“I won’t. And Barry plays against Ripton.”
“Certainly. He’s the best man.”
“I’m going over to Seymour’s now,” said Trevor, after a pause, “to see Milton. We’ve drawn Seymour’s in the next round of the house-matches. I suppose you knew. I want to get it over before the Ripton match, for several reasons. About half the fifteen are playing on one side or the other, and it’ll give them a good chance of getting fit. Running and passing is all right, but a good, hard game’s the thing for putting you into form. And then I was thinking that, as the side that loses, whichever it is—”
“Seymour’s, of course.”
“Hope so. Well, they’re bound to be a bit sick at losing, so they’ll play up all the harder on Saturday to console themselves for losing the cup.”
“My word, what strategy!” said Clowes. “You think of everything. When do you think of playing it, then?”
“Wednesday struck me as a good day. Don’t you think so?”
“It would do splendidly. It’ll be a good match. For all practical purposes, of course, it’s the final. If we beat Seymour’s, I don’t think the others will trouble us much.”
There was just time to see Milton before lock-up. Trevor ran across to Seymour’s, and went up to his study.
“Come in,” said Milton, in answer to his knock.