"Rubbish! We're all as soft as putty. Given football a miss whenever possible. Hated the muddy misery of it. The Merry Men will tie us into every kind of knot."
"Shut up, fusspot!" said Osbody, with spirit. "It's rotten bad form to cry 'stinking fish'."
"Rather!" agreed Niblo. "Where's the sense of piling up imaginary goals against your own side, Grain? Grouse when they're actually scored, not before."
"You're living in a fool's paradise," retorted Grain. "Go on kidding yourselves that you're an International side. All I can say is, that you don't jolly well look it. More like a row of plucked turkeys outside a poulterer's shop."
His bitter comments were interrupted by the arrival of the Merry Men, looking fit as fiddles in their white shirts and blue knickers. Rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, full of vim and confidence, they formed a striking contrast to their shivering opponents. Judging by appearances, there would only be one team in the picture that afternoon.
Osbody, as captain, met Arkness in the centre of the field. "Who's to referee?" he inquired. "I forgot to ask about that."
"That's all right," Robin answered cheerily. "Thought we'd have a good 'un while we were about it. I've asked Forge to take the whistle."
"You never dared!" cried Osbody, evidently taken aback.
"Why not? Forge doesn't bite. What better 'ref.' could we have? He'll see fair play to the last kick."
"Who said there was going to be any play that wasn't fair?" asked Osbody, ungraciously.