“Run,” said Rouse hoarsely.
“Shall I be thrown to the ground like those other boys?”
“You will be thrown to the dogs,” was the immediate answer.
“Oh, but it’s such a rough game. I shall be hurt.”
“What? You? Never!” Rouse assured him. “Everybody who falls on you will think you’re an air cushion.”
Further bursts of laughter reached them from across the open, and they turned. To the fat boy’s satisfaction other stragglers were being led in his own track. There was a tall thin boy, and a square boy with hair like hay, and an ordinary-looking boy and an extraordinary-looking boy. They had all been sorted out. He supposed they had all been laughing. Arthur turned back. His world was very drear. He was filled with acute foreboding. They had reached the changing-room. He was led in. Here, so far as those who were waiting on the touch-line were concerned, the curtain fell. At last it was lifted again. The sight was astounding. Arthur was being led back. Behind him came the other boys who had laughed so heartily, but they were unimportant. Arthur held the eye. His extraordinary fatness was now entirely disclosed. Wherever it was possible to bulge Arthur bulged. And his eyes were bulging most of all.
Rouse held him by the arm. Evidently he had had some difficulty in fitting Arthur out, but he was apparently well pleased with the result.
Toby met them and spent a few moments in outlining the theory of the game for Arthur’s benefit. Arthur nodded his head dolefully. It was clear that he had not another laugh left in his system. Also he looked cold.
He was led on to the field. The other new-comers were sorted out and instructed to replace some of those who had had enough of it. Then the whistle blew. There came a thump of a boot meeting leather and the ball was sailing towards Arthur. For just one second Arthur regarded it stiffly, transfixed with horror, then he turned and ran rapidly in the other direction. There was a howl of derision. Arthur turned. There was no way of escape. The ball was bouncing after him. It was like a nightmare. From all sides of the field boys were rushing towards it. He gave one choking cry, threw up his hands and fell heavily on his face. Next moment a swarm of forwards had crowded round him and were packing down over his prostrate body. Somebody seized him by the leg and pulled him out of the way. He rose and looked round him with wild eyes. His hair was ruffled. There was mud upon his nose.
Rouse came up and explained to him what he ought to have done. He looked at Rouse dazedly. Rouse inserted him bodily into the scrum, head down, and told him to push.