“It was a second-hand one for sale cheap. But it cost five pounds. She showed me the receipt.”
“Stuff and nonsense. She was gammoning you,” said Clapperton.
“All right,” said Dangle, snappishly; “you’re not obliged to believe it unless you like.”
And there the conversation ended.
The day of the great match came at last. The Rendlesham men, who had to come from a distance, were not due till one o’clock, and, as may be imagined, the interval was peculiarly trying to some of the inhabitants of Fellsgarth. The farce of morning school was an ordeal alike to masters and boys. If gazing up at the clouds could bring down the rain, a deluge should have fallen before 10 a.m. As the hour approached the impatience rose to fever heat. It was the first match of the season. For the last three years the two teams had met in deadly combat, and each time the match had ended in a draw, with not one goal kicked on either side. Victory or defeat to-day would be a crisis in the history of Fellsgarth. Woe betide the man who missed a point or blundered a kick!
Percy and his friends put on flannels in honour of the occasion and sallied out an hour before the time to look at the ground and inspect the new goal and flag posts which Fisher major, as the first act of his treasurership, had ordered for the School.
It disgusted them somewhat to find that Wally and his friends—also in flannels—were on the spot before them, and, having surveyed the new acquisitions, had calmly bagged the four front central seats in the pavilion reserved by courtesy for the head-master and his ladies.
Since the tea at Mr Stratton’s, the juniors had abated somewhat of their immemorial feud, although the relations were still occasionally subject to tension.
“Hullo, you kids,” cried Wally, as his brother approached, “how do you do? Pretty well this morning? That’s right—so are we. Have a seat? Plenty of room in the second row.”
Considering that no one had yet put in an appearance, this was strictly correct. Yet it did not please the Modern juniors.