"I'm awfully sorry," said Dick ruefully, as the two chums went up the road. "There'll be no practice for you this afternoon, at all events."
"No," agreed Jim. "I'd better lie by till the morning. Never mind, old chap; it wasn't your fault; and besides, I shall be all right. Mother will see to that, I'm glad the match is to-morrow. We'll have a good try for the shield, and then peg away for the scholarship."
"Won't the Magpies get their monkey up if we pull off both? What a beastly nuisance! There's Temple coming!"
Temple was the captain of the St. Paul's team—a tall, nice-looking lad, immensely proud of his school, and noted for playing the game like a true sportsman.
"Hullo, Hartland!" he cried; "crippled? I say, that's hard lines on the Deanery. I wonder if the committee would put the game off for a week?"
"No, no," said Jim; "it isn't much. I shall turn up in the morning."
"You're a brick, Temple," exclaimed Dick, "and a jolly good sort, though you are a Magpie. 'Pon my word, I'm half sorry we're going to take that shield from you."
"And you're a little humbug," laughed Temple, giving him a playful dig in the ribs.—"Take care of yourself, Jim. I wouldn't give a toss to beat the Deanery if you're out of the team."
"Proper sort of chap, ain't he?" said Dick, when the Magpie passed on. "Just fancy his proposing that the match should be put off! My stars, there aren't many captains who would do that. How's the leg now?"
"Painful rather, but 'twill be better when I lie down."