Rockport, a small seaport of about nine thousand inhabitants, offered very little attraction to ordinary visitors, but it was one of the chief places of interest to the cadets of the T.D.S. They certainly livened the old town up, and their presence was more appreciated than otherwise by the bulk of the residents.
Upon arriving at Rockport the lorry quickly disgorged its load of khaki-clad, white-banded cadets, most of whom had some definite object in view. Derek and Kaye, however, being strangers to the place, were somewhat at a loose end.
"Where are you fellows going?" exclaimed a voice. Turning, the chums found Biggs overtaking them.
"Nowhere much," replied Derek. "We're going to walk back."
"That's good," ejaculated the captain of the team. "I'll come with you, if I may. Nothing like padding the hoof to keep a fellow fit. You play footer, of course."
"Not since I left school," replied Daventry.
"Where was that?" asked Biggs. "What's that? Full-back an' got your colours? Why, you're just the man I want! You'll jolly well have to train, and look mighty smart about it, young fellow."
"I'll think it over," said Derek guardedly.
"What's the objection?" asked the skipper pointedly.
"Since you ask me, it's like this," replied Daventry. "If a fellow's a good player he's often kept back solely on that account. I know a man in the army who's been knocking about in England ever since 1914, simply because he's a professional full-back. Footer's all very well, but I'm not here for that."