of airing their views on the topic of the moment.
"Yah, you miserable Conwayites!" cried Steward, who hailed from Morgan's. "You can't keep that cup for a day, which shows you only won it by a fluke."
"We didn't," shouted a youngster named Cay, firing up at once. "We won it fairly enough, and you know that, Steward!"
"Then why can't you take proper care of it? You don't deserve to be trusted with anything better than a pewter mug."
Like an assembly of foxhound puppies, several other youngsters now gave tongue. Cay called Steward a liar, who promptly fired a book across the room; and in another moment something in the form of a general action might have taken place, if the appearance of Mr. Blake had not quelled the disturbance.
At eleven o'clock the usual "break" took place in the morning's work, and towards the end of the half-hour Herbert was crossing the road, when Cay and another young Conwayite rushed up to him in a state of the greatest excitement.
"I say, Herbert! Look what we've got! Sam says he found it in our yard this morning."
The thing in question was a black flannel cap with red stripes.
"Well, what of it?" said the cricket captain. "It belongs to one of Morgan's chaps."
"Yes, that's just it," cried Cay. "One of them must have been in our yard last night. Sam found this before he blacked the boots this morning. I say, Herbert, perhaps this was the fellow who carried off the cup!"