“Why not? Surely we’ve got a right to find a substitute for our own man,” said Clapperton, testily.
“What do you mean by your own man? Who cares twopence whose man he is, as long as he plays up? The fifteen are Fellsgarth men, and no more yours than they are mine.”
“If they were as much mine as yours no one would complain.”
“You mean to say that if you were captain of the fifteen you’d put Corder in the team for a first-class match?”
“Why not? There are plenty worse than he.”
“There are so many better, that he is out of the question.”
“That means only five of our men are to play against ten of yours.”
“You’re talking rot, Clapperton, and you know it. If I’m captain, I’ll choose my own team. If you don’t like it, or if the best fifteen men in the school aren’t in it, you are welcome to complain. I hope you will.”
“It strikes me pretty forcibly our fellows won’t fancy being snubbed like this. It would be a bad job if they showed as much on the day of the match.”
“It would be a bad job—for them,” said the captain.