"You're not up to the mark, that's evident," said Colin. "What have you been doing these hols? You're right out of condition. You'll have to train, my festive."
"I will," replied Desmond. "I've been slacking a bit, but I'll soon get into form. I say, it's close on four. Let's get a move on."
Hardly a word was exchanged as the pair made their way schoolwards.
"Don't say anything to Collier," said Tiny, as they passed the lodge gates. "About this little cough of mine, I mean."
"'Course not," declared Colin. "Why should I?"
Tea over, Desmond and Sinclair went to the rooms they shared with Lorrimer and "Polly" Perkins. Here everything was in a state of disorder. The furniture had only just been removed from their last term's den; their boxes and trunks, half unpacked, were piled upon the table and chairs, while an assortment of bats, tennis rackets, fishing rods, nets, and other articles inseparable with schoolboys filled every available corner of the room.
"You're a nice pair!" exclaimed Lorrimer. "Mooching off and leaving Polly and me to square things up."
"And a fine square up you've made of it," replied Tiny. "Hullo, what's this? My razor! Polly, you are the absolute limit."
Perkins received the intelligence with as good grace as possible when discovered in the act of using another fellow's razor for the purpose of cutting rope.
"Sorry, old man," he replied apologetically. "But what do you do with your razor, by the bye? Half a mo', Tiny, before you start scrapping. The Head's been looking out for you."