Composed in manner always, seldom without an engaging smile, Harwood did not let this half-challenge pass unnoticed. There was a gleam in his eyes which even short-sighted Roger saw.
Between these two quick-witted boys existed an unspoken feud, founded on Harwood's refusal to print in the Foxonian the contributions which Roger persisted in sending. Doubtless Harwood felt that there was scarcely room in the school magazine for two such literary stars as he and Roger to shine at the same time.
"Well," said Harwood, calmly, "sorry if my cronies and I have given offence. Our consolation must be that Fluffy Jim is having the happiest day of his life. And you fellows may yet come to hail him as a luck-bringer."
"Superstitious piffle, Harwood," Roger grunted, He and Luke then drifted casually, apart. Neither desired to spoil a good football match by bearing each other company any longer. Oil and vinegar, these two!
"I have a rotten grain of suspicion in my nature, doubtless," thought Roger. "Still, Forge is captain of the football team and captain of the school—Luke Harwood would like to be both, and is neither. He knows Dick is strung on wires, and how small a thing upsets him on big occasions. This fool idea, then, of dressing the village idiot like a circus clown—is there method in his madness? Is there a secret hope that it will put Dick off his game?"
Left to himself, the half-witted youth known as "Fluffy Jim" was as quiet as an old sheep. Now, inspired by someone behind the goal, he used his booming voice to shout out repeatedly, in the dialect of the district:
"Coom back an' keep 'em oot—coom back, coom back, afoör they scoöar!"
Others—and some who should have known better—took up the cry; but Fluffy Jim's voice rose above the rest, just as his paper costume was the most conspicuous thing on the field.
"Mascot, indeed!" thought Dick Forge bitterly. "His ridiculous rig-out gets on my nerves, and now his voice is doing ditto. Some kind friend in Holbeck's House is pulling the strings, I suspect. Bother it, how cold and irritable this standing about makes me feel!"
As if to rub it in, his colleagues in the forward line began imploring him to strengthen the defence. In imagination they saw Ennis beaten by every fresh shot which the determined St. Cuthbert's team fired at the goal, and it certainly seemed impossible that the tall, thin youth, who had already done wonders, could hold the fort much longer. But Dick Forge refused to be "rattled".